We gather to bid farewell to the Tesla Cybertruck, here for a good time but not a long time. In the wake of low sales and political mayhem, Cybertruck has crossed the great divide and gone up yonder through the pearly gates. In 2027, he will pass into Car Heaven to frolic in the company of the Pontiac Aztek, the AMC Gremlin, the Chrysler PT Cruiser and, of course, the Yugo.

Gone but never forgotten! No matter how much people may try!

Cybertruck came rolling into the world in 2019, a pre-COVID era no one can accurately describe. Historians have said the economy was more robust then, that cotton candy tumbled through the streets, that strawberry ice cream rained from the sky and that consumers had more disposable income to spend on experimental trucks shaped like crushed Diet Coke cans.

Cybertruck's father was a controversial South African businessman named Elon Musk, the former senior adviser to President Donald Trump, a fan of chainsaws, procreation and lighting incredible sums of money on fire. Cybertruck had a complicated relationship with his father and regretted his association with a parent he didn't choose.

Cybertruck yearned to become his own brand of proprietary alloy shipping container. He could have been anything. He could have been a steel still for a hot batch of kettle corn at a Sunday craft market. He could have been a mash tun at a really fun brewery with dog adoptions. He could have been a cold plunge tank for Hyrox athletes.

He rued his association with oafish megalomania, with ripping food and medicine from the mouths of malnourished, third-world children. He didn't ask to be a revolving emblem of one of the coldest, most callous periods in American history. He didn't want to get wrapped in all that iridescent green PVC. When drivers would tool him around the Costco parking lot, loading surpluses of Monster energy drinks into his bed, he could be heard whispering, "I am so sorry."

His ties to technonationalism plus a host of reported mechanical problems led to sluggish sales, mass vandalization in ostensibly friendly places such as Florida and mockery all over the world. Cybertruck felt the bad press outshone his meager accomplishments. While he may not have been everyone's cup of kratom-infused tea, at least he was different. At least he didn't look like a kidney bean on wheels like every other crossover SUV since 2006. At least he was electric in a world addicted to guzzling gas. At least he had flair, albeit the flair of a VH1 reality show. At least he tried, OK?

Cybertruck was a car of the people, never met a stranger, lit up a room. Specifically, he lit up rooms full of fans of 1982's "Tron" starring Jeff Bridges and Bruce Boxleitner. He lit up rooms of young venture capitalists who owned vape cartridge businesses. He lit up rooms of purveyors of luxury vinyl plank flooring with zero qualms about taking up two precious parallel parking spaces a bustling Saturday night. These are very specific rooms, but we assure you, he lit them up.

Cybertruck is survived by at least 14 known human siblings and a host of close friends: Stainless Steel Dishwasher; Chili's Walk-In Cooler, Portable On-Demand Storage Unit and Public Bathroom Tampon Dispenser. In lieu of flowers, please send donations to any foundations that support the liberation of his new baby sister, the Tesla Cybercab.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: Somalia Veteran at Unsplash