Elon ... buddy, talk to me, babe ...
Enquiring minds want to know ... did you ever bang Ghislaine Maxwell?
I’ll be the first to say: she’s kinda hot. You know, if you have a mother fixation – all MILF all the time, maybe even some hot GILF action? I saw a picture of your mom – damn! She’s been a model for over 50 years! Plus, she has a twin! Did you ever get your mom and aunt confused? Who gave the best hugs?
As an adolescent boy (not now, of course, earlier when you were 14 or so – now you wear big boy pants, good for you!) did you ever see your mom and go – damn!
Ever see her walking around in her nightie? (I have a very over-acting imagination). Did she ever tuck you in at night and you could smell the Chanel No. 5 and just want to kiss if off her neck?
But, alas, you knew it was wrong. Society and the law said so. But the feelings were always there, just suppressed so they didn’t embarrass you in case they emerged while you were with a woman your own age. “Oh, mommy, yes!” Hope that never burst out during climax.
Then Ghislaine comes along and she’s got more money than you and more power and fame (back then, of course, not now) and you said – damn! I gotta gets with her.
I got out my calculator and discovered that Ghislaine is exactly 10 years older than you, and your mom is just a little more than 10 years older than Ghislaine. I’ve put top mathematicians on call to crunch numbers and see if they can find some kind of Cabbalistic meaning behind all this.
Or I’ll just go for some old-fashioned Freud. Mother-fixation is a real thing. Not bad, not evil, just there as a part of what our higher brain functions can do. With so much mental acuity, there’s bound to be some aberrations in all that thinking and feeling and desiring ... especially desiring, yes?
To paraphrase Jane Austen: when a young man has all the money in the world, the only thing he lacks is a woman by his side.
You said she photobombed you at the Vanity Fair Oscar party, but are you saying that since she’s been busted? The tweet is from 2020, so she was in the slammer. And why photo-bomb you? Did she only bomb Jeffery and Donald and you? She must like you ... why would that be?
That’s the meat of this story, Elon. Why you and her? Why did she pick you out of a crowd of Oscar partiers? How many people were there? I feel like a Private Dick – that’s right, call me Dick Shamus, from the 1930s. Not just enquiring minds wanna know, Elon, Private Dick wants to know too, see?
Lovers fight, lovers split up ... have you written her a single love letter since she’s been behind bars? Even just a ‘thinking of you ... wish I could bail you or break you outa there, babe!”
Well, babe, what’s the story, Musky Glory?
PS: “Maye Musk” totally sounds like a perfume. Inhale Mommy, Elon ...
