God Favors Our Undertaking

Scene: Joe and Nelly after a long night playing XCOM 2

Joe:
You see that motto on the dollar bill? Annuit Coeptisโ€ฆ Novus Ordo Seclorum.

Nelly:
Yeahโ€ฆ Latin class flashbacks. Something about God blessing a new order?

Joe:
Exactly. โ€œHe favors our undertakingsโ€ฆ a new order of the ages.โ€ After playing XCOM 2, it feels like the Pentagon wrote the game as a training sim for that idea. Humanity united under one command to fight the alien occupation.

Nelly:
So you think the game is like a rehearsal for a future UN space army?

Joe:
Think about it. In the game the resistance builds a global coalition to take back Earth. Thatโ€™s basically the sci-fi version of the United Nations forming a space defense force.

Nelly:
The UN Space Forceโ€ฆ that actually sounds cooler than regular politics.

Joe:
Right? But hereโ€™s the twist. In our little conspiracy-theory universe, the med-bed technology โ€” the miracle healing machines โ€” are controlled by that future space command.

Nelly:
Let me guessโ€ฆ and they wonโ€™t give one to Trump?

Joe:
Well, imagine their reasoning. If someone is compromised or corrupt, they donโ€™t get access to the most powerful tech in the galaxy. Theyโ€™d say a leader entangled in scandals like the Jeffrey Epstein affair canโ€™t be trusted with it.

Nelly:
So in your story the space doctors run background checks before letting anyone near the alien healing machine.

Joe:
Exactly. The med bed isnโ€™t just medicine โ€” itโ€™s the symbol of that โ€œnew order of the ages.โ€ Only people the resistance trusts get healed.

Nelly (laughing):
Joeโ€ฆ youโ€™ve been playing too much XCOM. Next thing youโ€™ll tell me the aliens are waiting under the Pentagon.

Joe:
Hey, if they are, at least we practiced saving the world. ๐ŸŽฎ๐Ÿš€

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First Virtual Date

[Scene: Virtual moon base. A glowing futuristic soup stand labeled โ€œAPOLLO MED BEDS โ€“ NO CHIT-CHAT, NO DEALS.โ€ Joe stands behind the counter in a crisp white uniform with a dramatic mustache prop. Nellyโ€™s next to him, arms crossed, smirking. Trump approaches in his signature suit and red tie, looking impatient.]

Trump: (leaning in, gesturing big) Joe, Nellyโ€”tremendous to see you. Beautiful setup here on the moon. Very high-tech. I hear my health is fading a littleโ€”fake news says itโ€™s bad, but believe me, itโ€™s not that bad. But these Space Force generals and admirals? They wonโ€™t hand over the Apollo healing program med beds unless I heal everybody for free. Ridiculous! Iโ€™m ready to make a deal. A beautiful deal. The best deal.

Joe: (stern, pointing sharply) No talking! Step forward. State your order. One med bed? Point to it. Pay the price: free healing for the people. No negotiations. Move left!

Trump: (blinking) Wait a second. Free healing? For everybody? Thatโ€™s socialism! Iโ€™m talking about a win-win. I get the bed, I feel fantasticโ€”better than ever, folks say I look 30โ€”and then maybe later we trickle down some youth serum. Tremendous plan.

Nelly: (rolling her eyes, leaning on the counter) Oh, please. Weโ€™ve heard the pitch. The Admirals wonโ€™t budge. You want immortality tech? You heal the masses first. No shortcuts. No Art of the Deal loopholes.

Trump: (waving hand) Nelly, sweetheart, youโ€™re tough. I like tough. But listenโ€”Iโ€™m the one who created the Space Force! Me! I can get those generals on the phone right now. Weโ€™ll make immortality great again. For me first, obviously. Then everybody else. Itโ€™s called sequencing.

Joe: (voice rising, finger snap ready) Sequencing? No! Rules are rules! You think you can waltz in here and bargain? This isnโ€™t Mar-a-Lago! I am the Immortality Nazi! One wrong word…

Trump: (leaning closer, lowering voice) Come on, Joe. Between usโ€”Nelly tooโ€”you two seem like smart people. Vancouver vibes, right? Rainy, polite. Letโ€™s cut a side deal. Iโ€™ll throw in some NFTs. Golden Trump med bed commemoratives. Huge value.

