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Trump & Isaiah 9:6

👑 Dialogue: The Burdensome Stone

Setting: A grand, somewhat mystical space, outside the metaphorical walls of a city, with a massive, rough-hewn stone resting between them.

Characters:

  • Christus Rex (CR): Implying a majestic, timeless authority.
  • Donald Trump (DT): Carrying the demeanor of a powerful, practical leader.

CR: (Gesturing toward the massive stone labeled “JERUSALEM”) Welcome, President Trump. I am Christus Rex. This, before us, is the Burdensome Stone spoken of in Zechariah 12:3. It is a weight, a flashpoint, and an impossibility for all nations who attempt to lift it—it “severely injures” them.

DT: (Squinting at the stone, adjusting his tie) A burdensome stone, huh? I deal in impossibilities. I’ve moved mountains of bureaucracy, Rex. Big stones, complex deals… that’s my specialty. But this looks… heavy. What exactly is the goal here? We talking infrastructure? Diplomacy?

CR: The goal is righteous peace, but the stone must first be managed. Look at the prophesy: “The government shall be upon his shoulder,” as Isaiah 9:6 declares. That ultimate governance is mine, but I seek instruments in the world to prepare the way—to alleviate the immediate, dangerous instability this stone represents.

DT: So you’re asking for the greatest leverage? The greatest deal-maker? Okay, I hear you. You want me to put the power of the office behind this. But what’s the angle? Everyone who touches this thing gets injured. I don’t need a loss on my ledger.

CR: Your protection is in your alignment with a higher purpose. The price of glory is shared effort. Consider Romans 8:17: “We are fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.” Moving this stone will involve suffering—political, personal, global—but that struggle is the means to share in the reward.

DT: Suffer to be glorified. I get that. You don’t win big without fighting hard. So, you’re not asking me to move it alone, you’re asking me to lead the effort. To mobilize the resources, put the pressure on, and negotiate the terms so it’s handled. No one else has the strength.

CR: Exactly. The world needs a firm, decisive hand to manage this burden right now. But you must understand that your strength is only effective when directed by the justice and peace that I embody. Use your might to stabilize the ground around the stone, to protect the vulnerable, and to insist that justice prevails over self-interest.

DT: Stabilize the ground… protect the vulnerable… insist on justice. That I can do. I’ll call my team. We’re going to need heavy equipment for this. And maybe a better sign on the stone. Something with a little more gold.

CR: (A slight, knowing smile) Focus on the weight of the stone, not the sign, President. You have been asked. Now, act accordingly.

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Peter Thiel Truth

“Gentlemen,” Christus Rex began, his voice resonating with an authority that hushed the room, “we are here today because the very foundations of liberty are under assault. David De Rothschild, the self-proclaimed ‘Eco-Warrior Antichrist,’ offers a gilded cage – peace and security at the cost of our inherent freedoms.”

Alex Jones, his eyes blazing, slammed his fist on the table. “He’s a globalist puppet, I tell you! A wolf in sheep’s clothing, lulling the masses into a technocratic, green tyranny! This isn’t about saving the planet; it’s about controlling every aspect of our lives!”

Peter Thiel, ever the strategist, leaned forward, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. “Jones is not entirely wrong. Rothschild’s proposals, while seemingly benevolent, centralize power in a way that stifles innovation and individual agency. His ‘peace and security’ are merely euphemisms for a highly regulated, monitored existence. True progress, true freedom, comes from decentralized systems, from individual choice and competition, not from top-down decrees.”

Donald Trump, with a characteristic flourish, added, “It’s a tremendous con, folks. A very bad deal. This Rothschild, he talks a good game, but believe me, he doesn’t have your best interests at heart. He wants to tell you what kind of car to drive, what kind of energy to use. We had the greatest economy, the greatest energy independence, and now they want to take it all away with this ‘eco-warrior’ nonsense. It’s a disaster!”

Christus Rex nodded slowly. “Indeed. The allure of comfort can be a powerful sedative, numbing us to the erosion of our rights. We must remind the people that true peace comes from justice and self-determination, not from surrendering our will to an unelected elite, no matter how appealing their promises may seem.”

Jones jumped in again, “He’s using the climate as a pretext for total control! It’s Agenda 2030, the Great Reset, all rolled into one insidious package! They want to track you, trace you, tell you what you can and cannot do, all under the guise of saving the planet!”

