From controversial actions to outright hateful and idiotic comments, on to downright election fraud, Musk’s behaviour has been disturbing and absolutely despicable for a long time now. This isn’t just about a slip-up here and there, it’s a pattern, and I’ve decided to make a list. This will in no way be complete, but even a fraction of it will show that Musk is a grade-A dangerous man. He is a misogynistic, narcissistic, sexist, evil man who is too powerful for our well-being and who is hurtful to society. When you or I get irritated, we might hurt someone’s feelings. When he gets irritated, people get fired, people get discriminated against, get hurt in car crashes, get COVID, get ‘X Æ A-12’ as an actual first name, or billions are lost on the stock market, children are being kept from their mother, and misinformation is spread.
Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years.
Every time I ascended to the deck from my watches below, I instantly gazed aft to mark if any strange face were visible; for my first vague disquietude touching the unknown captain, now in the seclusion of the sea, became almost a perturbation. This was strangely heightened at times by the ragged Elijah’s diabolical incoherences uninvitedly recurring to me, with a subtle energy I could not have before conceived of. But poorly could I withstand them, much as in other moods I was almost ready to smile at the solemn whimsicalities of that outlandish prophet of the wharves.
Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years.
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