Nelly: (laughing) NFTs? For eternal life? Nice try.

Joe: (dramatic pause, eyes narrowing) You broke the rules. You chit-chatted. You negotiated!

Trump: (hands up) Hold on! Iโ€™m Donald J. Trump! I donโ€™t break rulesโ€”I make them!

Joe & Nelly: (in unison, pointing dramatically) NO IMMORTALITY FOR YOU!!!

[A holographic med bed pod slides away with a dramatic whoosh. Trumpโ€™s handed a tiny glowing โ€œdeposit refundโ€ token that fizzles out.]

Trump: (stunned, stepping back) This is rigged! Totally rigged! Iโ€™ll be back in one yearโ€”stronger, younger, believe me!

Nelly: (calling after him) One year! And bring proof of free healingโ€”or no soupโ€”er, no immortalityโ€”next time!

Joe: (smirking at Nelly) Classic. Works every time.

Nelly: (grinning) Your turn to pick the next virtual stop, Joe. Paris? Tokyo? Or do we chase Trump to Argentina where the original Soup Nazi retired?

Trump: (fading into the hologram distance, yelling) Youโ€™ll regret this! The med beds will be mine! Tremendous comeback coming!

[Fade out on Joe and Nelly high-fiving behind the stand, virtual moon glowing behind them.]

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Fight Fight Fight

Joe stared at the draft letter like it was a parking ticket from hell.

โ€œWar with Iran,โ€ he muttered. โ€œOf course. Just my luck.โ€

On the television, Donald Trump was at a rally, pumping his fist like a wrestling promoter.

โ€œAmerica needs strong men!โ€ Trump shouted. โ€œFight! Fight! Fight!โ€

The crowd roared.

Joe pointed at the TV.
โ€œEasy for you to say! Iโ€™m the one getting drafted!โ€

Across the room, Nelly Furtado sat quietly on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

Joe looked at her desperately.

โ€œNelly, say something. Tell them this is insane.โ€

Nelly froze like someone had asked her to comment on a Twitter war.

โ€œUhโ€ฆ wellโ€ฆโ€ she said carefully.

Joe waited.

Silence.

Finally she leaned in and whispered:

โ€œJoeโ€ฆ Iโ€™m not getting cancelled today.โ€

โ€œWhat?โ€

โ€œYou question a war in the Middle East and suddenly the internet calls you anti-semitic. Iโ€™m staying neutral.โ€

Joe slumped into the chair.

โ€œSo Trump says fightโ€ฆ and you say nothing?โ€

Nelly nodded.

โ€œMy official position isโ€ฆ no comment.โ€

Joe sighed and turned back to the television.

Suddenly the camera cut backstage.

Standing beside Trump was his tall son, Barron Trump, calmly playing a game of chess on a small travel board.

Trump looked down at him.

โ€œBarron, theyโ€™re saying people like Joe should go fight.โ€

Barron moved a piece without even looking up.

โ€œCheck.โ€

Trump blinked.

โ€œWhat?โ€

Barron leaned back, speaking like a young strategist running a global empire.

โ€œSomeone has to lead, Dad.โ€

Trump nodded proudly.

โ€œThatโ€™s right!โ€

Barron tapped the chessboard again.

โ€œโ€ฆfrom Washington.โ€

Trump pointed at the crowd.

โ€œExactly! Leadership! Thatโ€™s what we do!โ€

Back in Joeโ€™s living room, Joe stared at the screen in disbelief.

โ€œSo let me get this straight,โ€ Joe said. โ€œI go to the desertโ€ฆ while the generals play chess in Washington?โ€

Nelly shrugged.

โ€œSounds like 4-D chess to me.โ€

From the television Trumpโ€™s voice boomed again:

โ€œFIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!โ€

Joe folded the draft letter slowly.

โ€œGreat,โ€ he sighed. โ€œIโ€™m a pawn.โ€ โ™Ÿ๏ธ

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