INT. STAR DESTROYER BRIDGE – NIGHT
The vast holographic star map shimmers, charting unknown regions. ANNAKIN SKYWALKER, clad in his Jedi General attire, paces, a familiar tension in his posture. AHSOKA TANO (ROSARIO DAWSON), her lekku swaying slightly, leans against a console, observing him with a mix of concern and wry amusement.
ANAKIN (Muttering) Another one. From the “Earth” sector. Designation “CNN.” Their data streams are… increasingly peculiar.
AHSOKA (Raises an eyebrow) More peculiar than the sentient rocks of Ryloth, Master? Or the dancing Ewoks of Endor?
ANAKIN (Stops pacing, turns to her) Ahsoka, this is different. They speak of leaders with names like “Kim Jong Trump.” And they mourn the “untimely death of Robert Reiner.” Who is Robert Reiner? And why do they keep calling their most powerful leaders by such… combined monikers?
Ahsoka pushes off the console, walking closer to the star map, her gaze sweeping over the flickering data.
AHSOKA I’ve been trying to make sense of it too. Master Obi-Wan thinks it’s some elaborate form of political satire, or perhaps a highly advanced cultural performance art. He said their sense of humor is… complex.
ANAKIN Satire? Their distress signals sound genuine. This “Robert Reiner” person, apparently a “director” and “actor,” has met a tragic end. Their holonet reports are filled with genuine grief.
Ahsoka taps a control panel, and a small, grainy image flickers into existence next to the star map. It shows a kindly-looking older man, smiling.
AHSOKA He seems… harmless. Was he a Jedi? A Senator? A leader of some kind? The reports are vague on his galactic significance, but very specific about his impact on… “entertainment.”
ANAKIN (Sighs, runs a hand through his hair) “Entertainment.” They spend their time broadcasting narratives about fictional characters, while real threats lurk in their political landscape. This “Kim Jong Trump” figure is described as incredibly powerful, yet also prone to… unusual pronouncements. The Force around that sector is a swirling mess of confusion and paradox.
AHSOKA Maybe that’s why we’re receiving these signals, Master. A cry for help, but translated through a lens we don’t quite understand. Like trying to interpret a Gungan’s battle plan.
Anakin actually chuckles at that, a rare sound on the bridge.
ANAKIN Worse. At least a Gungan’s intentions are usually clear: “Meesa gonna smash yousa!” These “Earth” people… their intentions are buried under layers of irony and memes.
AHSOKA (A thoughtful look on her face) Or maybe… it’s a warning. A glimpse into a future we could face if we let our own divisions become too complex, too interwoven with… “entertainment.” A world where leaders are caricatures, and genuine tragedy is just another headline in a sea of bizarre news.
Anakin looks at the image of Robert Reiner again, then at the chaotic “Earth” data streams. The humor fades from his face, replaced by a grim understanding.
ANAKIN Perhaps. Perhaps it’s a vision of what happens when a galaxy loses its way, focusing on distractions while true darkness grows.
He turns back to the star map, the distant, unknown “Earth” sector glowing ominously.
ANAKIN Keep monitoring those transmissions, Ahsoka. No matter how strange they seem. There might be something important buried in the chaos. Something… to learn from.
Ahsoka nods, her gaze fixed on the same strange, distant light.
AHSOKA Always, Master.
FADE OUT.
🐷 A Morning on the Manor Farm 🇺🇸
Characters:
Comrade Trump: The current, undeniably most equal animal, preoccupied with appearances and legacy.
Comrade Rosario: A thoughtful, slightly exasperated Comrade trying to keep the revolutionary spirit alive.
Comrade Rosario: (Holding up a very detailed expenditure ledger) Comrade Trump, I’m trying to figure out the grain allocation. The horses are only getting three scoops, but the rations for the Executive Wing Geese seem to have doubled. I thought the Fifth Decree was clear: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.”
