Tesla CEO Elon Musk confessed on an investor call that he’s sweating over his own creations: a legion of humanoid robots that could one day turn the tables on their maker.
To secure his galactic payday—a cool $1 trillion over the next decade—Musk insists on enough voting power to whisper sweet nothings into the ears of his Optimus army, lest they decide humanity’s chores are better left to… well, humans.
Musk, ever the visionary with a flair for the dramatic, painted Tesla not just as a car company, but as the forge of tomorrow’s workforce.
Shareholders will vote in November on a compensation package that could balloon his stake from 13% to a commanding 25%, all tied to audacious goals like delivering 20 million vehicles, unleashing a million robotaxis, and hitting an $8.5 trillion valuation.
One million Optimus robots must march off the assembly line. “If I build this enormous robot army,” Musk fretted, “can I just be ousted at some point?” It’s like Dr. Frankenstein fretting over tenure—except with more circuits and fewer torches.
Picture this: Optimus bots, those sleek humanoids demoed at Tesla events, shimmying through dance routines or slinging popcorn at the Tesla Diner in Los Angeles. Admittedly, some of those viral moments involved a human puppeteer pulling strings from afar, turning what looked like autonomy into a high-tech game of Marco Polo.
Yet Musk dreams bigger, billing Optimus as the ultimate peacekeeper in a drudgery-free utopia. “Working will be optional, like growing your own vegetables,” he tweeted this week, evoking images of executives trading briefcases for backyard kale patches.
No poverty, universal top-tier healthcare—Musk envisions his bots as miracle workers. “Optimus will be an incredible surgeon,” he gushed on the call. “Imagine if everyone had access to an incredible surgeon.” It’s heartwarming, if you ignore the part where your robo-doc might moonlight as a barista.
For Tesla’s bottom line, it’s an “infinite money glitch,” Musk declared, the kind of cheat code that turns chores into cash flow. Everyone craving a tireless sidekick to fold socks or file taxes? Sign us up—though we’d negotiate on the small talk.
Of course, utopia has its hurdles. Musk lingered on the fiddly bits: crafting those dexterous hands and forearms that make Optimus less “iron fist” and more “velvet glove.” Engineers are wrestling with it like a Rubik’s Cube on steroids.
Tesla aimed for 5,000 units this year but dialed it back over summer, per reports. Now, a “production-intent prototype” struts onstage by February or March, with full-scale rollout limping in at year’s end. Rome wasn’t built—or bot-ed—in a day.
Still, Musk’s core worry lingers like a glitchy firmware update: without “strong influence”—not full control, mind you—over this bot brigade, why risk the revolution? It’s a billionaire’s dilemma: Innovate wildly, but hedge against your inventions hedging their bets.
Investors chuckled nervously on the call, but the stakes are sky-high. If approved, Musk’s trillion-dollar haul isn’t just pay; it’s a golden ticket to steer the robo-revolution. Will shareholders hand over the reins, or will Optimus bots unionize first?
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