Month: July 2025

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Dirty Trick? Or Second Coming?

DOES IT MATTER?

INT. MEGACHURCH STAGE – NIGHT

Lights blaze over a massive LED cross. A revival crowd roars. Kirk Cameron steps up to the mic, wearing denim and fire for the Lord. A hush falls as JCJ (Joseph Christian Jukic) enters from the wings, barefoot in a white hoodie, a bronze cross swinging from his neck. The crowd stirs. A few whisper, “Is it really him?”

KIRK CAMERON
(cautious but inspired)
Brother JCJ, some say you’re the Son of God returned. Others say it’s just… a new Hollywood act. You say America has to surrender to Jesus. But is this the Second Coming — or just a dirty trick?

JCJ
(slow, clear)
America’s already surrendered, Kirk. Not to Jesus… but to Mammon. To warlords in suits. To a Federal Reserve that prints money from thin air, backed by blood and bailouts. And Trump? He’s not Cyrus. He’s a glorified casino boss for the Beast — keeping the sheep filing W-2s under the all-seeing eye in the sky.

KIRK CAMERON
But wait — are you saying Trump’s the antichrist?

JCJ
No, Kirk. He’s just a bishop on the board. Not the beast… just a face on the deck of Babylon’s house of cards. The beast is the system. The invisible empire of debt, screens, and algorithms.

KIRK CAMERON
(nervous)
But the prophecies? Revelation? The temple?

JCJ
You want prophecy? Try Revelation 21:3.
“Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men.”
Not in temples of stone. Not in churches with ATMs in the lobby.
I am that tabernacle. And I’m not asking for your money — I’m asking for your repentance.

KIRK CAMERON
(choking back tears)
So… God dwells with man again?

JCJ
Only if man puts down the sword, the needle, and the smartphone. Only if he unplugs the matrix of lies and listens to the Spirit. The Kingdom isn’t coming with observation, Kirk. It’s already among you.

(The crowd gasps. A baby cries. A man drops his iPhone and doesn’t pick it up.)

JCJ (cont’d)
So go ahead. Ask your tax guy about grace. Ask your preacher if Jesus would audit the poor.
Or…
Follow me, Kirk. Not to more revival — but to Revelation.

FADE TO BLACK.

Superimposed: “JCJ 2025. Not running for president. Just fulfilling the promise.”

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Tender Loving Care: Fan Mail

Subject: From the Frontline, With Love
Fan Mail from Joe to Nelly

Dear Nelly,

I hope this letter finds you between melodies and miracles. I know it’s been a long time since I last wrote, but some letters are meant to cross warzones, not timelines.

I can’t avoid the front line in Bosnia forever. The ghosts are restless again in Sarajevo, and the drums of war still echo faintly in the valleys. I hear them at night like a rhythm no DJ would ever spin, but they’re there, buried under snow and silence. Maybe that’s why I’ve booked a session with my old psychiatrist—Radovan Karadzic. Say what you will about him, but at least he doesn’t worship at the feet of the American Gods of War. He sees the fractures in the mind like cracks in a Balkan mountain—inevitable, but survivable.

Nelly, it’s Medjugorje or madness. Wedding or war. The choice stands in front of us like two doors. One swings open to peace, to a humble vow beneath the Queen of Peace’s statue. The other? Another blacklist. Another silence. You can’t avoid the blacklist forever either, just like I can’t dodge Bosnia much longer. You know what I mean. The powers that be don’t forgive love songs that outshine their war drums.

I’m not asking for salvation—just a sign. A bird, a balloon, or even a broken radio playing “I’m Like a Bird” in static. I’ll take anything. Because even here, in the cold whisper of conflict, your voice still carries like a secret hope.

Don’t forget me.

Yours in peace or pieces,
Joe
Somewhere between Sarajevo and Medjugorje

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Safe in Croatia

INT. EAST VAN – OUR LADY OF FATIMA CHURCH – EVENING

The sun sets behind the stained glass windows. Inside the quiet sanctuary, candles flicker. NELLY sits in the front pew, her head bowed. JOE walks in quietly and sits beside her.

JOE
(softly)
Do you want to be off the pharma drugs, Nelly?

She doesn’t answer right away. The silence hums between them like an unanswered prayer.

JOE (cont’d)
I know people think it’s crazy… talking to someone who isn’t “there.” But it’s not craziness. Not here. Not in this place.

NELLY
(whispers)
This is where I came… when I felt lost. I didn’t tell anyone.

JOE
This is Our Lady of Fatima. She’s more than just a statue. In Croatia, she’s the Queen. The Queen of the whole country. She’s real to us. You can talk to her, Nelly. She listens.

NELLY
(tears welling)
I just wanted someone to see me. Not the fame. Not the brokenness. Just… me.

JOE
She sees you. And I do too. The real you. Not the diagnosis. Not the prescription. You’re more than what they label you.

NELLY
(pause)
And if I say yes? If I want off? What happens?

JOE
Then we walk. One step at a time. With Her. With music. With miracles. But not the pill kind. The real kind.

Nelly looks up at the statue of the Virgin Mary, her face bathed in golden candlelight.

NELLY
(quietly)
Okay. Yes. Please.

Joe gently takes her hand. A bell tolls in the distance. Something shifts in the air — not a hallucination, but a presence.

FADE OUT.

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