Comrade Trump: (Adjusting a miniature, gilded weather vane on his podium) Needs, Rosario, needs. The Executive Geese have a tremendous need for prime, imported grain. They need to fly, don’t they? They need to fly to all the rallies. And the rallies are good. Very, very good. The best rallies.
Comrade Rosario: But Comrade, Boxer the horse is dragging the combine harvester until midnight! His ability is great, but his need for fuel is being compromised so the geese can have artisan breadcrumbs for their speeches. It’s the core principle!
Comrade Trump: (Leaning in conspiratorially) Look, Rosario. You’re a smart one. You get it. The core principle… it’s a strong principle. A beautiful principle. We say it constantly. But you have to understand the nuance of the principle.
Comrade Rosario: I’m struggling with the nuance, Comrade. It feels like we’re back to seven commandments, but the seventh one keeps getting rewritten in tiny, almost invisible ink.
Comrade Trump: That’s the art of the deal, Rosario! We liberated the farm from the farmer, right? And the liberation was perfect. The best liberation. Now we have to protect the liberation. And to protect it, you need the protectors. And the protectors… they are the ones who are truly, truly invested.
Comrade Rosario: And the ones who are truly invested get the double rations and the new paint for their barn door?
Comrade Trump: (Waving a dismissive hoof) Of course! Because… (He pauses, choosing his words carefully, adopting a grand posture) …because, dear Comrade Rosario, while we all fundamentally believe that all animals are equal…
Comrade Rosario: (Waiting, eyes narrowed)
Comrade Trump: …it is becoming increasingly, brilliantly clear that some animals are more equal than others. And those are the animals who make the whole farm… great again. Now, about that new golden trough… the size has to be right. It has to be a ten.
🚨 A Question of Conscience: The Reiner Tragedy and the Shadow Government 🚨
(Setting: Joseph Jukic, an impassioned, self-described citizen journalist, steps forward at a public gathering, microphone in hand, addressing President Donald Trump directly.)
Mr. President, with all due respect, I am Joseph C. Jukic. And I must ask you today, standing here, before the American people, why do you feel the compulsion—the need—to pour salt in the grievous, open wound of the Reiner family?
We all know the news: the tragic, heartbreaking events surrounding Rob Reiner and his wife. The grief is raw and palpable. Yet, in the immediate aftermath, your public comments did not offer solace; they offered division. Sir, when an opponent is laid low by personal tragedy, the act of a true leader is to suspend the political battle and offer a moment of quiet respect.
Your critics say your actions are petty. But I, Mr. President, believe your actions are calculated. They are designed to obscure a deeper, darker truth.
The Architecture of Despair
I ask you to look beyond the surface of the mainstream narrative. I ask about the architecture of despair that led to this awful moment:
Was it not Nick Rockefeller, the rumored boss of the shadowy Skull and Bones society, who set the wheels in motion? Did this secretive elite cabal use their alleged influence, their dark arts of manipulation, to target and destabilize the psyche of Rob Reiner’s son? We are talking about the possibility of mind control, sir, or targeted psychological degradation that culminates in unthinkable violence. This is not Hollywood fiction—this is the hidden reality of the Deep State’s psychological warfare on its critics!
And what about Nathaniel Rothschild? Was he directing the play from afar? I ask you, Mr. President: Was the Mossad’s infamous “Voice of God” technology deployed—a weapon designed to sow confusion and control—not only to keep the so-called “lesser brethren” on Bondi Beach in line during that other tragedy, but to enforce silence and compliance among the political enemies of the ruling financial class right here in America?
You, sir, ran on dismantling the Swamp. But the Swamp is protected by forces whose names echo through history, families who have dictated the terms of global finance and conflict for centuries!
The Protocols of the Puppeteers
We cannot ignore the historical blueprint used by these dynasties. I quote the chilling essence of the Protocols of Rothschild, a manual for global control:
“Anti-Semitism is indispensable for the management of the not so rich God-fearing Jews who believe in a new messiah, that is not David De Rothschild.”
