Watching Musk and Trump bicker online is like watching grade-A dog meat go rancid while rats feast.

So, it’s come to this. Not a debate. Not a Truth Social tantrum. Not even a Tesla in orbit with “COVFEFE” painted in gold. According to amused media reports—and at least one grinning maître d’ at Mar-a-Lago—Donald Trump and Elon Musk are preparing to settle their increasingly unhinged feud in the only way two eccentric billionaires can in 2025: with mushrooms.

Not metaphors. Not mushrooming deficits or growing scandals. Actual mushrooms. One dish of butter-drenched, steakhouse-grade fungi favored by Trump’s golden gut. One pouch of psilocybin-infused “consciousness catalysts” freshly plucked from Elon’s drone-foraged permaculture utopia in rural Texas. It’s the first summit in recorded history where the central diplomatic instrument is a spore print.

Sources close to both men—possibly fabricated, but just credible enough to quote—claim the meeting is meant to ease tensions over AI regulation, electric vehicle subsidies, immigration tech, and social media virality. As one insider put it: “They’ve tried yelling, suing, tweeting. Now it’s time to trip.”

Welcome to the Fungus Face-Off. Or, as Elon is said to have called it, Muskroom Diplomacy.

Round 1: The Appeal

Trump’s Sautéed Mushrooms

Trump’s preferred fungi are unapologetically American—thick, overcooked, and dripping with butter. They come sizzling on a Trump Steak platter, flanked by a parsley garnish and a side of nativist nostalgia. These mushrooms don’t raise questions; they raise flags.

Their charm lies in comfort. No surprises. No software updates. Just you, your dinner, and a monogrammed napkin assuring you that greatness has been served.

Elon’s Magic Mushrooms

Musk, ever the prophet of the future, doesn’t fry—he transcends. His mushrooms are ethically foraged by drones and come accompanied by a QR code that launches a neural journey through a psychedelic ecosystem curated by XAI. One nibble, and you’re wandering Martian metropolises, chasing cryptocurrency unicorns, and witnessing a version of Twitter where everyone is civil.

Where Trump’s mushrooms are rooted in the gut, Musk’s aim for the pineal gland. These aren’t food. They’re firmware for the soul—or at the very least, pitch decks for your next startup.

Round 2: The Experience

Trump’s Sautéed Mushrooms

Eating them is like attending a Trump rally: warm, boisterous, indulgent, and dusted with a hint of American bravado. You chew, you cheer, and you try to convince yourself that cholesterol doesn’t count when it’s this patriotic. You wash it down with a Diet Coke, feel an odd wave of triumph, and perhaps start chanting “USA” at the waiter.

Consciousness expansion is not the goal. Polling bumps are.

Elon’s Magic Mushrooms

Musk’s fungi are not for the risk-averse or those with fixed-rate mortgages. One moment, you’re at brunch. The next, you’re parsing quantum ethics with your fridge. The ceiling becomes a blockchain. You briefly understand the nature of time, then forget your own name. You’re simultaneously a consciousness node and a hedgehog.

You may or may not draft a 97-part tweet thread about quantum agriculture and its potential to replace central banks. Either way, you’re buzzing.

Round 3: The Aftermath

Trump’s Sautéed Mushrooms

Afterward, you’re full, a bit bloated, and oddly bullish on the next Iowa caucus. You head to the golf course, declare the meal “the best, better than Obama’s, everyone says so,” and upload a blurry photo captioned: “Fungus Wins Again.”

There’s no enlightenment, but also no felony charges—at least not related to mushrooms.

Elon’s Magic Mushrooms

Elon emerges barefoot, humming Beethoven. Somewhere in the trip, he’s created a decentralized autonomous organization called ShroomCoin, based on fungal sentience. His Neuralink chip tweets on its own. Grimes leaves him again.

He phones Joe Rogan for a post-trip download. Joe records the call. Spotify implodes.

Beyond the Spores: The Real Battle

This isn’t just a culinary clash. It’s a surreal proxy war over the shape of techno-populist power in the 21st century.

• AI and Jobs: Trump sees AI as a threat to working Americans. Musk sees AI as both their replacement and their therapist.
• Immigration and Innovation: Trump wants steel-reinforced borders. Musk dreams of iris-scan, blockchain-based borderlessness.
• Free Speech: Trump built Truth Social to escape “cancel culture.” Musk bought Twitter to end “shadowbanning.” They now block each other.
• EVs and Energy: Trump drills. Musk electrifies. Somewhere between them is a coal-fired Tesla charging station in Ohio.

Meanwhile, Australia watches, part horrified, part intrigued. Their most controversial political moment this year was a mild kerfuffle over the Treasurer allegedly saying “mate” too forcefully in Parliament. Even Canberra’s mushrooming scandals look like teacups next to Musk’s fungi-fueled escape fantasies.

Who Wins the Fungus Fight?

Suppose you prefer the predictable, the palatable, and something that pairs well with nostalgia gravy in that case, Trump’s your man, but if you seek transcendence, cosmic insight, and perhaps the ghost of Steve Jobs whispering venture capital secrets—Elon’s your shroomlord.

But really, neither of them wins.

The true victor is the mushroom: humble, adaptable, thriving in the margins and radioactive zones—be it Chornobyl or a political Twitter feed. A quiet symbol of resistance. Like democracy. Or Reddit.

Final Spores of Wisdom

Maybe this is the new diplomacy: not bullets or bots, but butter and psilocybin. If 2025 has taught us anything, it’s that reality is negotiable, and satire is just journalism with seasoning.

So next time world leaders gather, skip the translators. Send a mycologist.