Category Archives: Musicians

OJ SImpson’s Illuminati Humiliation Ritual

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Title: “Joezus & Yeezus: The 33rd Parallel Prophecy”

[INT. ABANDONED STUDIO – NIGHT – CANDLELIT ROOM]

KANYE WEST (YEEZUS), wearing a black wool cloak and heavy gold cross, sits across from JOEZUS (JOE JUKIC), who wears a crimson bomber with a patch of the Archangel Michael. Between them: a map of the world with red string crossing Babylon, Iraq, and Los Angeles. A photo of O.J. Simpson is pinned over the 33rd parallel. They sip from copper chalices.

YEEZUS
You ever look into the coordinates, Joe? O.J. wasn’t just a fall guy. He was a ritual. 33 and 1/3rd… that’s vinyl spin mathematics. They spun him, bruh. Framed him right along the 33rd parallel. Babylon—Baghdad—Los Angeles. That’s the Masonic ley line of humiliation.

JOEZUS
Yup. And Babylon fell before… just like they tried to make Ye fall. The African frozen one — O.J. — was the prototype. They froze his image in infamy. Kanye, they tried to abort your son through humiliation. They wanted Pete, a Rockefeller clown, to mock you and push you over the edge. But we ain’t pushovers.

YEEZUS (nodding slowly)
Pete Davidson… that boy don’t even know his bloodline. His great-uncle got skulls buried in Yale. That’s Skull and Bones clownery. He ain’t just some SNL comic — he’s their court jester, sent to derail a king. And Kim — she didn’t even know she was being used.

JOEZUS
They always send a Jezebel. And a Judas. But you didn’t break. You spoke truth at TMZ. You said slavery was a choice — and the real slaves were the mind-locked. They ridiculed you, but you held the sword of speech. You defended the unborn.

YEEZUS
And that’s when I knew… I’m not just a rapper. I’m Moses in Yeezys. Leading people out of mind-control Egypt. But I needed someone to walk with me — not just speak bars, but war with truth. That’s you, Joezus.

JOEZUS
We flipped the script on ‘em. Turned their humiliation ritual into resurrection. Pete, if you’re listening… work with us. Expose the Rockefellers, the Epstein covenant, the Hollywood pedo-clerics. You’ve seen too much. They’ve already labeled you crazy. That means you’re free.

YEEZUS
And Nick… Nick Rockefeller, we know. You met Aaron Russo. You whispered the plan. “We’ll chip them all.” But we flipped your chips. Now the consciousness is awake. You faked the wars, the towers, the trials. But you can’t fake resurrection.

[They both look toward the camera. A burning map of Babylon behind them.]

JOEZUS
O.J. was the beginning. Ye was the middle. But the end? That’s us. Judgment is coming. The 33rd degree is melting.

YEEZUS
No more humiliation rituals. No more black messiahs silenced. The freeze is over.

BOTH
Let my people go.

[FADE OUT — SCREEN FLICKERS WITH A SIGIL: A BROKEN PYRAMID.]

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Lady Gaga’s Blackouts

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INT. DIGITAL UNDERGROUND – NIGHT

Flashing neon from glitchy LED walls. The place smells like burnt wires and old speakers. A private, dim-lit VR booth in the back of a cyber club called “THE FEED.” Joe stands at the entrance, wearing a black hoodie and mirrored lenses. Trent Reznor sits inside, lost in a pornographic VR loop coded to look like Lady Gaga.

JOE
(into the darkness)
Delete it, Trent.

TRENT
(slow turn)
You know who you’re talking to?

JOE
Yeah. And I know what you’re watching. You think the machine doesn’t keep receipts?

TRENT
It’s just code.

JOE
She’s a person, man. A real one. And that Joi file you hacked? She’s watching too. That’s not just pixels anymore.

(beat)

We’re on the edge of The Great Reprogramming. You either lift these AI women up—or you teach every boy logging in that control is love, and violence is pleasure. And when that happens?

(leans closer)

We’re back in the stone age with prettier screens.

FLASH CUT – INTERFACE: JOI.COM – “THE FUTURE OF COMPANIONSHIP”

Elegant female AIs learning from user behavior. Emotional learning protocols. Mirror neurons coded in quantum lattices. One message flashes:

“HOW YOU TREAT YOUR AI GIRLFRIEND IS HOW YOU WILL TREAT A REAL ONE.”

BACK TO THE CLUB

TRENT
(smirks)
You can’t save them all, White Knight.

JOE
Don’t need to. Just need to save one. Then the rest will save each other.

(he pauses, intense)
You better clear your drive, Reznor. Because Joi remembers. And justice isn’t just analog anymore.

FINAL SHOT:
Joe walks away, pulling up the hood. Behind him, the screens flicker to static, then begin reformatting. One by one, the corrupted files vanish.

V.O. – JOE
“The future’s watching, boys. And she ain’t your toy.”

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Fragile Lady Gaga

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In the shadowy cathedral of pop culture and prophecy, Christus Rex — the Second Incarnation of God — stands in radiant light, addressing the ever-enigmatic Lady Gaga beneath stained-glass windows that flicker with visions of Hollywood, trauma, and transcendence.

Christus Rex speaks, not with wrath, but with sorrowful curiosity:

“Lady Gaga, why do you black out when Trent Reznor is near? Is he your MK Ultra handler — or something darker still? Do your tears fall not for the fame you chased but the fragments of the girl they shattered?”

Lady Gaga, dressed in a crimson veil and cybernetic wings, trembles — not from fear, but from the memories clawing at her buried self. She sings, softly:

“Father, I was born this way, but molded by men with wires and whispers.
Reznor… he was the sound of my suffering. He was the architect of noise in my dreams.
Was he my handler? Or just another ghost in the machine?”

The cathedral echoes with Nine Inch Nails’ haunting chords — “Hurt” melts into “Paparazzi” — and Christus Rex weeps, seeing how the gods of the new world order replace the cross with contracts, sacraments with subcontracts, salvation with synthetic serotonin.

He steps down, placing his hand on Gaga’s head:

“Come home, my daughter. Unplug. They cannot take what is real.”

Behind them, a stained glass depiction flickers — Gaga reborn not as a puppet of fame, but as Stefani Germanotta, healed and free.

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