So, Tesla trotted out its Optimus robot to hand out Halloween candy in Times Square. Let that sink in. A multi-billion dollar R&D project, the supposed cornerstone of the company’s AI-driven future, is being used as a street performer. It’s like using a nuclear submarine to deliver pizza.
I can just picture the scene: tourists snapping selfies, kids grabbing cheap chocolate from a machine that probably costs more than their parents’ house, all while the gears whir and the servos hum. It’s a cute little PR stunt, I guess. A way to make advanced robotics feel friendly and approachable. We’ve seen Optimus serve drinks, greet guests at a diner... It’s basically a walking, talking billboard for a future that’s always just around the corner.
But here’s the thing about magic tricks: you’re supposed to watch the magician’s hands, not the flashy assistant. While everyone is goo-goo-ga-ga over the candy-bot, the real show is happening behind the curtain. And it’s not a show; it’s a shakedown. A high-tech, high-stakes hostage negotiation where the future of the company is on the line, and the ransom demand is a cool $1 trillion.
The Trillion-Dollar Ultimatum
Let's be brutally honest. Tesla Chair Robyn Denholm’s recent letter to shareholders wasn’t a recommendation; it was a threat, gift-wrapped in corporate jargon. The message was crystal clear: approve Elon Musk’s proposed $1 trillion—that’s a trillion, with a ‘T’—compensation package, or the golden goose might just fly the coop. Tesla chair Robyn Denholm defends $1 trillion compensation for Elon Musk.
Denholm warns that without a plan to "properly incentivise him," the company risks losing Musk's "time, talent and vision." Give me a break. This is a man with a net worth of $451 billion. Does he really need another pile of cash so large it would make a pharaoh blush just to get out of bed in the morning? Is his motivation really that fragile?
This isn't about incentive. It's about control. The plan is designed to significantly boost Musk's voting power, something he's been openly demanding. He wants to steer the AI ship, specifically the Optimus project, without anyone else’s hand on the tiller. So while the robot is out there doing party tricks, the CEO is ensuring he gets the keys to the entire kingdom.
And the board, a group whose independence has been questioned so many times it’s become a running joke, is playing right along. They’re framing this as a necessity, portraying Musk as some irreplaceable deity without whom Tesla would crumble into dust. This is a bad idea. No, 'bad' doesn't cover it—this is a five-alarm corporate governance dumpster fire. We’re being told that one man is the company, and the company is one man. When did we decide that was a healthy way to run a publicly-traded entity?
The Great Hand-Wringing Distraction
During the last earnings call, Musk waxed poetic about the engineering challenge of the Optimus robot’s hands. "The human hand is an incredible thing," he mused, going on about fingers and forearms and actuators. He claims it's more difficult than the rest of the robot. Tesla exec provides key update on Optimus’ improving dexterity.
It’s a perfect, if unintentional, metaphor. He’s obsessing over the fine motor skills of his new toy while the entire corporate structure is being held together with duct tape and hero worship. He’s talking about the difficulty of replicating a thumb while his board is trying to ram through a pay package that a Delaware court already voided once for being utterly ridiculous.
And offcourse, he couldn't resist taking a swipe at the old guard. “I’m unaware of any robot program by Ford or GM,” he quipped. Classic Musk. It’s not enough to build his thing; he has to belittle everyone else’s thing in the process. It’s the kind of arrogance you can only get away with when you’re surrounded by people who are paid to agree with you.
Meanwhile, groups like Institutional Shareholder Services are screaming from the rooftops, telling shareholders to vote no. The "Take Back Tesla" coalition is pointing out, correctly, that Musk's increasingly erratic public persona and right-wing dalliances are actively damaging the brand he supposedly built. But does any of that matter when the board is telling you the sky will fall if you don’t write the check?
The vote closes on November 5th. Shareholders are being asked to choose between rewarding what many see as reckless behavior or calling the bluff and risking a market panic if Musk throws a tantrum and walks. They’re being sold a story about a glorious robotic future, but the price of admission is absolute fealty. It’s a hell of a choice...
Then again, maybe I’m the crazy one. Maybe a single person’s vision is worth a trillion dollars. Maybe a robot handing out candy in Times Square really is the first step toward a techno-utopia and not just a cynical distraction from an obscene power grab. But I doubt it.
This Whole Thing Stinks
Look, let’s call this what it is. It's not a compensation plan; it's a loyalty test. It's a CEO, enabled by a compliant board, telling his own shareholders, "The company you invested in is nothing without me, so pay up, or I'll take my ball and go home." The Optimus robot is just the shiny object they’re dangling in front of our faces to make the medicine go down easier. They're selling a sci-fi dream to justify a feudal reality where the king demands tribute, and everyone else is just supposed to bend the knee. It’s a disgrace to the very idea of shareholder oversight, and no amount of candy-dispensing robots can hide that fact.
标签： #robyn denholm