Donald Trump stands at the window, looking down at the city. The lights glitter like a balance sheet that refuses to zero out. Patrick Bateman sits perfectly upright, hands folded, immaculate suit. No sweat. No blink.
TRUMP They keep saying it, Patrick. Too big to fail. I like that. It sounds strong. Historic. Banks love it. Countries love it.
BATEMAN It’s a myth, Donald. A branding exercise. Like bottled water or artisanal stress.
TRUMP(turning) Stress is good. Stress means you care.
BATEMAN No. Stress is worthless. Like dandelions.
TRUMP Dandelions?
BATEMAN Yes. They grow everywhere. No effort. No discipline. They call it a revolution when enough of them show up at once. Yellow. Loud. Unsightly. Completely interchangeable.
TRUMP People like revolutions. They chant. They post. Tremendous engagement.
BATEMAN Engagement is meaningless without hierarchy. Dandelions don’t understand scale. They think volume equals power. They think being everywhere means being important.
TRUMP I was everywhere once. Still am, frankly.
BATEMAN Exactly. And that’s the flaw. When everything is visible, nothing is valuable. Scarcity is power. Control is silence.
TRUMP But they say the system collapses when the little guys rise up.
BATEMAN The system doesn’t collapse. It sheds. Like skin. Like morals. Like dead weight. (leans forward slightly) Dandelions don’t overthrow skyscrapers, Donald. They get paved over. Or monetized. Or sprayed with something very expensive and very legal.
TRUMP So I’m not too big to fail?
BATEMAN No one is too big to fail. They’re just too big to be blamed.
TRUMP(smiles) I like that. That’s good. Very good.
BATEMAN Of course you do. (beat) Failure is for people who still believe in consequences.
A pause. Outside, wind pushes through the streets. Somewhere, unseen, a field of dandelions bends.
The Setting: A hushed, expectant hall. The air is thick with the residue of a debate that has shifted from policy to the soul.
The Speaker: (Addressing the crowd with a voice that balances the weight of the military and the gravity of the divine)
“Friends, we have heard much tonight about power. We have heard about the ‘most powerful military machine in the history of the world’—a force that can move mountains and shake the very foundations of the earth.
But then, the question was leveled. A question that didn’t ask about borders, or budgets, or the ‘pack of cigarettes’ leadership we see from the opposition. It was a question that pierced the armor of politics: ‘Do you want to go to war with the Christ?’
Think about that. We stand here talking about tanks, and jets, and the strength of a nation. We look at the weakness of ‘Joe’s pack of cigarettes’—a flimsy, flickering leadership that blows away in the slightest wind. And it’s easy to feel invincible when you have the greatest machine ever built behind you.
But JCJ looked across that table and reminded us of the one war you cannot win with a drone or a battleship.
Because to ‘go to war with the Christ’ isn’t a battle of steel. It is a battle of pride. It is the war of the ‘I’ against the ‘He.’ It is the belief that our machine—as great as it is—is the ultimate authority.
The challenge wasn’t just to the man on the stage; it was to the soul of the nation. It was a call to Surrender All. Not a surrender of weakness. Not the surrender of a man who has run out of options or a leader who has lost his way. No—this is the surrender of the strong. It is the realization that the most powerful military machine in history is but dust compared to the King of Kings.
We are at a crossroads. We see the crumbling, smoke-filled promises of the current administration—that ‘pack of cigarettes’ that offers no fire, only ash. We know we need strength. We know we need the machine. But the message tonight was clear: Do not mistake the machine for the Maker.
To win the future, we must have the courage to stand tall against our enemies, but we must have the humility to kneel before the One who granted us that strength in the first place.
The war with the world is easy to fight when you have the power. But the war within—the war with the Christ—ends only when we lay down our pride, lay down our machines, and surrender everything to Him.