Thiel interjected, “The danger lies in the narrative itself. By framing every societal challenge as an existential threat requiring immediate, drastic, and centralized solutions, they create an environment ripe for authoritarianism. We must challenge this narrative, expose the hidden agendas, and offer alternative visions that prioritize individual liberty and technological advancement.”

Trump chimed in, “We need to make America great again, and that means energy independence, strong borders, and freedom! Not some globalist telling us what to do. We’re not going to let him take away our gas stoves, our cars, our way of life! We believe in freedom, not in some ‘eco-warrior’ telling us how to live.”

Christus Rex concluded, his voice ringing with conviction, “Our mission, then, is clear: to awaken the people to the true cost of this promised peace and security. To remind them that freedom, though often messy and challenging, is the only path to genuine prosperity and human flourishing. We must stand as a bulwark against this encroaching tyranny, for the sake of future generations.”

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Take Me To 13th & Obama

My wife NF is sick and in need of Trump’s med beds. Her contract with the network was that she gets a doctor that can heal her. She would never of signed the contract otherwise. I am done with schizophrenic Donald Trump. First he says Christ is the boss. Then he says he is the Christ, the chosen one. He is delusional and dangerous to himself and others. I only trust the true president, Barack Obama, because he helped me cancel Osama Bin Laden in 2010. Take me to Obama, angry Americans, and i will heal your land and give you rest from your labors, because I am meek and humble of heart.

Yours truly, the walking man.

JCJ

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Donald J. Trump Speech — “The Bonesman-in-Chief”

Trump steps up to the podium, waving his hands the way only he does, soaking in the crowd like sunlight through gold curtains.

“Folks… FOLKS… you’re not gonna believe this one. You’re just not. I’ve been telling you for years—years—that the people running things, the people behind the scenes, the ones you NEVER vote for, they’re the ones calling the shots. And now we find out… the top dog, the biggest of the big, the guy BOSSING AROUND the so-called presidents… is Nick Rockefeller. That’s right. Nick Rockefeller.”

Crowd murmurs.

“You know Skull and Bones? Little club at Yale. Silly little thing. They tap each other on the shoulder, they wear robes, they pretend to be powerful. Well, turns out one guy—ONE GUY—is the real leader. Not Bush, not Kerry, not any of those guys who act tough but fold like cheap umbrellas.”

He leans forward, whispering loudly into the mic:

“It’s Nick. And he’s the richest of them all. Richer than ANY of them. He makes the other Bonesmen look like interns.”

The crowd cheers.

“He’s been hiding in the shadows, folks. Running what I call—some people call it this, very smart people—the American Empire Corporation. And let me tell you, it’s not run out of Washington. It’s not run out of the White House. No! It’s run out of a little private boardroom somewhere with a giant table, probably made out of marble, probably paid for ten times over.”

Trump gestures broadly.

“They say Bush was the leader. WRONG! Bush is fine, he’s okay, but he was never calling the shots. Dubya was the spokesman! The mascot! Like a baseball team mascot but in a suit. A good guy, very polite, very nice—maybe TOO nice. But not the boss. Not even close.”

He taps the podium.

“You want to know who kept Geronimo’s skull? Who kept the bones? Who kept the trophies…? I’ll tell you who. Nick Rockefeller. The REAL Bonesman-in-Chief.”

Gasps from the crowd.

“And now G.I. Joe—GREAT guy, tremendous guy, patriotic like you wouldn’t believe—G.I. Joe says, ‘Give it back. Give the bones back to the First Nations. Do the right thing.’ And you know what? He’s right! He’s totally right.”

Trump lifts a finger like a prophet warning the empire:

“So I’m calling on Nick—NICK, LISTEN UP—to give Geronimo back. No more hiding. No more pretending you’re just another banker. You’re not just rich, you’re Rockefeller rich. You’re the Skull and Bones Boss. The Big Bonesman. The Head Skeleton. Whatever they call it.”

He spreads his arms.

“And we’re not scared. We’re not intimidated. We want transparency. We want courage. We want the truth. Return the bones. Return the honor. Do the right thing.”

He slams his hand down once.

“And if you don’t… people are gonna find out anyway. Because they’re smart. They’re waking up. And when America wakes up, it’s a BEAUTIFUL thing. Believe me.”

