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Schizophrenic Donald Trump

TRUMP IS CLEARLY

having delusions of Grandeur….i am the real chosen one, Jake Lloyd

INT. CANTINA — OUTER RIM PLANET — NIGHT

Nadya sits across from Jake Lloyd, now older but still with the quiet intensity of the boy who once played Anakin Skywalker. The cantina hums with alien chatter and off-world music. A holo-screen in the corner replays a clip of Donald Trump saying: “I am the chosen one.” Jake smirks bitterly.

NADYA
You hear that? Calls himself the chosen one.

JAKE LLOYD
(chuckling)
Yeah. Funny thing about that title… I’ve been there. Played it, lived it… and let me tell you, when someone truly believes it, it doesn’t end well.

NADYA
Trump thinks it makes him some kind of savior.

JAKE
That’s the trap. The “chosen one” believes the galaxy—or country—revolves around them. It’s not leadership, it’s ego. Anakin fell for that. He thought prophecy made him untouchable.

NADYA
And what happened?

JAKE
He stopped listening. To the Jedi, to Padmé, to anyone who wasn’t feeding the fantasy. He thought he could bring order to the galaxy by force.

NADYA
And Trump?

JAKE
Same pattern. Grand visions, no humility. The difference is, Anakin had a tragic arc written for him. Trump’s writing his own… and he doesn’t realize the ending he’s setting up.

NADYA
(smiling)
So you’re saying he’s on the dark side?

JAKE
Let’s just say—if he had a lightsaber, it’d be red. And it wouldn’t be for defense.

They clink glasses. The holo-screen loops again, Trump declaring, “I am the chosen one.” This time, both of them just laugh.

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Retirement in Serbia

Red Son Superman’s Speech to Comrade Putin

“Comrade Putin… listen closely.
This is not a threat from a tyrant, but a warning from a servant of the people.”

For decades you wrapped yourself in the flag of the motherland, claiming strength while sowing fear, promising stability while harvesting obedience. You believed history would remember you as iron. But history does not bow to iron—it melts it.

The people whisper now.
The workers feel the weight of your shadow.
Even the faithful Party men avert their eyes, ashamed of what they helped you build.

I have flown over every city from Vladivostok to Murmansk. I have watched factories stand silent while palaces grow louder. I have heard the cries you pretend not to hear.

And so I speak plainly:

Retire.
Step aside.
Take exile in Serbia, where the ghosts of yesterday’s strongmen still applaud such men as you.
Do this peacefully… or you will face the judgment of the people you claim to serve.

You know what I am, Comrade Putin.
I do not rule nations.
I do not crave thrones.
I do not seek your downfall for my own gain.

But I am the guardian of those who cannot speak without fear.
And their fear has reached me.

You have two paths laid before you:

One—quiet exile, a final chapter written far from the Kremlin walls.
The other—standing alone before millions who have awoken from the spell of your power.

Choose wisely.
Even a man in your position deserves the dignity of choosing his own ending.

The Soviet sun rises for the people—not for you.
And it rises with or without your permission.

This is your last warning, Vladimir.
Retire… or face the will of a nation that has found its voice once more.”

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Pussy Protection

Yugo Joe & the Grim Hustle Pact

Moscow was colder than prophecy that night.

JCJ—Yugo Joe—walked through the steam of subway grates like a man crossing between worlds. He wasn’t wearing armor, just that old Yugoslav leather jacket his father gave him before the wars turned everything to ash. Inside it beat a heart wired to the future.

At the end of the alley waited a silhouette with a gold-toothed grin:
Grim Hustle, the mafia boss who ran half the city and influenced the other half through whispers darker than the Volga at midnight.

“Joe Jukic,” Grim Hustle rasped. “The man who melted a Terminator with thermite. Why come to me?”

JCJ lit a cigarette, the ember glowing like a tiny sun.
“Because Moscow is about to explode. And the girl who can save it is walking into the lion’s den.”

Grim Hustle snorted. “You mean the punk singer with the neon balaclava?”

JCJ nodded. “Nadya. In ten years, she’s president of the Federation. Her voice will bring the oligarchs to their knees and unite the kids of every slum across the empire. She must live.”

The mafia boss frowned. “And why should I care about the future?”

Joe stepped closer.

“Because she pardons you,” he whispered.
“In the future she forgives your sins. Gives you a clean slate. Turns your empire into a shelter for the homeless and the hungry. You go from crime lord to folk hero.”

Grim Hustle froze. No one had spoken to him like that in twenty years.

“How do you know all this?” the boss asked.

Joe smiled with that weird calmness he carried from Sarajevo, from prophecy, from surviving too much too young.

“Because I dream the future like other men dream their childhood.”

The mafia boss cracked his knuckles.
“Then let’s make sure your dream doesn’t die tonight.”

