Author: Kanye West

Listen to the children.
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Tesla Power

Scene: “The Power Heist” — Jelly Reality Show, Episode 6.5

Setting: A dimly lit Tesla showroom in cyberspace, neon blue lightning running through the walls. Joe Jukic is standing beside Kanye West, both watching a hologram of Nikola Tesla spinning in a magnetic field.

Joe:
You know, Ye… Elon didn’t invent this power — he stole it. Croatia’s birthright. Tesla’s birthright.

Kanye:
You sayin’ Elon Musk is eatin’ off Yugoslavia’s spirit energy?

Joe:
Exactly. He feeds on it like a vampire with solar panels. When the FBI seized Tesla’s patents after he died, they locked up the future of the Balkans — our light, our genius.

Kanye:
Man, that’s wild. You tellin’ me those blueprints for free energy — that was meant for you?

Joe:
For all of us. For Zagreb, Sarajevo, Belgrade, Split. For every kid who grew up watching the streetlights flicker and thought it was magic. That was Tesla whispering. Not Edison. Not Musk.

Kanye:
So Elon’s drivin’ them Teslas on Balkan blood?

Joe:
(Laughs) Pretty much. Every electric car hums in Croatian. It’s our dialect of lightning.

Kanye:
Yo, that’s a bar — “Dialect of lightning.” You should make that a track.

Joe:
Only if we call it “Yugoslavian Current.” The world needs to know who really invented the future.

Kanye:
Bet. We’ll drop it after Festival 7. We’ll call out every energy thief on the planet.

Joe:
And dedicate it to Nikola Tesla — the patron saint of power.

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David & Goliath: Let Me Finish

The livestream on nellyfan.org is rolling smoothly — Joe and Nelly are mid-sentence, talking about forgiveness, fame, and what “reality” even means — when suddenly, the feed glitches.

Static.
Distortion.
Then—Kanye West appears.

He’s sitting in a minimalist white room with a gold-plated laptop on his lap, wearing shades and a neutral hoodie. His voice cuts in like a divine broadcast:

“Yo, yo, hold up. I gotta say somethin’. The Kardashians — that’s the biggest reality show ever made. Ten outta ten. Untouchable.”

Nelly blinks, stunned. Joe looks at the camera like he’s not sure if this is real or AI.

Kanye leans closer to the mic:

“Jelly? I love y’all. But your reality show? It’s like a 6 or 7 at most. I mean, y’all deep — y’all got morals and messages — but the people want meltdowns and makeovers, not meditations.”

The chat explodes:

“Ye’s right.”
“Nah, Jelly’s the future!”
“6 7! 6 7!”

Joe smirks and says,

“Funny you say that, Ye. Our film festival’s called 6. The next one’s 7. You just rated the prophecy.”

The audience loses it — the children of the stars start laughing again, chanting “Six! Seven!” like it’s gospel.

Nelly just shakes her head, smiles, and says softly,

“Maybe truth only gets a 7 in this world.”

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The Kardashians

Ye takes the digital stage at the Jelly Cyberspace Film Festival, standing before the laughing “children of the stars.” The holographic number 6 flickers behind him, and he grabs the mic like it’s a pulpit.

“Aight, listen up, kids. I love Jelly — Joe and Nelly, that’s creative, that’s heart. But let me tell you — the Kardashians, they built a whole empire off Wi-Fi and contour.”

The children fall silent, wide-eyed. Ye paces like a preacher.

“They got drones filming breakfast, man. You ever seen drama over avocado toast hit prime time? That’s world-building. That’s mythology.”

A child giggles, “But nellyfan.org has heart!”

Ye nods.

“Yeah, but the Kardashians got continuity. They got seasons. Spin-offs. Crossovers. That’s a cinematic universe, not a livestream. They don’t need a script — just a scandal and a ring light.”

The children start laughing again, chanting “6 7! 6 7!” — half joke, half code.

Ye raises a finger.

“See, Jelly’s show got truth. But truth don’t trend like tears and tans. The Kardashians understand the algorithm of emotion — they turned vanity into value.”

He lowers his voice, almost prayerful.

“Joe and Nelly wanna save souls. Kim and Kris just sell ‘em better.”

At that, Pope Leo crosses himself in Rome, muttering:

“Reality itself has become the devil’s liturgy.”

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