How I became the first senior citizen on Elon Musk’s gov-busting DOGE crew
I’ve always wanted to get in on the ground floor of something big. In the ’80s, I thought about buying stock in Apple but spent the money on a commemorative Elvis plate set instead. In the ’90s, I considered learning HTML but got sidetracked when I accidentally taped over “Unforgiven” with an infomercial for Susan Powter’s “Stop the Insanity” diet and exercise VHS tapes. But when I heard about DOGE—the rogue tech squad Elon Musk assembled to rewrite global finance, legal codes, and probably gravity—I knew this was my moment.
There was one small issue: I am neither young nor skilled in technology. The known members of DOGE (aside from Elon) are all somewhere between 19 and their mid-20s, fluent in 18 programming languages, and capable of hacking the Pentagon using a smartwatch and an oat milk latte. Meanwhile, I still type with one finger and once called my nephew to ask why my iPad wouldn’t turn on before realizing it was a cutting board.
But I had an angle. Musk, always looking for ways to bond with the common people between launching brain chips and feuding with Sam Altman, saw the opportunity to bond with the older demographic. And what better way to show he cares about the aging Boomers than hiring one onto DOGE? He saw the headlines immediately:
“Elon Musk Extends Olive Branch to America’s Seniors – Not Just for Tech Bros Anymore!”
And just like that, I was in.
Navigating DOGE headquarters and the youngins
DOGE headquarters is exactly what you think it is: an abandoned oil rig in the middle of the Potomoc River, repurposed into a floating cyberpunk dystopia. The cafeteria serves Soylent and cold brew, the desks are treadmill-based, and all official communication is done via Discord server or telepathic brainwave (still in beta).
I was assigned a desk, which was a standing pod that required a retinal scan to activate. I spent the first 30 minutes trying to convince it to recognize my cataract-laden eyeballs before a 22-year-old coding prodigy named Zeke sighed, hacked the system in four seconds, and told me to “sit down before I break a hip.”
The other DOGE members were friendly in that dismissive way that young people are when they assume you still use a fax machine. They all had names like Blaze, Nova, and J4X-7. One kid, who I swear was born last Tuesday, asked if I knew how to “mint a transaction on the blockchain” and when I answered, “I still write paper checks at the grocery store,” he backed away like I had a communicable disease.
Mostly useless, but they kept me around
Initially, I was tasked with “optimizing network architecture,” which I later learned meant I was supposed to stay out of the way. I spent most of my time pretending to be deeply engrossed in the code while actually playing Minesweeper. Once, I asked if I could help “proofread the smart contracts” and they laughed so hard that one of them actually had to reboot their Ray-Ban camera glasses.
But my real purpose became clear: Elon would bring me to public events as proof that DOGE had range. When reporters questioned if DOGE was funneling grant money away from small farmers to fund its MarsCoin initiative, Musk would gesture to me and say, “Look, even this guy thinks DOGE is the future!” and then elbow me in the ribs. I would nod enthusiastically, knowing that the alternative was being sent into the stratosphere on the next Starlink satellite array launch.
The trouble with DOGE
Despite their tech skills, things sometimes went south. At one point a fellow who went by the codename Big Brain pushed the wrong button and it was discovered that DOGE’s new financial system had somehow made it illegal to own beets in 17 states. The AARP released an official statement condemning DOGE as “an assault on regularity.” Musk, unfazed, tweeted, “lol cope, old man,” which didn’t help.
At one particularly tense press conference, a reporter pointed to me and asked, “Sir, do you actually understand what DOGE does?”
I panicked and muttered, “We’re…uh…making the future…more streamlined?”
Elon gave me a thumbs up. I was killing it.
My exit from DOGE
It all fell apart when I tried to contribute for real. One night, during a marathon hackathon where the team was working on DOGE’s next-generation USA financial infrastructure, I saw an opportunity to prove myself. I inserted a line of code. It was one line. A simple adjustment.
The next morning, DOGE was in chaos. Somehow, my minor tweak had caused every American dollar in circulation to be converted to Arby’s coupons. Billionaires and crypto miners were in shambles, begging for curly fry combos to recoup their losses.
Musk stormed into the main work pod, his usual cool demeanor replaced with something terrifyingly close to “mild irritation.”
“Who did this?” he demanded.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, hypothetically, if someone didn’t fully understand Python and maybe thought they were ordering a pizza instead of editing global financial ledgers…”
“Get. Out.”
And that was it. My time at DOGE was over.
The aftermath
Elon unfollowed me on Twitter. My DOGE stock (which was mostly in the form of experimental NFTs of Musk’s face) was confiscated. I was escorted off the oil rig by a disgruntled intern on an eFoil surfboard.
But you know what? I regret nothing. For one shining moment, I was part of something bigger than myself. Something chaotic. Something lawless.
And most importantly, I managed to steal a DOGE company hoodie before I left. It’s a little tight, but it’s the principle that counts.