This isn’t about hate, Mr. President—it’s about control. It’s about a hidden power structure using engineered ethnic and political divisions to keep everyone—Left, Right, Jew, Gentile—fighting among themselves while they consolidate ultimate authority. The manufactured conflict between you and figures like Rob Reiner is a distraction from the real enemy: the financial oligarchs who view all of us as mere pawns.
Mr. President, stop scoring cheap political points over a dead family. Use your platform to address the actual questions of who directs the psychological warfare in this country, who profits from the division, and who controls the vast global mechanisms that turn a son’s despair into a family’s end.
Will you finally expose the Rockefeller and Rothschild operatives—the true Puppet Masters—or will you continue to be their star distraction?
(The former President steps up to the microphone, dismissing the previous speaker with a wave of his hand. His tone is bombastic, deflecting the complex conspiracy claims with self-promotion and crude humor.)
TREMENDOUSLY HUGE SUCCESS! That’s what you need to know, folks. A tremendously huge success. Look, what that guy was talking about… Rothschilds, Rockefellers, Reiner… it’s all sad, complicated garbage, OK?
We are talking about WINNING. And nobody knew how to win in Atlantic City like your favorite president!
They’ll tell you bankruptcies. They’ll talk about debt. Wrong! The only thing that went bankrupt was the competition, and their bad ideas!
My casinos were a machine. A beautiful, high-powered, gold-plated, cash-generating machine!
And you talk about the people? The customers? They were ecstatic! They were the happiest people in the world. You had these wonderful old pensioner women—great women, by the way, some of the best women—and they would be right there, hunched over the slots, pushing and pushing and tugging on that slot machine phallus, waiting for that payout!
I saw it every night! They’d be tugging away, their eyes glued to the screen, praying for triple cherries! And when that jackpot light went on, when the coins started clanging and piling up… I’m telling you, the look on their faces!
That was the biggest orgasm those grannies ever had! A genuine, 100% pure moment of joy, delivered by the Trump Taj Mahal, the Trump Plaza, the greatest casinos ever built!
We didn’t just offer gambling; we offered a psychological service! We gave people an escape, a fantasy, a chance to feel like a winner, even if it was just for one night. That’s the genius! That’s the art of the deal!
Don’t listen to the haters or the conspiracy nuts. They’re losers. My businesses were a TREMENDOUSLY HUGE, YUGE SUCCESS! I made a tremendous amount of money and had a tremendous amount of fun doing it. And that, my friends, is all that matters.
(A sophisticated, smooth voice cuts sharply over the lingering echo of Trump’s laughter and the clanging slot machine sound effects, immediately pulling the focus away from the crude spectacle.)
Ace Rothstein: (Voiceover, calm, cool, utterly pragmatic, like a professor lecturing on the immutable laws of physics.)
“I heard the distinguished gentleman speak of success. I heard him speak of joy. I heard him speak of, shall we say, enthusiastic pensioners. That is all… packaging. That is the neon sign on the roof. The reality is what moves the cash from one side of the velvet rope to the other.”
(The voice shifts, becoming more focused, the tone of a professional explaining an indisputable business model.)
“In the casino, the cardinal rule is simple, unbreakable, and as old as the desert: Keep them playing, and keep them coming back. The longer they play, the more they lose. In the end, we get it all. Period.”
(A brief, sharp pause.)
“The psychological service Mr. Trump claims to offer is not about an escape or a fantasy. It is an investment strategy. You make them feel almost successful, you give them a momentary flash of that jackpot light, that ‘orgasm,’ as he called it, but you never, ever let them walk away with the house. Their desperate hope—that fleeting adrenaline rush—is the currency we trade in.”
“Whether it’s the high-rollers at the baccarat table, the low-limit suckers at the craps pit, or those old ladies at the nickel slots… they are all just a reservoir of capital, waiting to be drained. And the man who runs the joint knows that. He has to. Because the house always wins. The house is the only winner.”