pseudonymous alter egos
Who Is Elon Musk? So Tired of Getting His Mail
I’m trying to live a normal life here, guys
My name is legion. Well, no, it’s really Elo N. Musky.
I now live in the Alaska Bush with poor internet, but people hounded me online until I cleverly changed my email address to [email protected].
When you’re a Musky, you get awful tired of muskox jokes. I pretty much stopped hearing them around 2001, for some reason, except from Arctic enthusiasts and little kids.
I shower frequently and take sponge baths.
My name issue has changed over time. In 1968 and when I lived in Maine, people kept asking, “Are you related to Edmund?”
My mailbox overflows every day. Besides the same junk mail you get, I receive luxury product catalogs I didn’t ask for. And handwritten letters with actual stamps.
Whoever invented Forever Stamps should be shot. The flow of letters increased in April 2007. Before that, I suspect lots were returned to sender — insufficient postage. Those were the days.
Please, please stop mailing me
• pleas to send your poor or sick kid to Disneyland or Dartmouth • appeals for investment in your business • marriage proposals
It’s even worse in December and around other gift-giving holidays. Apparently that Elon Musk person is the love child of Santa and the Easter Bunny? Many people want things from him.
I’m very tired of opening invitations
- to speak at science fiction conventions
- from Bill Gates to hang out in Medina, wherever that is
- to attend yacht-christenings
I get seasick on ferries, read bromance novels, and am a recluse. Why do you think I moved to Alaska?
My boy, christened Elo N. Musky Jr., deed-polled his name when he turned 21. He’s Harmon Hammer now. Don’t know why he picked that, but it sounds strong.
I was angry at the time, but Junior’s so much happier. Except, these last few years, there’s apparently some annoyingly famous Hammer, an “Armie.” Let’s not go there.
“Hammer.” Hmm. A good, strong name for grandchildren. I can see them now, little Maxwell, and Silver in her stroller.
Maybe I’ll deed-poll to match Junior and ditch “Elo” at the same time. Never cared for it. My dad’s name was Michael Elo Musky Jr., and I always wished I’d been a III. God knows why Dad went with “Elo.” Mom says he insisted. Don’t ask what the “N.” stands for.
Wait, wasn’t there some fictional detective named Mike Hammer? To avoid private eye jokes, maybe I’ll go with “Sledge” instead. In honor of my favorite singer, Percy, may he rest in peace.
Although being a Musky is nothing to sniff at, when you’re a Hammer, all problems must look like nails. What fun.
In the meantime, I’m considering moving to Antarctica. Their postal service is worse than Alaskan bush mail.
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