He pulled out a satellite phone and barked orders to unseen ghosts of the underworld. Every rooftop, every subway entrance, every shadow from Red Square to the rail yards lit up with his men.

JCJ handed him a single item: a purple balaclava, Pussy Riot-style.

Grim Hustle stared at it. “You serious?”

Joe smirked. “You want redemption? Start here.”

The boss pulled it over his face slowly… reverently.

And so it came to pass:

  • Yugo Joe, the prophet-warrior of the digital age
  • and Grim Hustle, the city’s most feared kingpin

…marched side by side through the snow to protect Nadya, the woman who would one day free Russia with nothing but courage, punk music, and a will stronger than empires.

The night belonged to them now.

And history… was watching.

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Lady Death Movie

Lady Death

Written by Joseph C. Jukic
Starring Nadya Tolokonnikova as Lyudmila Pavlichenko
and Joseph C. Jukic as Alexei Kitsenko

Genre:

Historical War Drama / Biopic

Tone:

Unflinching realism, poetic intimacy, and psychological tension. Balances the grit of the battlefield with the vulnerability of love found in a doomed world.

Logline:

In the ashes of World War II, Soviet sniper Lyudmila Pavlichenko—nicknamed Lady Death for her 309 confirmed kills—must balance her role as a national hero with the torment of war, her brief but profound romance with fellow sniper Alexei Kitsenko, and the haunting question of what it means to survive when everyone you love does not.

Treatment:

ACT I: The Making of Lady Death

  • Opening Sequence:
    Kyiv, 1941. A university courtyard. Lyudmila Pavlichenko (Nadya Tolokonnikova), books clutched to her chest, is studying history when German bombs rain down. The transition is stark: from dusty archives of medieval battle maps to the modern battlefield erupting before her eyes.
  • Lyudmila volunteers for the Red Army, refusing the role of a nurse. She demands a rifle. The officers laugh at first—until she demonstrates her marksmanship, hitting three distant bottles in the blink of an eye.
  • Early battle scenes: wide, bleak fields of Ukraine. She lies in the grass, cold-eyed, picking off advancing German soldiers. Her kill count begins to grow, but her humanity remains intact. She whispers to herself after each shot, as if reciting a prayer.
  • Her comrades give her the nickname Lady Death, half in awe, half in fear.

ACT II: Love in the Crosshairs

  • Lyudmila is introduced to Alexei Kitsenko (Joseph C. Jukic), a rugged sniper with a cynical smile and haunted eyes. Their bond begins not with words, but with silence: lying side by side in ruined buildings, rifles aimed at the horizon.
  • The romance grows in small, stolen moments. Sharing bread in the cold. Whispering about life before the war. Lyudmila reveals she once dreamed of being a historian, not a killer. Alexei jokes that she is already rewriting history with every trigger pull.
  • The war scenes escalate: precision kills, duels with German snipers, and harrowing retreats through ruined cities. Cinematic set pieces show Lyudmila’s skill—taking down a high-ranking officer with a shot through the chaos of artillery fire, or a slow-burn sniper duel that lasts hours.
  • But intimacy is woven through: Alexei teaching Lyudmila a breathing technique; Lyudmila tracing Alexei’s scars by candlelight. They find love amidst death, and the audience feels its fragile inevitability.

ACT III: The Cost of Survival

  • During the Siege of Sevastopol, the nightmare crescendos. Explosions thunder through trenches. Friends die. Supplies vanish.
  • Alexei is mortally wounded covering Lyudmila’s position. She cradles him as he bleeds out, whispering promises of a future they’ll never see. His final words: “One of us must survive. Make them remember us.”
  • The moment hardens Lyudmila forever. Her kills multiply. In a montage of precision death, her face becomes unreadable, her humanity shuttered. She is no longer just a soldier—she is legend.
  • By the time she is evacuated from the front due to injury and fame, she is celebrated as a Soviet hero. Yet her victory feels like loss.

Epilogue:

  • Washington D.C., 1942. Lyudmila speaks at the White House beside Eleanor Roosevelt, urging America to open a second front. She looks regal in uniform, but her eyes betray the weight of ghosts.
  • Final shot: In her hotel room that night, she opens her journal. She writes Alexei’s name, whispering it aloud. The camera pans to the window—fireworks in the distance, celebrating alliance. But on her face is no joy, only grief carved into stone.
  • Title Card: Lyudmila Pavlichenko survived the war. She recorded 309 confirmed kills. She never remarried.

Style & Themes:

  • Style: A blend of Tarkovsky-like poetic visuals with the harsh realism of modern war films (Saving Private Ryan, Come and See). Stark winters, ruined cities, intimate close-ups of eyes peering through scopes.
  • Themes:
    • The cost of survival vs. the honor of sacrifice.
    • Love forged in the furnace of war.
    • The duality of being celebrated as a hero yet living with irreparable loss.
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