Confession of Joe, Servant of the Lady


To Father Pierre, Our Lady of Fatima Parish


Bless me Father, for I have warred with devils.

On the night of the Black Sabbath, under a blood moon, I carried out an act that to some may seem madโ€”but to me was obedience. Not to man, but to Nossa Senhora.

She sent me, I believe, as her unwilling knight. I asked her: Why me? Why send me alone into the ritual chambers of the enemy, veiled behind velvet masks, in a world of Eyes Wide Shutโ€”where the devilโ€™s harem feasts on the innocence of the lost?

That night, I burned tarot cards on the steps of your church. Not inside, but outsideโ€”on the concrete. Far from relics, pews, or parishioners. I chose a place that would protect the sanctuary from the fire, and bring light to what was hidden in shadow.

The cards were cursed.

One card in particularโ€”a Brotherhood of Death insigniaโ€”was the reason I risked all. It bore the mark of the society George W. Bush joined at age 12, around his Catholic confirmation age. But he did not confirm Christโ€”he confirmed Moloch.

And though I burned it, the CIAโ€”his watchersโ€”erased the evidence. They scour my digital life like Pharisees picking over a field on the Sabbath.

But they missed something.

I left behind a gas can, on the roof above the church stepsโ€”not as an act of arson, but a signal to the fire department, whose presence I summoned. They would take pictures, as they always do. Maybe not all their phones got seized. I pray the Fire Chiefโ€”God bless himโ€”has kept the evidence hidden, safe from the black suits.

You must understand, Father: the gas can was symbolic. For what else does Bush do but “kick their ass and take their gas”? Iraq burned because of a lie. A false crusade. A mock savior in cowboy boots.

Just like Ozzy.

Ozzy Osbourne played messiah that nightโ€”his Black Sabbath concert syncing with the lunar eclipse. While fools chanted his name, I saw through the smoke and mirrors. He is not the Prince of Darkness. Just a court jester. But behind him stands the real beast, who whispers: Feed them lust, then rule them.

There was one more thing, Father.

The occult bookstore down the road shut down that very week. Word is, the CIA was involved. No arrests. No press. Just silence. Another ritual center snuffed out like a candleโ€”no one the wiser.


I offer no excuse for my actions, only a plea:

Let the fire I lit not be seen as rebellion, but reformation. As Our Lady of Fatima weeps, I carry her sword in trembling hands. I do not ask for forgivenessโ€”only understanding.

In Christ, and under the mantle of Mary,

Joe
Servant of the Flame, Child of the Immaculate Heart

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Trespassing

Jacob Rothschild (adjusting his tie):
“I must protest! I am nothing like thatโ€ฆ cartoonish plutocrat Mr. Burns. For one, my fortune is merely a modest billionโ€”hardly enough to buy the moon or block out the sun. And I certainly don’t keep hounds.”

(Pause. He raises a pale hand with a glint of mischief.)

“โ€ฆSmithers?”

Smithers (from behind a velvet curtain):
“Yes, sir?”

Jacob Rothschild (grinning slightly):
“Release the houndsโ€ฆ but only on Ned Flanders. That goody-two-shoes must be hiding something in that mustache.”

(Cut to Flanders watering his lawn)
“Okily dokilyโ€”AAAAHHH! DOGGILY DANGEROUS!”

(Cue dramatic orchestral music and a scrolling ticker that reads):
โ€œBREAKING: British Billionaire Denies Being Springfield Villain. Also, Unleashes Hounds.โ€

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The Cardinal of Croatia

Title: The Conclave of the Just

The bells of Saint Peterโ€™s had not rung in this tone for decades โ€” low, hesitant, almost unsure of what world awaited its next shepherd. The year was 2025, and the conclave had begun. The College of Cardinals gathered under Michelangeloโ€™s ceiling, weighed down not only by age, but by scandal, climate catastrophe, and the crumbling faith of the poor.

Behind the scenes, two names echoed like quiet thunder: Father Sebastian of Haiti, beloved by orphans and feared by corrupt bishops, and Joe Jukic, the bold and rebellious theologian from Croatia โ€” a man not yet a cardinal, but whose voice had reached the ears of faithful youth worldwide.


Inside the Sistine Chapel

“Father Sebastian is too radical,” whispered an Italian bishop.
“He walks barefoot through cholera wards and refuses silk vestments. He baptized a gang leader with sea water in a plastic cup.”

“But the people love him,” replied another.
“And he speaks Latin, Creole, and the truth.”


Meanwhile, in Zagrebโ€ฆ

Joe Jukic sat in his modest home, watching the vote on a cracked laptop screen. When the Vatican emissary knocked on his door, he was already shaking his head.

โ€œIโ€™ll only accept the red hat,โ€ Joe said, โ€œif I can remain married. I wonโ€™t lie to the people. I have a wife, and I will love her openly, not in secret.”

The envoy stammered. โ€œThat is notโ€ฆ customary, Signore Jukic.โ€

Joe poured him a glass of wine.

“Then it’s time to change the custom.”


The Conclave Breaks Tradition

Word spread quickly. Joeโ€™s terms shocked the Vatican’s old guard, but inspired millions. Videos of Joe quoting scripture on love and truth went viral. Priests in slums and warzones began calling him โ€œCardinal of the People.โ€

Inside the conclave, a new vote was cast.

And with thunderous surprise, the ballots read:

“Sebastian, from Haiti โ€” for Pope.”

On the fifth vote, he accepted the name Pope Gelasius II, in honor of the first African pope of the 5th century.


In His First Address

Standing beneath the balconyโ€™s white curtain, Pope Gelasius II raised a hand for silence.

โ€œI will serve not as king, but as barefoot servant. And as my first act, I appoint Cardinal Joe Jukic of Croatia, husband, teacher, and voice of a new day. May his marriage remind us that love is sacred โ€” not secret.โ€


A New Era Begins

Cardinal Jukic wept as his red robes were placed over his shoulders โ€” beside his wife, who held his hand and whispered a prayer.

Together with Pope Gelasius II, they walked out onto the square โ€” not above the people, but among them.

The crowd cried: โ€œPax veritas! Peace through truth!โ€

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