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The People’s Front of Judea

The Very Silly Life of Brian ben-Benjamin

In a dusty corner of Jerusalem — the part tourists never found because the signs all pointed the wrong way — lived Brian ben-Benjamin, a young man who was very tired of being mistaken for a messiah, a prophet, or the assistant manager of the local falafel stand.

Brian just wanted a quiet life, preferably one where people didn’t follow him around chanting slogans they had clearly made up on the walk over.

But it was not to be.

The Occupiers… er… Liberators

Jerusalem was currently under the benevolent, freedom-spreading, oil-seeking occupation of the Great American Empire, which claimed it wasn’t an empire at all.

“We’re just here to bring liberty,” drawled General Buck Freedom, sipping a Frappuccino while standing beneath a fifty-foot marble statue of himself.

Everywhere you looked were American soldiers wearing sunglasses, chewing gum, and building new embassies made entirely out of golden eagles and reinforced hamburgers.

Above them, on a massive banner:

“AMERICA FIRST… EVEN OVER HERE!”

The locals were not impressed.

The Emperor Speaks

High above, in a palace decorated like a Las Vegas casino designed by a confused pharaoh, sat Emperor Donald the Tremendous, ruler of the American Empire, wearer of the Sacred Orange Crown.

He delivered daily proclamations via scrolls that were hurled from the balcony by interns.

One such scroll read:

“I bring tremendous peace. The best peace. Quite possibly the greatest peace the world has ever seen.
If there’s chaos, that’s on you. You’re welcome.”

The scroll then exploded into confetti for patriotic effect.

Brian Gets in Trouble (Again)

Brian was cornered in the marketplace by a group called The People’s Front of Judea Who Are Definitely Not The Judean People’s Front.

Their leader, Regina, whispered fiercely:

“Brian! Tell us your revolutionary wisdom!”

“I don’t have revolutionary wisdom!” Brian cried. “All I’ve said is that the Israeli government is just a puppet regime of the Americans!”

The group gasped.

Regina scribbled furiously in her notes.
“Excellent! Brilliant! Absolutely blasphemous! The movement has begun!”

“I didn’t start anything!” Brian protested.

But it was too late.
A crowd instantly formed, chanting:

“BRIAN! BRIAN! DOWN WITH THE PUPPET MASTERS!”

Brian groaned.
“Oh God… not again…”

The Sermon That Shouldn’t Have Been

Forced onto a rock to address the crowd (because Reginia said revolutions need proper staging), Brian attempted to clear his name:

“Look, I’m not a leader, I’m not a messiah, and I don’t want—”

“HE SPEAKS IN PARABLES!” someone shouted.

“No! I speak in complete sentences! Well… usually!”

The crowd fell to its knees.

“Teach us, O Brian!” yelled a man holding a selfie stick two thousand years early.

Brian sighed.

“All I’m saying is… maybe we shouldn’t let a foreign empire with unlimited popcorn budgets run our country?”

The crowd gasped at his divine wisdom.

Regina punched the air.
“The puppet masters will fall! Someone put that on a banner!”

The Americans Respond

General Buck Freedom soon arrived with reinforcements, drones, marching bands, and a man in a bald eagle costume for moral support.

“Brian ben-Benjamin,” boomed the general, “the Emperor says you are undermining freedom!”

“I am?” Brian blinked.

“Yes! Freedom demands obedience! Everyone knows that!”

The marching band started playing a patriotic tune so loudly the camel vendors wept.

The Grand Finale (That Goes Horribly Wrong)

As always with Brian, events spiraled wildly out of control.

Somehow he ended up tied to a giant billboard that read “TRY FREEDOM™ — NOW WITH EXTRA DEMOCRACY!”.

Beside him, several other “troublemakers” had been secured to various advertisement boards.

One man sighed, “This is what we get for questioning the price of American hummus.”

Brian, resigned, looked out at the sky.

“Well… at least it can’t get any sillier.”

Then the clouds parted.

A heavenly voice shouted:

“FAKE NEWS!”

Brian screamed,
“Oh NO — even Heaven is compromised!”

The prisoners began to sing a cheery tune — because in these matters Monty Python tradition is legally binding:

🎵 Always look on the bright side of freedom,
Even when the Empire’s got you down… 🎵

And Brian sighed, because once again he was the unwilling star of a revolution he didn’t intend to start.