CONSPIRACY BRIEFING: OPERATION FAMILY CRISIS TARGETED ASSASSINATION OF NICK REINER (2025)
Core Thesis: The shocking murder of Rob Reiner in December 2025 was not a random act of violence. It was a state-sponsored assassination, the culmination of a five-year campaign of psychological warfare initiated by Donald Trump and continued by his loyalists within the U.S. intelligence apparatus. The goal was to permanently silence Rob Reiner by inflicting the ultimate wound.
The Updated Timeline & “The Long Game”:
The Initial Attack (2020): As previously theorized, the 2020 arrest and crisis was the first phase—a test using the non-lethal “Voice of God” (V2K) systems to induce instability. This established a public record of Nick struggling with mental health, creating a perfect “cover diagnosis” for any future tragedy.
The Maintenance Phase (2021-2024): During the Biden administration, Trump-aligned “sleeper cells” within CIA’s Science & Technology Directorate maintained low-level harassment of Nick. The purpose was not to cure the 2020 damage, but to prevent recovery and deepen vulnerability, ensuring he remained in a fragile, impressionable state. This was done via intermittent electronic harassment through IoT devices and cellular networks.
The Trigger & Assassination Order (2025): Upon Trump’s return to power in January 2025, Rob Reiner immediately resumed his position as a premier cultural and political antagonist. Furious and believing “soft” methods had failed, Trump is theorized to have greenlit Phase Three: Terminal Resolution. The upgraded weapon wasn’t just for broadcasting voices anymore.
The “Apollonian Beam” Upgrade: Theorists claim the CIA’s psychoacoustic technology, now dubbed “Apollo” (for its god-like power to both suggest and destroy), had a lethal setting. By modulating the microwave or ultrasonic pulses with a specific resonant frequency matched to the target’s unique neurochemistry (data gathered since 2020), it could induce:
Catastrophic Impulse Surges: Overwhelming the prefrontal cortex to trigger uncontrollable rage or paralyzing fear.
Autonomic Override: Disrupting heart rhythm or inducing a stroke-like event.
Suggestion Amplification: Making a target hyper-susceptible to commands or paranoid ideas.
The Night of the Murder – The Conspiracy Narrative:
The Girlfriend was a “Patsy,” Not a Perpetrator. She was herself a victim of the system. In the days leading up to the murder, she was subjected to a milder form of the “Apollo” beam, inducing severe anxiety, paranoia, and insomnia. Nick was simultaneously bombarded with pulses designed to trigger aggression and profound mistrust.
The “Fog of War” Scenario: The weapon created a feedback loop of manufactured psychosis in the confined space of their home. It amplified every minor disagreement into a perceived existential threat, manipulated their perceptions of each other’s actions, and ultimately pushed one or both into a state of irreversible, lethal crisis. The system’s goal was to engineer a murder-suicide or a violent struggle.
The Perfect Cover: The result looks exactly like a tragic, private domestic violence incident. Police find no government agents at the scene, no unusual toxins in the tox report—just two traumatized people in a broken home. The prior mental health history of both individuals becomes the official, unquestioned explanation.
The Strategic Victory: Rob Reiner is not just saddened; he is neutered. The conspiracy claims that in the aftermath, Reiner received anonymous communications (via untraceable means) making it clear this was a message about the cost of dissent. His public fight has visibly dimmed, consumed by immeasurable grief. The message to all critics is clear: “We don’t just come for you. We can orchestrate the destruction of everything you love, and make the world watch you blame yourself for it.”
The “Proof” in the Denial: The official narrative’s simplicity is cited as the ultimate red flag. The rapid closure of the case, the lack of deeper investigation into potential cyber-harassment or electronic interference in the home, and the media’s swift acceptance of the personal tragedy frame are all seen as hallmarks of a cover-up orchestrated at the highest levels of the security state, now fully aligned with Trump’s personal vendettas.
Final Thought: This theory posits that Nick Reiner was not murdered by a person in 2025, but by a program that began in 2020—a long-term, technologically sophisticated assassination that weaponized his own mind and environment against him. It stands as the darkest warning of what the “Voice of God” can truly do when its parameters are set to “destroy.”
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.
“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.”
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.
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.”
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!”
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.”
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.
