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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Soft Kill Alert! Code Red!

Soft Kill

(A protest ballad starring psychiatric patients, Katy Perry, Madonna, Britney Spears, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato, Lauryn Hill, Sinéad O’Connor, and Angelina Jolie)


Verse 1 – Katy Perry

“They gave me colors in a pill,
Said it would paint my rainbow still.
But I feel grey, I feel erased,
My smile is plastic, my soul displaced.”

Verse 2 – Madonna

“Decades dancing under lights,
Now I’m stumbling through the nights.
The doctors whisper, ‘swallow, chill,’
But I know it’s just a soft kill.”

Chorus – All Together

Soft kill, silent thrill,
Poison in the bottle they call a pill.
We were born to sing, we were born to feel,
But the Psychlos came with a soft kill.

Verse 3 – Britney Spears

“My freedom stolen in a cage,
Medicated through the stage.
Every heartbeat slowed at will,
Every dream drowned by the soft kill.”

Verse 4 – Selena Gomez & Demi Lovato (duet)

Selena: “They said the sickness was in my head…”
Demi: “But the poison runs in my blood instead.”
Together:
“Angels fall when the silence stills,
Chained by the hands of the soft kill.”

Verse 5 – Lauryn Hill

“I see Babylon’s medicine trade,
Every prophet, every singer betrayed.
Truth is bitter, but truth must spill,
Or we’ll all be lost to the soft kill.”

Verse 6 – Sinéad O’Connor

“They shaved my soul like they shaved my head,
Fed me pills ‘til my voice was dead.
But rage survives, it burns, it will—
No Psychlo wins with a soft kill.”

Verse 7 – Angelina Jolie

“I wore their mask, I played their role,
But the poison crept into my soul.
Now I fight for the ones they still try to still,
Every patient marked for the soft kill.”

Final Chorus – All Together

Soft kill, silent thrill,
Poison in the bottle they call a pill.
We were born to sing, we were born to feel,
But the Psychlos came with a soft kill.

(Music fades with whispered voices: “We remember… we resist… we are still alive.”)

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Gossip & Confusion: Club 27

Title: The 13th Card
By Joe Jukic (aka Frank Farmer)


Chapter 1: The Rabbi’s Tarot

The first time I saw the card, I knew something was wrong.

Rabbi Bernstein’s hands trembled as he laid it on the table—the Death card, thirteenth in the deck. The skull grinned up at me, bones crossed beneath it like the old pirate flag. But this wasn’t about pirates. This was Yale. This was Skull and Bones.

Nelly didn’t understand. She just laughed, flipping her hair, thinking it was some joke. But the Rabbi’s eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the weight of it. They’re coming for her.

Chapter 2: The Brotherhood of Death

I’d heard the whispers before—back in my old security detail for a senator who knew too much. The 27 Club wasn’t just bad luck. It was a pattern. A ritual. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Cobain… all gone at 27. And now Nelly was being circled.

Randy Quaid had ranted about it for years—“The star whackers, Joe! They take ‘em young!”—but nobody listened. They called him crazy. But I’d seen the files. The contracts. The way certain artists were pushed too hard, too fast, until they broke.

Nelly wasn’t just a client. She was marked.

Chapter 3: The Altar Boy’s Vow

She used to joke, calling me her “altar boy.” Maybe because I still crossed myself before a job. Maybe because she knew I’d burn the whole damn system down to keep her safe.

That night in ’89—the night she wrote about—was when I first stepped in. Some industry sleazeball thought he could corner her backstage. I broke his wrist before he could touch her. Nelly squeezed my hand after, her voice small: “Nobody’s ever stood up for me like that.”

That’s when I knew. She wasn’t just another star. She was real. And that made her a target.

Chapter 4: Playing the Death Card

The Rabbi told me there was only one way out: play the card before they do.

So I did.

I leaked fake stories—whispers of Nelly’s “downfall,” tabloid trash about her being “washed up.” I made her look unworthy of their sacrifice. And when the suits started pulling back, I took her off-grid. No tour dates. No parties. Just silence.

They moved on. Found fresher prey.

Chapter 5: The Song She Wrote

Years later, Nelly played me the demo—that song, the one about 1989. She didn’t name names, but I knew. “You took my hand, and the monsters left,” she sang, grinning at me.

I never told her about the Rabbi. About the card. About how close she came to being another number in their cursed 27 Club.

Some secrets are better kept.

But when she calls me her “altar boy” now, I just smile.

Because I did keep the faith.

And she’s still here.


THE END.

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