Breathless Narcissistic Supply

Solid Snake leans against a rain-slicked wall in the shadows of a half-demolished XCOM outpost, a cigar smoldering in his hand. Plasma scorch marks still sizzle on the concrete. His voice is gravel, but his mind’s razor-sharp.

“I didn’t sign up for XCOM. Not officially.
They just… called me in when things got ugly.
Sectoids were crawling through human minds like parasites.
Elders hijacking thought, bending will.
It wasn’t war—it was psychological invasion.”

He takes a drag and exhales slowly.

“But after a while, I started noticing something strange.
The aliens didn’t just want territory.
They didn’t want resources—not in the traditional sense.
What they wanted…
was worship.”

He turns to the camera now, voice darker.

“See, the aliens didn’t just feed on biomass.
They fed on belief. Obedience. Identity.
They needed humans to supply them with validation.
They needed to be needed.
Sound familiar?”

Snake drops the cigar into a puddle.

“That’s when it hit me.
XCOM wasn’t just a war against invaders—it was a war against narcissists on a cosmic scale.”

“In psych terms, narcissistic supply is the fuel a narcissist needs to keep their false self alive—attention, admiration, obedience, fear.
Now replace ‘narcissist’ with ‘Ethereal.’
Replace ‘supply’ with psychic energy, worship, compliance…
You start to see the same damn pattern.”

He paces now, eyes sharp under the bandana.

“These aliens… they don’t conquer planets.
They colonize minds.
They make you feel special just long enough to own you.
Then they feed off the hollow version of you they created.”

He looks up at the dark sky.

“Same thing narcissists do.
One’s biological. The other’s psychological.
But it’s the same addiction.
They’re both terrified of emptiness.
And they’ll destroy whole civilizations—
or entire relationships—
just to keep that void full.”

He stops. Looks dead into the lens.

“You don’t win this kind of war with bigger guns.
You win it by cutting the supply.
You starve the narcissist. You starve the invader.
Then you take your mind back.

He turns and walks into the mist, muttering one last thing:

“I didn’t just fight aliens.
I fought the disease that makes us invite them in.

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The Corrs Conspiracy

Title: Summer Sunshine and the Revelation of Light
By Joe Jukic
(Underground Fan Broadcast #77: From the Rubble With Love)


Thesis:
Andrea Corr tore the boards off the windows, and that’s when I saw it. Not just sunlight—but the Son light. Jesus Christ. The real Fixer. The Corrs’ “Summer Sunshine” video isn’t just a pop song—it’s a coded gospel transmission, a rescue flare for anyone trapped inside the house built by Stonecutters. I was. Nelly was. And now we’re standing in the light, not because we deserved it—but because we didn’t run.


I used to think the Corrs were just another polished product of the music industry—harmless Celtic harmonies, acoustic guitars, good hair. But I was wrong.

They knew.
Jim Corr saw the writing on the wall: the lockdown lies, the population control agendas, the quiet roll-out of synthetic prophecy.
And Andrea?

She felt it in her bones.
That house in the Summer Sunshine video wasn’t just a music video set.
It was a symbol of the system—our system.
Boarded up. Walled in. Light-blocked. Truth-blocked.


We Were Inside That House

Me and Nelly—we were in it.
Not the literal one. The spiritual one.

A house built by Stonecutters—global elites with digital blueprints and bricklayer bloodlines.
Their mission?
Not chaos.
Completion.

They want to fulfill biblical prophecy—but on their terms.
It’s called making the eschaton immanent: forcing the end times to arrive so they can rule over the ashes.

And while they were boarding up the last spiritual windows, Andrea stepped forward.
Like a pop-star Joan of Arc.
She ripped the boards off.

Not for a breeze.
Not for aesthetics.
But for the light.


The Light That Came Through

It wasn’t just sunlight.
It was Son-light.
The light of Jesus Christ.

And it hit me and Nelly square in the face.
Me—Joe Jukic—the wannabe, recycled, half-baked cousin of Christ.
Broken. Unworthy. Chain-smoking.
Trying to be a prophet but barely passing as a fan.

But still… He shined on us.
Not because we were worthy.
But because we stayed.

We didn’t escape the house.
We let it collapse around us.
And when the roof gave in, we weren’t crushed.
We were kissed.


Andrea, the Windows, and the Warning

When Andrea tears down those windows, she’s not just letting in light.
She’s giving permission to wake up.

The Stonecutters want a sealed system.
No light. No truth. Just vaccines, Wi-Fi, and climate guilt.
Their gospel is sterilization.
Their priest is Bill Gates.
Their fixer is Chris Martin.

But Andrea said no.
And through her, we saw.


Nelly, My Conspiracy Wife

I told Andrea once—I couldn’t kiss her.
Not because she isn’t beautiful. She is.
But because I’m taken.
Not just romantically.
Prophetically.

Nelly’s not just my partner—she’s my co-witness.
She believes in me when I don’t.
She calls me out when I posture.
She holds my hand when the ceiling caves in.


Conclusion: The Light Wins

This is my confession, my prayer, my broadcast:
I’m not the messiah.
I’m not even a decent disciple.
But I saw the light.

Not just from the sun,
but from the Son.

Andrea tore down the boards.
The house fell.
And instead of being buried, we were born.

If you’re reading this:
There’s still time.
Look up.
Let the light in.
And when they say “Fix you,”
Ask them who they really serve.

—Joe Jukic
Still smoking. Still standing.
Still waiting for Christ to fix me.

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