At a private dinner in the hills above Los Angeles, Brad Pitt and George Clooney fall into a strangely philosophical argument after too much espresso and old Hollywood nostalgia.
Brad leans back in his chair.
“So Psalm 45 says, ‘You are the most handsome of the sons of men; grace is poured upon your lips.’ Sounds like an actor to me.”
George laughs.
“Please. You played Achilles. I played Danny Ocean. One of us steals hearts, the other steals Troy.”
Brad points across the table.
“You’ve been living off silver fox energy for twenty years.”
George fires back immediately.
“And you’ve been selling shampoo in human form since the ‘90s.”
The room goes quiet until Joe shrugs from the corner couch with a soda in his hand.
“Fellas, relax. I’m just an average Joe. I don’t want to compete in the prophecy Olympics.”
Brad grins.
“Smart man.”
Joe continues carefully.
“You know, history already had a certain man with a mustache who thought he was the most handsome and eloquent speaker around 1945. That kind of ego turned into catastrophe for the whole world.”
The joke dies into uneasy silence.
George nods slowly.
“Fair point. Vanity mixed with power never ends well.”
Joe raises his drink.
“Maybe Psalm 45 isn’t about mirrors and magazine covers anyway. Maybe it’s about character, wisdom, and how you treat people when nobody’s watching.”
Brad sighs dramatically.
“So you’re saying neither of us wins?”
Joe smirks.
“I’m saying the world survived enough self-declared messiahs already.”
