Tag: Nelly Fan

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Buttons are a Perfectly Cromulent Currency

Gigolo Joe (smirking, fixing his tie):
Christopher, my friend, people look at us like we’ve got some kind of condition. But I figured it out—
we’re not handicapped… we’re handsomecapped.

Christopher Armstrong (chuckling):
Handsomecapped? That’s a new one.

Gigolo Joe:
Yeah. You see, we’re not limited. We’re just /hm/—so magnetic, so damn fine—that beautiful women can’t help themselves. They demand to be saved by us. Like it’s a duty.

Christopher Armstrong:
(chuckling deeper) So what you’re saying is, it’s not a curse, it’s a calling.

Gigolo Joe:
Exactly. Heroes put out fires, save the world… we? We save women from loneliness.

Christopher Armstrong (raising a glass):
To being handsomecapped. May our burden always be this heavy.

Gigolo Joe:
(smiling, clinking glasses) Cheers to that.

Christopher Armstrong: You know, Joe… sometimes I’d rather be paid in buttons than in American dollars.

Gigolo Joe: Buttons? My dear Christopher, at least buttons can hold your coat together when the wind blows. Dollars? Soon enough, they’ll fly away like autumn leaves.

Christopher Armstrong: Exactly. The Fed keeps printing them like confetti for a dictator’s parade. One day they’ll go full Hitler on us — hyperinflation, wheelbarrows of bills just to buy a loaf of bread.

Gigolo Joe: smirks At least buttons won’t betray you. Sew them on a jacket, or trade them for a favor. Try doing that with paper destined to burn in the fire of its own lies.

Christopher Armstrong: So we agree — currency of the future? Buttons. Stronger than the dollar, more honest than the banks.

Gigolo Joe: And infinitely more stylish. Imagine me, Christopher — a gentleman gigolo, paid in ivory cuff buttons instead of green scraps. Hyperinflation may come, but I’ll always be dressed to kill.

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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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German Trauma

I’ve walked through Berlin before. It’s a city of steel and scars—modern glass towers reflecting streets that still remember the weight of tanks. You can feel it when you step off the train: the silence between the words, the way the air seems to carry a burden no one talks about out loud.

Germany… they’ve lost so many of their people. Two wars, two broken empires, entire generations ground up in the gears of ideology and conquest. A collective trauma like that doesn’t vanish. It lingers in the bones of the survivors, and it shapes their children and their children’s children. You see it in their eyes—a mix of pride, shame, and fatigue.

And I can’t shake the thought… somewhere in Moscow, Lenin and Stalin are still lying in their glass coffins, mummified monuments to a system that promised utopia and delivered graves. They’re waiting. Waiting for their show trial. Not the kind staged for propaganda, but the kind history gives, slow and merciless.

The trial isn’t in a courtroom. It’s in the ruins left behind. It’s in the empty villages where fathers never came home. It’s in the whispers of families who never found the bodies of their sons. It’s in Germany, Russia, Ukraine—all the lands that bore the cost of their visions.

When I think about it, I wonder if nations carry wounds the same way soldiers do. Trauma buried deep, never healed, only scarred over. And scars… they ache when the weather changes.

Germany still aches. The ghosts of their dead march alongside them. And until the world can put Lenin and Stalin on the stand—not just their names, but the entire legacy of death and deception—they’ll keep haunting us all.

Because history doesn’t bury its monsters. It preserves them.

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