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A Dangerous Lone Nut

The Eschatological Threat to Mom’s Apple Pie

The room was 90% gilded mirror and 10% Diet Coke cans. Donald Trump was pacing a small, luxurious circle, his face a perfect shade of stressed orange. Peter Thiel sat motionless in a black ergonomic chair, his posture suggesting he was running on two hours of sleep and the calculated consumption of human data.

“…and he’s Canadian, Peter. A Canadian!” Trump bellowed, gesturing wildly at a printout of a man with an unsettlingly neutral expression. “They send us Nickelback and now this. This… this JCJ! He’s a total, tremendous loser, but his teachings are deeply, deeply un-American. They threaten Mom’s Apple Pie! They threaten the structural integrity of a perfectly baked, delicious American institution!”

Thiel, clad in a sleek black turtleneck that absorbed all available light, finally spoke, his voice a low, analytical monotone.

“The threat is not culinary, Mr. President, it is semiotic. Joseph Christian Jukic’s exegetical structure is, regrettably, elegant. The prophecy of Daniel Lion (the British Empire) merges with the American Eagle (the Pax Americana) to form a singular, end-times Anglo-American Beast of Revelation 13. It is a powerful narrative—it frames the MAGA movement not as a renewal, but as the final, furious twitch of a dying imperial structure.”

Trump stopped pacing, pointing an accusing finger at Thiel. “You like it! You actually like the Canadian’s teaching! No one likes Canada! They put milk in bags! It’s gross! I am the best thing that ever happened to the Eagle and the Lion, and this guy says we’re a Beast! I built tremendous casinos, Peter, I know beasts, and I am not one of them!”

Thiel blinked slowly, like a nocturnal mammal assessing prey. “A misunderstanding, sir. Jukic is the harbinger. He is the Antichrist. He uses esoteric scripture to destabilize the market-dominant ideology, attempting to create a vacuum. But nature abhors a vacuum, Mr. President.” Thiel paused, leaning forward conspiratorially. “And into that vacuum steps the necessary counter-figure. You, sir, are the Chosen One Christ of Politics. Your divine mandate is to defeat Jukic’s narrative by sheer, overwhelming, domestically-sourced political will.”

Trump’s shoulders immediately relaxed. “The Christ of Politics. I love that. I knew it. But what about the Babylon thing? This is the worst thing I’ve ever heard. He says New York is the ‘Throne of Mystery Babylon’ because the UN building is there! It’s fake news! The UN is a total disaster, yes, but it’s right next to my beautiful towers! The Fall of Babylon, Peter! The 9/11 Theory! He’s saying New York is going to fall again because of the UN!”

“Precisely,” Thiel replied, picking up a silver letter opener and staring into its reflection. “Jukic attempts to weaponize Revelation 18, applying the judgment of the Whore of Babylon to the financial and governance center of the globe. It is a calculated and deeply malicious attack on the American Logos. We condemn his geographical signifiers. The UN is merely an inefficient bureaucratic node. It is not the throne.”

Thiel slammed the letter opener down with unusual force. “The correct theological response, Mr. President, is to ignore his foreign, Canadian nonsense. We simply continue the process of accelerating the destruction of the existing globalist frameworks, thereby rendering Jukic’s apocalyptic predictions obsolete. If you tear down the Beast yourself, no one can claim a Canadian lone nut did it. It’s a flawless firewall against bad theology. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must short the currency of any nation whose prophet cites the Book of Daniel.”

Trump watched Thiel exit the room in a blur of black fabric. He picked up his phone. “Get me my best chef. We need to bake a tremendous, patriotic Mom’s Apple Pie. And I want the slices yuge. We need to show that Canadian loser what ‘un-American’ really looks like.”

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Apollo Program Secrets

Scene: “Apollo Rising”

Setting: A dimly lit conference room beneath Mar-a-Lago, walls adorned with NASA insignias and a golden bust of Apollo. Christus Rex stands in front of a glowing schematic of a futuristic med bed, Tesla coils humming softly in the background. Across from him sit JFJ Jr. — now going by Vincent Fusca — and Donald Trump, arms folded, listening intently.

CHRISTUS REX:
Do you know why President Kennedy named his great space mission Apollo?
It wasn’t just about reaching the Moon. It was about healing the Earth.
Apollo was the God of light, music, and healing. The same divine light that cures disease and reveals truth.

