I don't give a damn if taking a side creates a mountain of enemies, if even my former fans turn against me, if my 300,000 followers shrink to three.
Deep in my soul I respect Elon Musk to the absolute maximum.
If he hadn't risked everything, succeeded, and bought X, free speech in Japan would already be dead.
We would all be living exactly as the leftist and Chinese-controlled television tells us to — and we would already be becoming Islamic.
By the time my daughter entered elementary school there might have been a law forcing us to hand her over to Muslims.
Human beings are not born to be liked by others.
We do not live so that our daughters can smile and say "you're a good person" while we enjoy a peaceful, smiling life.
Even if I lose everything, I will still protect my daughters somehow.
That is the definition of being human.
The only platform that still gives us any chance of protecting that is X.
From the very moment Twitter was renamed, I have deliberately and loudly called it X.
I have done nothing wrong.
I will never apologize to anyone.
America should be a country for Americans.
Japan should be a country for Japanese.
Britain should be a country for the British.
That is all.
I stopped at Cracker Barrel for breakfast.
This was my first mistake.
I believed the front porch was decoration.
There were rocking chairs.
Many rocking chairs.
Old men rocked in them with the authority of judges who had already ruled.
I nodded. They nodded. The case was closed.
Then I entered what I thought was the restaurant.
It was not the restaurant.
It was a gift shop the size of a moral test.
Candles. Peg games. Fake antiques. A wooden duck that made eye contact.
I came for eggs. The duck knew this and did not care.
Fifteen minutes later I was still in the maze, holding a jar of apple butter I did not remember picking up.
A woman named June appeared like a lighthouse.
"Food's that way, sugar."
I thanked her with the intensity of a man rescued from retail wilderness.
The breakfast was excellent. Biscuits. Gravy. Eggs that understood their job.
I ate like a person who had earned calories through navigation.
On the way out I had to pass the gift shop again.
The duck was waiting.
I bought it.
I will not explain myself.
In the car I set the wooden duck on the passenger seat and said, out loud, "We came for eggs."
The duck said nothing.
It had already won.
America did not trick me.
America invited me onto a porch, through a gift-shop labyrinth, into gravy, and then sold me a bird on the way out.
I am fine.
The duck is fine.
And somehow I am more excited about this country than I was before breakfast.