Driving a Cybertruck: Part I: April 2025 Max Talley
I’d like to clear up some misconceptions now that I’m the proud owner of a Tesla Cybertruck. First off, Jesus Christ, I am not an incel! I have sex a few times a week in my Cyber, and with any luck, a woman will join me in the near future. Hell, I’m a young man, not quite sixty yet. I mean my pappy would have lived to ninety-five if not for his chain-smoking, day drinking, and appetite for amphetamines. There are some delusional MSNBC-watching, tree-hugging, latte-sipping fools who think I’m a racist and assume I voted for the guy they call the “Manchurian Cantaloupe.” I mean, I did, but I might not have. They are so quick to judge. I’m woke, wide awake (except when the Oxycontin kicks in, then I’m comatose). I voted for a person of color: sometimes orange, sometimes burnt sienna, depending on the tubs of bronzer available to him that week. My guy wants to destroy the system so we can start again from scratch. Once we get over all this helping other people out, socialist empathy crap, then we’ll get back to when we were great, the 1850s. Max Talley
The power you feel when driving this vehicle is astounding. Let me tell you, folks are happy to show their support when I’m rolling my Tesla tank through battle from CVS to Trader Joe’s, or when I take up two spaces in a parking lot. They give me a Hitler salute or flash me the one-fingered New Jersey greeting, which warms the cockles of my heart. Newsflash: any mention of cockles gets me in the mood for a little hand-to-gland combat, and this is where the Cybertruck’s angles and tinted windows really help a dude out at the far end of a Walmart lot. Hell, I’m so quick I can do it at a Taco Bell drive-through. Oh, Elon, your advocacy of just the free speech that you agree with gets me so rigid—like South African policies pre-1994. Max Talley
I bought my ride to help save the environment, mostly from whining environmentalists acting as a Thornberg in our side, Greta. Just like buying cocaine in the 80s and 90s, it’s a symbol of my wealth that I can afford something idiotic and monstrous that others can’t. We’re all in this power-trip together though: my Cyber-bros who help buckle the local roads and pavement with our big-ass vehicles, and the little people in their flimsy Hondas and Toyotas that I cut off and force out of my damn lane.
I also enjoy the sense of community. We owners take our Cybertrucks out across riverbeds and far into the desert, where they promptly break down. But when they don’t, we meet at remote truck stops to compare gun sizes, and trade Kid Rock and Ted Nugent memorabilia. The rear storage space for weapons, crystal meth, and porn (yeah print porn, old school) is unparalleled. Hangars and anything triangular-shaped fits real well inside too.
I am so much more than just an angry, frightened man with Big Micropenis Energy, because now I’m that scary dude in a badly designed WTF? that could be a tactical vehicle or a 3rd world sanitation truck. People immediately sense I’m powerful and rich, so yeah I do get a lot more phone calls from overseas scammers. Also, you may have heard about the feud between Humvee owners and Cybertruck drivers. It’s true. Humvee people are a trifle hurt since they used to have the bragging rights to “biggest assholes to ever stand on two legs” from car insurance companies. But in just a few years, we’ve wrested that title away from them and don’t intend to give it back, peaceably.
Getting back to my open-minded tolerance, I ask you, how could a guy with photos of Clarence Thomas, Bill Cosby, and Kanye West above his bed be a racist? The way I see it is, we only have this one life guaranteed, so we may as well go big, go stupid, go nuts. What my Cybertruck says about me is, of all the vehicles available in the world, this shape actually seemed beautiful to me. Anyway, I have a whole new life, and no one else can understand until they’ve walked a mile in my Depends undergarments, until they’ve hunkered down in the sleek, sexy cockpit… Oh, there I go again. Need to pull over at a rest stop ASAP to wax the bumper. Max Talley
Wait, what?! Oh my sweet Jesus, there’s another Cybertruck recall. Panels keep falling off the damn thing. This is just too much. Maybe I should have stuck with my Humvee.
Driving a Cybertruck: Part II: 2026
The last eight months have been difficult. They really weeded out the fools from the righteous, the jackasses who bought Cybertrucks because they were a fad, from true believers like me—showing worship to the God of Ketamine. Well, I admit, I tried to trade in my tank last summer, but no go. Turns out, they lose 90% of value upon leaving the Tesla sales lot. So I stuck it out. I weathered the people giving me the finger in traffic, the domestic terrorists who spray- painted Teeny Peeny Mussolini on my bumper. But now, people no longer raise a finger in protest. Instead they look at me and my ride with infinite sadness, as if I had an easily curable disease but didn’t believe in vaccines—which I don’t. Did Baby Jesus take vaccines? Hell no! Since my ex-wife, ex-girlfriends, and family members have all put out restraining orders on me, I tend to live in solitude. Moreover, I basically live inside my Cybertruck. It’s hard to afford the rent when your main occupation is being on social media all day, SCREAMING AT THE LIBTARDS IN ALL CAPS. I park where I can, at the edge of parking lots for closed Sears, Macy’s, and other box stores. I wait patiently for the DOGE dividend check Elon promised me nine months ago. Say hi if you should see me out there. I don’t get angry or violent until I start drinking after lunch. Max Talley