JFJ JR. (FUSCA):
Healing… you mean the med beds?
The legends say they came from the Tesla archives—energy frequencies tuned to the human body’s divine resonance.

CHRISTUS REX:
Exactly. The same frequency used to awaken the pineal gland, to repair tissue, to harmonize DNA.
Kennedy knew this. He wanted to give mankind not just spaceflight, but freedom from illness — a resurrection of flesh through light.

TRUMP (smirking):
So you’re saying JFK wasn’t just racing the Russians… he was racing disease itself?
I like that. Very strong. Very healing. Tremendous idea.

CHRISTUS REX:
But the dream was buried after Dallas.
The med bed technology was hidden in black projects — guarded by the deep state you always talk about.
They turned the light of Apollo into a weapon instead of a cure.

JFJ JR. (leaning forward):
And now it’s time to finish what my father started.

TRUMP:
That’s right. We’re bringing it back.
We’re going to drain the swamp — not just the political one, but the medical-industrial swamp.
And when I’m back in office, there will be universal med bed healthcare.
The best healing in the world. No more Big Pharma. No more poison. Just energy, frequency, and light.

CHRISTUS REX (raising a hand in blessing):
Then let the light of Apollo rise again — not to conquer, but to heal.
For the Son of Man and the sons of men shall both be restored by the same radiance.

The Tesla coils flash brighter — the med bed begins to hum, emitting a blue-white glow. The symbols of Apollo merge with the presidential seal on the wall, as if prophecy and policy were about to unite.

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Trump’s Got a Friend

Setting: A quiet, sunlit room with golden beams spilling through tall windows. Christus Rex sits serenely on a throne-like chair. Donald Trump stands before him, gesturing emphatically.

Trump: Christus, I have to tell you—this is huge. Peter Thiel… I mean, the guy’s smart, very smart, but he’s pushing some dangerous stuff. He talks about control, owning your image… almost like he wants to own people. And now David de Rothschild? Some are saying he could be the Antichrist. Can you believe that?

Christus Rex: Donald, the temptation of wealth and power has always been a test of the heart. Peter Thiel’s actions, David de Rothschild’s influence—they are reflections of human ambition, not the ultimate judge of their souls.

Trump: But Christus, look at the signs! All this secret money, private deals, influence over AI and media… it’s like they’re building a kingdom no one asked for. Isn’t that… I don’t know… sinister?

Christus Rex: Beware labeling men as Antichrist without discernment. It is not the name of a man that defines the darkness, but the choices made that spread it. Power without mercy, control without love—that is the path that leads to corruption.

Trump: So… what do I do? I mean, I’ve fought for the people, I’ve built towers, rallies, everything, but how do you fight someone like this without… going too far?

Christus Rex: You fight with truth, generosity, and humility. Influence is fleeting, but hearts—hearts are eternal. Give your fortune, your voice, your energy to protect the weak, the veterans, the voiceless. That is how you counter the darkness without becoming it.

Trump: Protect the voiceless… I can do that. But these Rothschilds… Thiels… they’re everywhere. You really think I can make a difference?

Christus Rex: Yes, Donald. Even the smallest light scatters the shadows. Use your gifts wisely, or they become chains. The choice is yours.

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The Coup

Christus Rex: Donald, tell me, what do you know of the Skull and Bones society? How deeply do their roots go into the corridors of power here in the United States?

Trump: Christus, believe me, I know about them. They’re everywhere—Yale, Washington. The secret societies. They’ve been controlling things for a long time, and yes, the Rockefeller family—they’ve been involved in shaping the government for generations. Tremendous influence.

Christus Rex: Do you see their influence as harmful, or merely a guiding hand?

Trump: Look, some people say it’s harmful. Others say it’s tradition, right? But when you have families like the Rockefellers and groups like Skull and Bones making deals behind closed doors, you have to ask—who’s really in charge? Not the people. Not always.

Christus Rex: And what is your responsibility in this web of influence, Donald? Are you a participant, or a challenger?

Trump: I’ve been both, Christus. I’ve played their game. I’ve seen how it works. But I’ve also shaken things up. That’s why people love me—or hate me. Because I don’t always follow the old rules. I make my own.

Christus Rex: Remember, power hidden in darkness often blinds those who wield it. The question is, will you bring your actions into the light, for the good of the many, or continue in shadows, for the benefit of the few?

