Dear Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk: Talk is cheap. If y'all wanna fight, let's go. I'll take the both of you. Cage match, Las Vegas Octagon, Roman Colosseum, or my backyard — "send me location." I'll bring the thumbtacks, folding chairs, and a lifetime of service-industry class rage hardened into the lethally powerful mixed martial artform known as F*** Around and Find Out. You bring your inhalers and whatever Bugatti-built stretchers you wanna leave on.
You're probably starting to realize nobody actually cares about whether two billionaires in overpriced athletic gear awkwardly paw at each other on the floor of an arena like a couple of confused virgins in the backseat of a Honda Accord. And, to be fair, watching grown white men of the American ruling class thump their chests and beg for applause — in a match that's sure to be as thrilling as a yellow-belt demonstration by suburban private-school kids — isn't normally how I like to spend my weekend. But I'm willing to make an exception for a good cause.
