Farewell, Cybertruck. I loved you. I was wrong about you. Forgive me.

• I put down a $100 deposit on Tesla's Cybertruck, but ultimately bought a Model 3.
• I believed its extraordinary design would win over enough buyers. I was wrong.
• As I bid it farewell, I'm mourning the truck and my own wounded pride.

Farewell, Cybertruck. I loved you. I was wrong about you. Forgive me.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of a remarkable creature.

The Tesla Cybertruck.

Born in 2023, taken from us far too soon. Elon Musk announced late Thursday night that production will end around the middle of next year, making way for the Cybercab.

Ashes to ashes. Rust to rust. Stainless steel to scrap.

I stand before you today with a heavy heart. For I knew the Cybertruck well. Indeed, I must confess something.

I loved it.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

In June 2022, I secretly placed a $100 deposit on this magnificent, angular beast. I devoured every photograph and video. When I finally saw one in person at Tesla's San Jose showroom, my heart skipped a beat.

My wife threatened divorce if I bought one. My daughters thought it was ridiculous. Friends recoiled in horror.

But love is blind, my brothers and sisters. And apparently shaped like a giant stainless-steel refrigerator.

I persevered. I defended the Cybertruck against the unbelievers. When sales surged in 2024, making it America's third-best-selling electric vehicle in one quarter, I covered it with gusto.

Hallelujah! The Cybertruck was rising!

Alas, pride goeth before destruction.

The warning signs were there. The price soared past $100,000. I canceled my reservation, choosing my children's college education over my automotive infatuation. Eventually, I bought a sensible Model 3.

Then came Musk's DOGE adventures. Public fury. Vandalism. Collapsing sales.

The Cybertruck, once destined to conquer America's pickup market, sold just 20,000 units last year. Tesla has shipped around 16,000 so far in 2026.

And now, the end.

Was I wrong about this vehicle's prospects? Yes, dear congregation. I was. I believed its extraordinary design would attract enough buyers to sustain a thriving business.

Instead, it became a spectacular commercial failure.

But as I stand here, wiping away a tear, I must ask myself: Am I mourning the Cybertruck? Or my own wounded pride?

Perhaps both.

Yet I refuse to repent entirely. The world needs dreamers willing to build something gloriously different, even when everyone else thinks they're mad.

The Cybertruck made me smile. It still does.

And that, surely, is worth something. Just not $100,000.

Rest in peace, my beautiful, ridiculous friend.

May your batteries forever be charged, your panels forever aligned, and your resale value forgiven.

Amen.

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