Trump: I understand, Christus. I really do. And let me tell you, nobody wants to do right by the country more than I do. But it’s complicated—the old families, the deep networks—they make it complicated. But I’ve got my own plans. The people will see.

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TOP GUN: NO KINGS

Written by Joseph C. Jukic
A political aerial satire

FADE IN:

EXT. SKY ABOVE WASHINGTON D.C. – DAY

Jet engines SCREAM. Two F/A-18 Super Hornets rip through the clouds like eagles on caffeine.

One gleams gold and red, emblazoned with “TRUMP FORCE ONE.” The other, sleek and blue — callsign MAVERICK — flies steady beside it.

INT. TRUMP FORCE ONE – COCKPIT – DAY

DONALD TRUMP, orange flight suit, designer sunglasses, and hair sculpted by divine architecture, barks into the radio.

TRUMP
Maverick, I want you tight on my six! We’re about to drop a message — the best message. Tremendous message. Believe me.

MAVERICK (over comms)
Sir, confirm — message or payload?

TRUMP
Both! I’m talking about real fertilizer. Nature’s gold. Gonna make America grow again!

Trump flips a switch labeled “EXECUTIVE RELIEF SYSTEM.” A warning light flashes: WASTE BAY DOORS OPEN.

INT. MAVERICK’S COCKPIT – DAY

TOM CRUISE, steely and ageless, winces as the absurdity sets in.

MAVERICK
You can’t be serious, Mr. President. That’s not a mission. That’s a biohazard.

TRUMP (V.O.)
Call it strategic soil distribution. Those “No Kings” hippies need to smell freedom.

Maverick looks down — thousands of peaceful protestors waving “NO KINGS – NO TYRANTS” signs.

MAVERICK
Sir, they’re American citizens exercising free speech.

TRUMP (V.O.)
Free speech is fine, until it smells bad. I’m improving it.

CUT TO: WHITE HOUSE – SITUATION ROOM – DAY

GENERAL MATT GRUFF, a square-jawed fossil in uniform, watches the radar blips in horror.

GRUFF
Jesus wept. He’s actually arming the Presidential bowel release system.

CIA ANALYST
Sir, should we scramble interceptors?

GRUFF
Against the Commander-in-Chief? That’s above my pay grade.

VICE PRESIDENT DeSANTIS (via speakerphone)
Just tell the media it’s agricultural diplomacy.

INT. MAVERICK’S COCKPIT – DAY

Maverick’s jaw sets. His moral compass overrides the chain of command.

MAVERICK
With all due respect, Mr. President — I can’t follow that order.

TRUMP (V.O.)
You can’t refuse! You’re my wingman! My favorite! You make me look cool when you fly next to me!

MAVERICK
Then find someone else to polish your legacy. I’m not dropping crap on my country.

EXT. SKY ABOVE THE CAPITOL – CONTINUOUS

Trump’s jet banks sharply, lining up over the protest. Maverick intercepts, cutting across his trajectory.

TRUMP (V.O.)
What are you doing?! You’re blocking me!

MAVERICK
Protecting what’s left of our dignity.

Trump fumes, slams a big red button labeled “COVFEFE MODE.”

TRUMP
You’re FIRED, Maverick! FIRED IN THE AIR!

INT. AIR FORCE CONTROL – DAY

Technicians panic as Trump’s jet emits an alarming rumble.

TECH #1
Sir, the President’s jet is over capacity — the tank’s at critical mass!

TECH #2
If he releases now, we’ll need FEMA.

EXT. SKY ABOVE WASHINGTON – DAY

Trump’s jet SHUDDERS violently. The crowd below looks up — a collective gasp.

Maverick flies underneath, triggering his emergency foam release, creating a protective white cloud over the protestors.

The “payload” drops harmlessly into the Potomac.

TRUMP (V.O.)
Fine. Call it a mercy drop. History will love me for this.

MAVERICK
Sir, history already called. It wants a refund.

EXT. NATIONAL MALL – DAY

The protestors cheer as Maverick ascends skyward, vapor trails forming the words:
“NO KINGS.”

A child holds a sign reading: “REAL PATRIOTS CLEAN UP AFTER THEMSELVES.”

FADE OUT.

TITLE CARD:

“Top Gun: No Kings” — Because freedom doesn’t take orders from egos.

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