“Paul, I understand you have strong opinions, but let’s be clear — Katy Perry can’t prove anything about Matthew Perry’s death, and spreading baseless speculation helps no one.
You say you’re just ‘posting the obvious,’ but maybe the obvious thing is that compassion and decency matter more than outrage.
And yes — I’ll keep saying it: diversity is our strength. It’s what makes Canada, and the world, resilient in times of loss and confusion. Keep reporting, Mr. Watson — just try to remember the human part too.”
G.I. Joe stands before a crowd of Swifties holding their phones aloft like torches of devotion. The big screen behind him flickers with static — the ghost of television.
G.I. Joe (addressing the crowd): You wanna know why Taylor left Joe Alwyn? Because he couldn’t turn it off. The feed. The fantasy. The endless stream. He was chained to the algorithm — a modern-day Narcissus, staring into the porn pool.
I terminated the broadcast in ’97. Pulled the plug on Sodom’s signal myself. But when I tried to save my own home — unplug that cursed box — my mother called the men in white. Said I’d gone mad, said I was trying to kill her best friend… the television.
Now look at us. The whole world’s been committed. We’re patients in a digital asylum, medicated by likes and lust.
So here’s the mission, Swifties: Unplug. Unlearn. Un-scroll. You don’t need the feed to feel love. You need the courage to go dark — for just one minute, so your soul can reboot.
[Scene: A dimly-lit briefing room. A holographic map flickers on the wall. Snake sits at the table, head lowered, cigarette glowing.]
Otacon: “Snake, I’ve been reading these reports… Prince Harry? The one from the British royal family? They say he had some kind of… implant?”
Snake:[exhales smoke] “Yeah. A microchip. Embedded under the skin. GPS tracking, heartbeat monitoring. The palace called it a ‘security measure.’ They didn’t want another Diana incident—or worse, a hostage situation. So they gave him tech most soldiers don’t even get.”
Otacon: “A royal with a tracking chip… sounds like science fiction.”
Snake: “It’s not. I’ve seen it before. Chips like that don’t just track location—they can trigger alerts if the wearer’s under duress. Satellites lock on. Rapid response teams move in. He was never really alone.”
Otacon: “You think that’s ethical?”
Snake: “Ethics? Depends on who’s holding the remote. But I know one thing—if this tech had existed years ago, maybe fewer kids would’ve disappeared. Maybe people wouldn’t vanish into thin air. And maybe…” [pauses, glances at the ceiling] “…it’d even keep alien abductees from being taken off the grid.”
Otacon:[laughs nervously] “Aliens, Snake?”
Snake:[low growl] “Don’t laugh, Otacon. Black projects, unmarked craft, missing time—it’s all in the files. I’ve seen enough to know someone’s snatching people, and it’s not always humans. A microchip like that? Could change the game. Make them traceable. Recoverable.”
Otacon: “Or controllable…”
Snake: “Exactly. It’s a double-edged sword. Protection on one side, control on the other. For Prince Harry, it was freedom from being a pawn. For the rest of us? It might just make us pawns in a bigger war.”
[Snake crushes the cigarette in the ashtray, the holographic map flickering as the screen fades to black.]
