F Trump Elon Mouse said as he overlooked his fancy new race car. A gift from his luxurious friend Mark Zuckerhampster.

Elon Mouse’s whiskers twitched in outrage. “First the tariffs on micro‑processors, now tariffs on lithium‑cheese batteries? How’s a visionary rodent supposed to revolutionize transport if everything costs so much?” he squeaked, stamping a paw forcefully to the table.

Mark Zuckerhampster adjusted his oversized aviators, neon workshop lights glinting off a gold ‘M’ medallion. “Relax, bro. Just shrink.”

Elon glared. 

The gift was undeniably sleek: a razor‑thin graphite‑gray race car fresh from the Meta‑Mart. Mark bought his friend Elon a race car gift from the metaverse last week while he was being chased by a cat. And apparently he picked out the wrong size as neither of them could fit into the tiny car. 

Still, Mark figured the solution was obvious. “Just fire up your AI Elon” he said, chomping a quinoa‑infused energy pellet like it was caviar. “It’s under Settings › Shrink Mode. Right?”

Before Elon could protest, a menacing yowl echoed from the rafters. Enter Boots, the neighbor’s cat—Zuckerhamster calls him part lion. Boots leapt from the top shelf, eyes locked on the billionaires below.

“Shrink now!” Mark squeaked, 

Elon’s ears flattened. “This is definitely not safe Mark, I've never tested Shrink Mode”

Boots lunged. Chaos ensued. Micro‑screwdrivers flew like ninja stars. Mark vaulted onto the workbench, shielding his gold chain with a large wrench. Elon did the only thing he could think of. He activated shrink mode. Mark and Elon indeed shrank. Their new car looked fantastically large and safe now. Possibly their only way to escape the cat too!

The car groaned. The wheels bowed.

“Dude, your AI is good bro,” Mark hollered, flicking a peanut at the cat. It bounced off Boots’ nose; the cat recoiled, vigorously

Elon’s tail stuck out the cockpit like an antenna. “I’m in bro! he squealed. He punched the accelerator. The car lurched forward

Boots pounced—and missed—because the car was so tiny it zipped neatly beneath his belly. Elon shot across the bench screaming, “Eat my dust, Garfield cat!”

Mark watched, munching kale‑flavored corn chips. “See? Perfect fit.”

Then Mark cracked a sunflower seed. “Look Elon, tariff math is literally small potatoes.”

Elon wriggled, squeaking obscenities at both Trump and physics. Mark patted him his friend on the back. “Cheer up, bro—next quarter, I'll let you win in the stock market.”

Thanks Mark, Elon said. “And the cat?”

Mark grinned, whiskers twitching. “Already hired him as Head of AI."

https://medium.com/@benjamin.vanlocke/elon-mouse-and-mark-zuckerhamsters-day-out-8e2a906317d4