Don't blame me...

      What do you think when you see a Tesla Cybertruck? "Moron." "Headcase." "Fear junkie." There are a variety of valid reactions. Cybertrucks are even worse than Hummers, both driven by styleless, apocalyptic nutbags, no doubt stocking food and firearms, itching for the end of the world, so they can be king. Or lord of the block. Or something.

      Tesla brought out Cybertrucks in 2023, after Elon Musk bought X and began to establish himself, not only as the personal financier for the lunatic right, but one of the loudest voices of intolerance, nationalism, sexism and ignorance rampant. People who bought one knew what they were endorsing.

      But how about regular Teslas, particularly older models, that might have been purchased back when Musk was still a high tech visionary, the man who finally made the electric car work, and not the creepy and frightening bully he became. How do you communicate that you bought the car before its creator established himself as a fascist fanboy, a right wing agitator, a disseminator of hate and unvarnished predatory masculinity on his troll farm, X, and a general enemy of American democracy and freedom?

     I've noticed several varieties of the above bumper sticker, and recognize the dilemma.  The bold thing to do of course would be to sell the car, take your losses, and buy a Subaru, as a kind of penance. But that's asking a lot, and I think that establishing your choice of car should not be construed as an endorsement of current toxicity is sufficient. I mean, I still subscribe to the Washington Post, even though Jeff Bezos has shamed it, and himself, by using its editorial pages to blow kisses and making cooing noises at our nation's liar, bully, fraud and traitor. These are difficult times, and we all navigate best we can. 

I obscured the license plate, out of kindness.