The Malibu Messiah

Scene: Some random dude at a packed party casually offers Charlie Sheen a jar of Crisco. The room goes quiet for half a second… then Charlie explodes.

Charlie snatches the tub like it’s the Ark of the Covenant, eyes bulging, tiger blood on full blast.

Charlie Sheen (completely unhinged, voice raw and manic): “CRISCO?! You just handed me the elixir of the gods, you beautiful bastard! This isn’t cooking grease — this is pure concentrated winning! Roman emperors bathed in this! I’m talking full-body anointing, baby!

I’m gonna lather up, streak through downtown Vancouver, and the helicopters won’t be chasing me… they’ll be escorting the new messiah! Adonis DNA meets Crisco — we’re talking immortality, people!

This is the key! This is the portal! Two and a half men? Try two and a half gallons of slippery salvation!

I’M THE WARLOCK! I’M THE TIGER! I’M—”

The crowd (loud, overlapping, half-amused, half-annoyed): “You are not the messiah.”

Charlie freezes mid-rant, Crisco already smeared across his forehead like war paint. He slowly turns to the crowd, grinning like a lunatic.

Charlie Sheen (even louder, doubling down): “NOT the messiah?! Wrong! I am the messiah of this greasy gospel! Watch me turn this Crisco into water… or better yet, into victory oil!

You’re all just jealous because you don’t have the glands for it!”

He scoops out a massive handful and starts rubbing it on his chest like it’s holy oil.

The crowd (louder, more rhythmic, clearly trolling him now): “You are not the messiah… You are not the messiah…”

Charlie Sheen (screaming over them, arms flailing, Crisco flying everywhere): “I AM THE MESSIAH OF CRISCO! I AM THE CHOSEN ONE OF SLICK! DENY ME ALL YOU WANT — THE TIGER BLOOD KNOWS THE TRUTH!

Vancouver’s about to get baptized… in shortening!”

He pops the lid fully off, holds the jar high like a trophy, and starts charging through the crowd while the entire room chants louder:

Crowd (chanting in unison, laughing): “You are not the messiah! You are not the messiah!”

Charlie just cackles wildly, covered in Crisco, yelling back:

Charlie: “Keep chanting, peasants! The messiah doesn’t need your approval… he just needs more Crisco!”

What do you think of this post?
  • Awesome (0)
  • Interesting (0)
  • Useful (0)
  • Boring (0)
  • Sucks (0)

The Cult of Blake Shelton

Vatican Gardens, late evening. The wind moves softly through the cypress trees. Pope Pius XIII—known to the world as Lenny Belardo—walks slowly with Sister Mary. In the distance, the city of Rome hums like a restless congregation.


PIUS XIII (The Young Pope):

Sister… I have been studying America again. A strange nation—half cathedral, half carnival.

There is a man there… a preacher in the clothing of a singer.
An American idol judge.

Blake Shelton.

He sings to the people that the end is coming… and that a country boy can survive.

A curious gospel.

SISTER MARY:
Holy Father, perhaps he means resilience.

PIUS XIII:
Yes… but I wonder, Sister—who exactly survives?

The farmer with the rifle?
The man with canned beans buried in the yard?

And what of the city dwellers… the taxi drivers, the janitors, the immigrants, the forgotten multitudes? Are they to perish simply because they do not own a pickup truck?

Christianity is not a survivalist cult.
Christ did not say: Blessed are those with bunkers.

He said: Blessed are the meek.


The Pope stops walking and looks toward the fountain.

PIUS XIII:

They say the Mississippi River is choking with fertilizer… suffocating in algae.

Dead zones.

But tell me, Sister—are the prophets of doom repairing the river?
Or merely predicting the apocalypse while selling concert tickets?

England once had a river so polluted that fish abandoned it for generations.

The River Thames.

Dead for seventy-five years… and then resurrected by engineers, scientists, and stubborn hope.

So you see… the end of the world is often simply the beginning of responsibility.


SISTER MARY:
You sound disappointed in this singer.

PIUS XIII:
Not disappointed. Merely suspicious of men who preach survival but not salvation.

And there is another matter.

The woman he loves…

Gwen Stefani.

A luminous woman.

I fear she may be making a mistake with this judge of survival.


Sister Mary raises an eyebrow.

SISTER MARY:
Holy Father… you are recommending romantic alternatives now?

PIUS XIII (smirking):

Why not? Even the Pope can observe the crowd.

Perhaps she should choose a different man.

Someone from among the people.

Someone unexpected.

Someone like…

Niko Bellic.

A sinner who knows he is a sinner.

Such men are often safer than prophets who believe they are saviors.


SISTER MARY:
Holy Father… are you saying women should abandon men who think they are messiahs?

PIUS XIII:

Exactly.

The greatest danger in the human heart is the messiah complex—especially in men who believe they alone can survive the apocalypse.

So I propose a theological reform.

One mulligan.

Like in golf.

Every woman may have one free divorce in apocalyptic times.

Because if the world is ending, Sister…
we should at least allow humanity the dignity of correcting one terrible romantic mistake.


The Pope turns back toward the Vatican lights.

PIUS XIII (quietly):

After all…
salvation was never meant only for country boys.

Even the city slickers deserve a chance to survive.

What do you think of this post?
  • Awesome (0)
  • Interesting (0)
  • Useful (0)
  • Boring (0)
  • Sucks (0)

Healing the Scars

Scene: A quiet hospital office late at night. Rain taps against the window. President Kutcher sits across from Dr. Luka Kovač.

President Kutcher:
You ever see scars like this, Doc? Not the ones on the skin… the ones on the timeline. Every time you try to fix something, it leaves another mark.

Dr. Kovač:
In war I saw many scars. Sarajevo, Vukovar… people think scars mean the wound failed to heal. That isn’t true. A scar means the body survived.

President Kutcher:
Hollywood sells the fantasy that you can go back and make everything perfect. That’s what The Butterfly Effect was about. Change one thing… save everyone.

Dr. Kovač:
But life is not a film script. You cannot erase pain. Only transform it.

President Kutcher:
So how do you heal something like that?

Dr. Kovač:
First—you stop reopening the wound. Second—you clean it with truth. And third—you give it time. Even the deepest scars fade when the body is allowed to heal.

President Kutcher:
Truth, huh? That might be the rarest medicine in Hollywood.

Dr. Kovač:
Maybe. But it is still the only cure I know.

What do you think of this post?
  • Awesome (0)
  • Interesting (0)
  • Useful (0)
  • Boring (0)
  • Sucks (0)