Madhouse Miniatures’ eulogy for the Tesla Cybertruck

Here’s an editorial I wish I wrote, but it appeared as a post on the Madhouse Minatures Facebook page. They’re into cars, and they don’t hold back in their eulogy for the late, not-so-great Tesla Cybertruck, reproduced in full below, punctuated by some pictures of Cybertrucks that I included.

We gather today to mourn the death of an idea.

Specifically, the idea that you could buy a stainless steel trapezoid and everyone would immediately recognize you as the smartest, toughest, most independent thinker in the Costco parking lot.

The Cybertruck promised us the future. Evidently, the future was a commercial ice machine with custody of the kids every other weekend. And people made it their entire fucking identity.

You couldn’t just own one. You had to become its attorney. Every parking lot became a press conference. Every conversation became a shareholder meeting. Somebody would say “That thing looks stupid,” and suddenly you were 20 minutes into a lecture about manufacturing efficiencies delivered by a man who looks like a sentient triglyceride.

“I get a lot of attention.”

Oh, I don’t doubt that. Know what else gets a lot of attention? A racoon with his scrotum stuck between two pickets in a fence. Attention is not an achievement.

But we should remember the good times. The reels captioned “Doing truck stuff” showing a load that could have been transported in the trunk of my old Ford Fusion. (With the back seats up.) The tactical accessories. The owners dressed like they were about to liberate a subdivision from its homeowners association. These men were prepared for anything. Societal collapse. Civil unrest. A slightly awkward question about depreciation. Okay… Perhaps not everything. They imagined themselves crossing the wasteland, defending the last freshwater supply. And through it all, that magnificent declaration of unconditional satisfaction:

“Still love the truck.”

Carved into the headstone. Printed on the funeral program. Whispered through clenched teeth while the estate attorney explains what’s left.

Of course, the real tragedy is what happens to the owners now. Somewhere out there is a man whose profile picture, wardrobe, political philosophy, and relationship with his adult children all depend on this fucking vehicle. You can’t simply hand him the keys to a used Camry and tell him to develop a personality of his own. There needs to be a transition program.

So what comes next? What replacement vehicle will the chuds wrap their entire personality around?

My money’s on a lifted diesel dually. One glance at an exhaust stack and they’ll forget they spent the last three years explaining why internal combustion was obsolete. By Tuesday, they’ll be back to calling electric vehicles a woke scam, just like they were doing before the Cybertruck arrived.

But I suspect the true successor hasn’t arrived yet. Somewhere, a billionaire is drawing a refrigerator on tank treads and figuring out how much extra to charge for the Freedom Package.

Rest easy, Cybertruck. Your owners will find something else. We’ll know when they update all of their profile pictures.