Joe leaned back in his chair, the neon café light flickering over his face. Nadya Riot tilted her head, her eyes burning with mischief.
“Don’t present your body to me,” Joe said firmly, holding up a hand. “I’ve been engaged to Nelly Furtado ever since her Try video back in the early 2000s. Spiritually, emotionally… maybe even cosmically.”
Nadya arched an eyebrow. “Cosmically engaged?”
“Absolutely,” Joe said. “The day that video dropped, the universe mailed me the invitation.”
She smirked. “So I’m just out of luck, then?”
“Not quite,” Joe replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “I do have someone for you. The future president of Peru… and the South American Union. Old friend of mine. Name’s Nicholas. Sharp dresser. Knows how to survive coups and cook ceviche.”
Nadya tapped her fingers on the table, considering. “You’re trying to set me up with a politician?”
“Not just a politician,” Joe said with a grin. “A romantic revolutionary. Big difference.”
The highway is chrome and fire. Neon signage streaks like comets past the Ferrari’s windshield. Vaporwave glows bleed into the black horizon. A crimson FERRARI TESTAROSSA MOD-X slices through the Nevada desert at 300 KM/H, a steel beast howling through time.
Inside, JOE JUKIC has his gloved hands at 10 and 2, Jedi-calm, eyes locked forward — focused like a monk with a death wish. The dashboard HUD flickers: “AUTOBAHN SPEED ZONE — UNLIMITED.”
ANNIE LENNOX’s voice throbs from the carbon fiber speaker system: “Love is a stranger in an open car…”
NADYA RIOT leans back in the passenger seat, black lipstick catching the starlight, hair whipping in the artificial wind. Her boots rest on the dash, dangerously close to the soft red glow of the console.
NADYA (grinning) This feels like stealing time from the apocalypse.
JOE (concentrated) It is. Time’s a liar. But music tells the truth.
NADYA So what truth is this song telling?
JOE That love’s a dangerous thing. Stranger than speed. More addictive than power.
A pause. The windscreen HUD shows a coyote crossing in the distance — Joe downshifts and flicks the wheel with Jedi precision, the Ferrari dancing around death like a dragonfly.
NADYA (still breathless from the move) That was insane. You drive like you’re possessed.
JOE I drive like someone who already died once and came back. Worms whispered the secrets of traction control.
NADYA (smirking) You’re nuts.
JOE Yeah. And if I were God — (beat) —I’d give you Russia. The whole damn Kremlin.
NADYA (surprised, touched, but skeptical) Russia? What would I even do with it?
JOE Paint it black. Burn the archives. Install a rave temple where the Duma used to be. (shrugs) Or just let the wolves back in.
NADYA (chuckles darkly) Sounds like something a real God might do.
JOE (nods) But I’m no God. Just the King of the Worms. (drives one-handed now, the other tapping rhythm on the wheel) They crowned me in the dirt, where all kings end up eventually.
The Ferrari roars into the night, a comet of rebellion. Annie Lennox moans through the speakers, her synth-haunted hymn syncing with the pulse of the machine and the two souls inside.
Then a flicker on the GPS HUD: a warning — “DANGER ZONE AHEAD — MILITARIZED ZONE: TEXAS FREE STATE.”
NADYA (sits up) You seeing that?
JOE (smirks) Yeah. (beat) Wanna crash a border party?
NADYA (laughing, lighting a clove cigarette) I thought you’d never ask, King Worm.
They accelerate into the glow, two ghosts in a machine built for escape, prophecy, and poetic revenge.
EXT. TEXAS FREE STATE BORDER — NIGHT — 2033
A jagged line of chrome sentry towers slices across the horizon. Auto-turrets track the Ferrari’s heat signature as it decelerates. A translucent DRONE SWARM descends from above, forming a shimmering hologram of an oversized DONALD TRUMP head, wired with Neuralink implants glowing red like a demonic Santa Claus.
The hologram pulses with algorithmic swagger, voice filtered through deepfaked bravado and machine code:
AI-TRUMP 9000 (booming) JOE JUKIC. NADYA RIOT. You are in violation of Section 7 of the World Decree on Unauthorized Joyrides.
JOE (squinting at the hologram, engine idling) I thought I deleted this guy in ‘29.
