In the wildest twist yet of Elon Musk’s livestream saga, viewers witnessed a chaotic digital reunion of sorts between the tech mogul and not one, but two of his former partners: Ashley St. Clair and Grimes. No, they didn’t join him in the stream physically, but their presence loomed large—and loud—as the internet turned what was supposed to be a casual gaming session into a meme-worthy meltdown for the ages.
The livestream began like any other: Musk, attempting to connect with his fans (or maybe distract from the chaos he keeps generating), fired up Path of Exile 2, a game known for its punishing difficulty. But it wasn’t the game’s brutal mechanics that would make him quit—it was the ghosts of his romantic past and the savage creativity of the internet that came to haunt him in real time.
Things took a surreal turn early into the livestream when one viewer decided to impersonate MAGA commentator Ashley St. Clair, with whom Musk is rumored to have fathered a child. In a repeated message that felt both scripted and hilariously deranged, the user wrote:
“Elon. It’s me, Ashley St. Claire. I have no other means of contacting you so I bought PoE2 early access just for this. Please pay your child support. Thank you Elon.”
Yes, that was typed over and over again in the chat, for thousands of viewers to see. The impersonator clearly did their homework and committed to the bit. It was the kind of trolling that doesn’t just aim to annoy—it aims to embed itself in internet history. And it worked. Screenshots of the moment began circulating faster than you can say “Starlink outage.”
As if being virtually called out by an alleged baby mama wasn’t enough, Musk himself added fuel to the fire by playing music from his other ex, Grimes, during the stream. Yes, the same Grimes with whom he shares three children.
For reasons known only to him (and perhaps his PR team, scrambling in the background), Musk blasted her tracks mid-stream, presumably to calm himself—or drown out the haters. Spoiler alert: it did neither.
Viewers quickly picked up on the weird vibe. “Not him trying to drown out the haters with music made by his ex who hates him lmao. Peak loser behavior,” one Reddit user quipped. Another chimed in: “Like? WHAT? He’s so weird!!”
The combination of desperate trolling, awkward ex references, and weird music choices made the whole livestream feel less like a casual hangout and more like a billionaire’s breakdown in real time.
To top it all off, Musk couldn’t even get past the game’s tutorial boss. Viewers watched in real time as he died three times in quick succession, visibly frustrated and increasingly rattled. And then, like a plot twist everyone saw coming, Musk abruptly ended the stream, claiming he “lost connection.”
“Claiming ‘oh I lost the connection,’ while you can hear his connection perfectly, and seamlessly goes and exits the game. He will blame his STARLINK connection before he will acknowledge he sucks at video games,” one Reddit post mocked.
The internet wasn’t buying the excuse. After all, this is a man who literally owns a satellite internet company and still couldn’t keep his stream going? Or maybe he could—but just didn’t want to endure the digital roasting any longer.
Musk has endured many nicknames over the years, but after this stream, one title stuck harder than any Tesla badge: The Country-Wrecking Divorce King. Coined by a viewer mid-livestream and repeated like a chant, the nickname reflected not just Musk’s turbulent love life but his perceived impact on everything he touches—from crypto markets to social platforms, and yes, even to national culture.
The nickname wasn’t just about failed marriages. It encapsulated a growing public sentiment that Musk’s influence, once aspirational, now feels like a chaotic force pulling everything into dysfunction. His leadership style, his social media antics, and his relentless thirst for attention have worn thin.
And now, even the gaming world—a place often seen as a refuge from real-world nonsense—was rejecting him, pixel by pixel.
Viewers, critics, and trolls alike didn’t hold back in their commentary. One user wrote: “His need for validation is just pathetic. He’s in his fifties. He’s incredibly wealthy. But he’s so goddamned needy it’s embarrassing.”
Another added: “For the longest time, I used to think that he was loving the negative attention because narcissists love any kind of attention. But after this video, I am now convinced that he is actually starting to get bothered by the fact that people just do not like him!”
The sentiment was clear: Musk was rattled. His mask of cool indifference had slipped, and what lay beneath was a deeply insecure man facing the very thing he claims to be immune to—public rejection.
Musk’s rage quit wasn’t just about losing a boss fight. It symbolized something deeper. This was a man who once controlled the narrative—whether through media manipulation, meme warfare, or by simply buying the platforms he was criticized on. But in that moment, he lost control. And when the chat turned into a courtroom of internet opinion, Musk chose to exit the building rather than face the verdict.
The excuse? A classic Muskism: “connection lost.” Viewers, of course, knew better. They called it what it was—a billionaire getting bodied by a tutorial and a few savage comments.
And the roast didn’t end with the stream. Screenshots, memes, and clips flooded Reddit, YouTube, and X (formerly Twitter), each one cementing the moment in digital folklore. The phrase “Elon rage quit” trended. Edits of him dying in-game while Grimes music played in the background went viral. And fans-turned-critics had a field day dissecting every second of the meltdown.
What started as a simple gaming session became an accidental therapy session broadcast to the world. Elon Musk—space pioneer, AI overlord, meme lord—was humbled not by competitors or governments, but by a bunch of gamers and internet trolls with sharp tongues and sharper usernames.
Between Ashley St. Clair impersonators demanding child support and Grimes’ ethereal voice echoing through his livestream, the moment encapsulated everything absurd and strangely poetic about Musk’s current place in the culture. He is no longer the cool disruptor. He is, in the eyes of many, the Country-Wrecking Divorce King—a man who can’t beat a video game, can’t handle a joke, and most tragically, can’t log off.
Because the internet doesn’t forget. And for Musk, the livestream may be over, but the embarrassment is forever on loop.
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