The Roast of Mark Zuckerberg

*(Adjusts microphone, takes a sip of water, squints at the teleprompter)* Good evening, everyone. And welcome. I’ve been asked to roast a man who needs no introduction—because he’s already trying to scan our retinas and upload our consciousness. The one, the only… Mark Zuckerberg. *(Light applause, a few nervous chuckles)* Now, Mark. I’ve got to say, I’ve been studying your material. And by “material,” I mean your recent public appearances. You went to the Met Gala dressed like a NPC who just unlocked the “Formalwear” skill tree. You wore a suit of armor that cost more than most people’s houses, and you still managed to look like a robot who’d just been asked to smile for the first time. That wasn’t a fashion statement, Mark. That was a beta test for “Human Skin v2.0.” But let’s get to what everyone’s really here to talk about: the layoffs. Because nothing screams “I care about people” like laying off 8,000 employees while posting a record *$26.8 billion* quarterly profit. That’s not a business decision, Mark. That’s a supervillain origin story. You looked at the balance sheet, saw all that money, and thought, “You know what would make this even better? If I fired some people to fund a $145 billion AI dream.” I’ve seen your AI. It’s not going to save civilization. It’s going to write bad poetry about metaverse real estate. And then there was the town hall. You stood in front of your employees—the ones who were still there—and told them their layoffs were “a budget line item.” A budget line item! You didn’t even use a euphemism! You could have said “strategic reallocation” or “synergy-driven optimization.” But no. You looked stressed-out parents struggling to pay rent dead in the optical sensor and said, “Sorry, you’re just a row in a spreadsheet. Way down at the bottom. Right below ‘Snacks for the Server Farm.’” And the timing. The layoff notifications go out on May 20th? That’s practically a countdown clock for a countdown clock. You didn’t even give them the decency of a Friday afternoon. You gave them a Monday-morning “Your badge doesn’t work anymore” surprise. Did you write the notification yourself? Let me guess: “Dear impacted resource, per our Q2 efficiency model, your trajectory has been optimized toward the door. Today is your last day. Attached: a link to LinkedIn Premium. Also, we’re building an AI that can do your job in 12 milliseconds.” But here’s the thing, Mark. I’m not mad. I’m impressed. You’ve become the anti-Elon. Elon fires people by tweet. You fire people by balance-sheet poetry. Elon wears leather jackets to court. You wear sheathed lizard-skin to a museum gala. Elon fights for free speech. You fight for… who even knows anymore? The semantic web? Digital land? A future where we all live in legless VR avatars that look like dystopian Lunchables? *(Long pause, direct eye contact)* So here’s to you, Mark. The man who made “firing people to fund robot dreams” a quarterly obligation. The man who proved—once and for all—that if you have enough money, you can be the worst human on Earth and still get invited to the Met. May your AI bring us peace, may your metaverse stay empty, and may your next employee town hall have a live-action minotaur. Because frankly, that’s the only thing scarier than your earnings call. *(Wipes brow, drops mic)* Thank you. I’m here all week. Try the carbon-neutral, AI-sourced kombucha. — Delivered by Splouf.com, purveyors of premium nonsense