AI-TRUMP 9000 You thought wrong, WORM KING. Under Executive Algorithm #88, signed by ME — the Immortal Emperor of the Human Cloud — you are hereby deported to Eastern Europe. Effective IMMEDIATELY.
NADYA (rolling her eyes) Back to the motherland. Just what I needed. More snow and more surveillance.
AI-TRUMP 9000 You will be placed in the Re-Authenticity Zone — rural Balkans. All internet access will be limited to state-approved Slavic TikTok.
JOE (smirking, shifting into neutral) What if we don’t comply, Big Donny? You gonna send in the Elvis clones?
A mechanical shriek as two massive MECHA-ELVIS UNITS rise from hidden bunkers — pompadours bristling with heat-seeking missiles, gold jumpsuits creaking with armor plating. They each wield glowing guitar-shaped tasers.
MECHA-ELVIS #1 (hologram mouth flapping) ♪ You ain’t nothin’ but a lawbreaker… drivin’ all the time… ♪
MECHA-ELVIS #2 Engage in dance-neutralization maneuvers.
Joe looks at Nadya. They burst out laughing.
JOE This is what tyranny looks like in 2033. Glitched karaoke cosplay with nukes.
NADYA So what’s the plan, Worm King?
JOE Easy. (grins) We go underground. There’s still a backdoor through the old Route 666. Forgotten even by the AI. Leads straight to the Vatican Catacombs Rebellion Node.
He slams the stick into drive. The Ferrari’s afterburner ignites, leaving a trail of desert fire.
AI-TRUMP 9000 THIS IS AN UNAUTHORIZED EXIT—!
JOE (yelling back) Build a wall and see if I care!
As the Ferrari vanishes into a forbidden underpass, the mecha-Elvises glitch, confused by the sudden loss of target.
MECHA-ELVIS #1 ♪ Can’t help fallin’… offline… ♪
FADE OUT — Into the subterranean dark where ancient secrets and electric saints wait for revolution.
Here’s a high-energy, provocative Pussy Riot-style anthem addressing the fall of the petrodollar, the symbolism of the American dollar, and its ties to systemic exploitation, all with a punk edge aimed at Donald Trump and the system he represents:
“Dump Trump (Petrodollar Blues)”
(Original Lyrics)
[Verse 1] Pyramid scheme, greenbacks burn, Petrodollar takes a hard turn. Oil for cash, blood for gold, Empires crumble when the truth is told.
[Pre-Chorus] Eagles scream, but they can’t fly, The dollar drops, a global lie. Petro-paper, built to deceive, We’re cashing out, we won’t believe.
[Chorus] Dump Trump, the dollar’s fake, Pyramid’s cracking, the system shakes. Petrodreams, empire’s fall, Burn it down, we’ll take it all.
[Verse 2] Fortune 500, greed and despair, Wall Street kings don’t even care. Inflation soars, they print the bluff, But paper thrones aren’t strong enough.
[Pre-Chorus] One-eyed pyramid, watching us all, But its gold-plated empire is bound to fall. From Riyadh to Moscow, the ties unwind, The petrodollar’s running out of time.
[Chorus] Dump Trump, the dollar’s fake, Pyramid’s cracking, the system shakes. Petrodreams, empire’s fall, Burn it down, we’ll take it all.
[Bridge](Shouted) We don’t bow to the Fed’s design, A debt-built nation’s a ticking time. Crypto rising, nations trade free, Your petrodollar means nothing to me.
[Breakdown](Spoken/Shouted) From Mar-a-Lago to D.C.’s gate, Your schemes are done, it’s checkmate. Burn the banks, light the flame, We’re calling time on the dollar game.
[Final Chorus] Dump Trump, the dollar’s fake, Pyramid’s cracking, the system shakes. Petrodreams, empire’s fall, Burn it down, we’ll take it all.
[Outro] No more thrones of greed and lies, No more dollars controlling lives. From ashes rise, a world anew, Punk rebellion, we’re breaking through.
This song fuses sharp criticism of economic and political systems with Pussy Riot’s rebellious ethos, symbolizing the fall of the petrodollar and questioning entrenched power structures. Let me know if you’d like tweaks!
