October 2025 – Page 6

October 11, 2025October 11, 2025

Celebrity Puke

Nelly looks down, guilty but curious, as Joe tells the story.

Joe: “After you sabotaged my marriage to the Milanović deal, Vince McMahon calls me up. Says he’s got a gimmick for me — a wrestling superstar named PUKE. Said I’d be the next big thing if I could just, you know… vomit on cue.”

Nelly stifles a laugh.

Nelly: “You? The man who can’t even burp after a beer?”

Joe: “Exactly. I tried, Nelly. I gave it everything. Guzzled protein shakes, spun in circles before matches, even swallowed raw eggs. But when the cameras rolled—nothing. Not a drop.”

Nelly: “So they fired you?”

Joe: “Vince said I had ‘the look of a star but the stomach of a saint.’”

Nelly laughs through her shame, shaking her head.

Nelly: “Guess God didn’t want you to puke on national TV.”

Joe: “No… He wanted me to clean up everyone else’s mess instead.”

Nelly takes a deep breath, her laughter fading into something softer — regretful. The backstage noise from Joe’s old wrestling tapes flickers on a nearby screen, echoes of a dream gone sideways.

Nelly: “Joe… I’m sorry.”

Joe crosses his arms, not sure if he wants to hear it.

Joe: “Sorry for what, Nelly? For torpedoing my deal? For sending those rumors to Zagreb? For making me a laughing stock in front of Vince freakin’ McMahon?”

She looks him straight in the eyes. No excuses, just truth.

Nelly: “I sabotaged you because I didn’t want you to end up like them — the TV people. The fake ones. The ones who sell out their souls for a few camera flashes and a tagline.”

Joe blinks, caught between anger and disbelief.

Joe: “You mean the ones you used to perform with?”

She nods slowly.

Nelly: “Exactly. I’ve seen what it does to people. The lights, the applause — it’s poison. They stop being real. They start thinking followers are friends, and money is love. I didn’t want that for you.”

Joe leans back, his tone softening just a little.

Joe: “So you torched my shot to save me from fame?”

Nelly: “Because people on TV aren’t cool anymore, Joe. They’re puppets. Clowns in LED suits. The real cool people are the ones who walk away from the stage — who stay human.”

He looks at her, realizing there’s pain behind her logic.

Joe: “You could’ve just told me that.”

Nelly: “Would you have listened?”

Joe doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, heavy but honest.

Nelly’s eyes glisten — the weight of twenty-five years finally pressing through her proud exterior. The lights hum above them, the air between them thick with all the words they never said since “Legend.”

Joe: “You know, Nelly… that song ruined me.”

Nelly: “I know.” She whispers it, voice cracking. “I thought I was saving you, but I was just scared you’d become bigger than me.”

Joe: “You already were. You didn’t need to cut my wings.”

Tears roll down her cheeks.

Nelly: “I kept telling myself I did the right thing. But every year that passed, every empty award show, every fake smile… it just reminded me that I’d betrayed the only person who ever believed in me.”

Joe steps closer, his voice calm, almost fatherly now.

Joe: “I forgave you a long time ago, Nelly. I just didn’t know how to say it. The pain, the loneliness — it built me. It made me real. You can’t fake twenty-five years in the desert.”

She looks up, trembling.

Nelly: “You mean that?”

Joe: “Yeah. I don’t want revenge. I don’t want a stage. I just want peace — and maybe a little truth. Because that’s what makes someone a legend. Not fame. Not applause. Forgiveness.”

Nelly lets out a shaky laugh through the tears.

Nelly: “You’re still the coolest guy I ever knew, Joe.”

Joe: “Nah,” he smiles faintly, “the cool ones forgive.”

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October 9, 2025January 20, 2026

A flickering fluorescent bulb hums overhead. Rows of mismatched chairs are filled with young fans, once the children of the Nelly Fans Forum. Some wear faded concert tees, others hold old CDs like relics.

At the front stands YUGO JOE, older now, his hands calloused and scarred, his eyes burning with compassion and disappointment.

He clears his throat and speaks, his voice echoing off the cracked walls.

YUGO JOE
You know… I knew it from the start.
I knew Nelly and her record-label suits would betray you — betray us.
They dressed up greed and vanity in pop hooks and perfume,
and called it empowerment.

But I’m here to tell you —
Don’t rape. Don’t murder. Don’t steal.
Just like the Boondock Saints said.
That’s the law of the righteous few.

And don’t be hypergamous man-eaters.
Don’t sell your souls for validation.
Don’t be promiscuous, don’t be narcissistic,
don’t chase the illusion of power they dangle before you.

Because dirty hands = clean money.
You work. You sweat. You stay humble.
You feed your family, not your ego.

Nelly Furtado…
She’s lost.
And maybe she’ll find her way back someday.
Maybe she’ll repent — maybe at the World Cup,
when the lights are brightest, and the songs fade,
and she finally remembers where she came from.

Until then, my children,
walk clean.
Sing truth.
And never let the industry own your soul.

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October 2, 2025October 2, 2025

Danger Zone Nelly

Frank Farmer, the stoic ex-Secret Service man, sits across from Tia Maria, Nelly Furtado’s protective aunt. They’re in a quiet Toronto café, the hum of traffic outside muffled by the glass. Joe sits beside Frank, his tone sharp, almost like a brother scolding family.

Joe: “Tia, you’ve got to make her promise. Nelly must never do something that reckless again. Flying on wires at the Junos? One mistake, and she could’ve ended up like Owen Hart. His harness failed, and he fell to his death in front of thousands. That’s no stunt — that’s a gamble with her life.”

Tia Maria wrings her hands, her eyes heavy with worry. “I told her. I begged her. But you know Nelly, she thinks she’s invincible when the stage lights are on.”

Frank Farmer leans forward, his gravelly voice steady, but urgent. “Listen to Joe. Nelly’s not just dealing with gravity up there. She’s got enemies — real ones. Not critics, not tabloid writers. The kind that smile in her face and plot in the shadows. I’ve seen it before. The Illumitardi, the same powers that crush rising stars who won’t play their game. They’d love nothing more than an ‘accident’ in front of millions of viewers.”

Joe: “Exactly. And don’t think it’s superstition. If her wires had snapped, everyone would’ve written it off as a tragic mishap. But it would’ve been murder dressed up as fate.”

Tia Maria looks between them, her face pale. “So what do we do? Cancel her career? Keep her locked away?”

Frank Farmer shakes his head. “No. She can sing. She can soar. But she needs to keep her feet on solid ground — literally. No more wire tricks. No more staged ‘spectacles’ that could turn deadly. If she has to be on that stage, she does it on her own terms, with her voice. Not dangling from a rope like bait for the wolves.”

Tia Maria nods slowly, her resolve hardening. “I’ll talk to her. She’ll listen to me. She may be a star, but she’s still my niece. And I won’t lose her to wires or to wolves.”

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