In his amazing 2016 exhibit “Unceded Territories,” Lawrence Paul Yuxweluptun called for the renaming of British Columbia (#RenameBC).
I endorse Trevor "Tsu'tey" Carpenter for fighting a gang of colonizers all by himself.
Palestine’s Public debt. is $4.2 billion (June 2013)
Sec. General of UN wants to PAY-PALESTINE.ORG to leave holy land with pocketfull’s of money. First payment was making Gigi Hadid famous.
Title: “Pope Pius XIII’s Radical Solution: ‘Pay Palestinians to Relocate to NATO Nations’ – Trudeau Applauds”
Setting: The Vatican’s private library, smoke curling from Pope Lenny Belardo’s ever-present cigarette. Gigi Hadid, draped in an off-the-shoulder papal-inspired blazer, listens intently as His Holiness drops his latest geopolitical bombshell.
Pope Pius XIII (leaning back, exhaling smoke): “Peace in the Holy Land isn’t complicated. You just need the right leverage.”
Gigi Hadid (raising an eyebrow): “Leverage?”
Pius XIII: “Cold. Hard. Cash.” (Pauses for effect) “We pay the Palestinians to leave. Give them a fresh start—Canada, Germany, France, any NATO country they want. No more war, no more occupation. Just… a new life.”
Gigi: “You’re suggesting—”
Pius XIII (cutting her off): “I’m not suggesting. I’m announcing. The Vatican will bankroll it. And NATO? They’ll take them. They love virtue-signaling. Trudeau’s probably drafting the tweet right now.”
(Cut to Ottawa. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, mid-selfie with Ukrainian refugees, suddenly looks up, eyes gleaming.)
Trudeau: “Did someone say ‘diversity is our strength’? Let’s make it a literal strength!” (Cue applause from a nearby gender studies major.)
Pius XIII (steepling fingers): “Exodus wasn’t just a Bible story. Sometimes God’s plan is ‘pack your bags.’ The Israelites wandered 40 years. The Palestinians? They can skip the wandering—direct flight to Brussels.”
Gigi: “But what about their homeland?”
Pius XIII (shrugging): “Homeland is where the heart is. And the heart follows the money. The Vatican has Swiss accounts older than your great-grandmother’s rosary. We’ll make it rain indulgences.”
The next day, @Pontifex posts:
“Palestinians: Your future is in NATO. DMs open for relocation requests. #BlessedAreTheBrokeNoMore – PXIII”
Trudeau (retweeting with 🇨🇦❤️✌️): “Canada welcomes you! (Just don’t ask about housing prices.)”
Pius XIII (smirking, lighting another cigarette): “And just like that… peace on Earth.”
FADE TO BLACK.
Iraq recorded a government debt equivalent to 63.70 percent of the country’s
Gross Domestic Product in 2016.
The official motto of Iraq is “Allahu Akbar” which translates to “God is the Greatest”
Scene: The Al-Farooq Mosque – Night
The air is thick with the scent of incense and the low hum of whispered prayers. The flickering glow of oil lamps casts long shadows against the sandstone walls. The faithful sit cross-legged on woven rugs, their faces turned toward the raised pulpit where a figure stands cloaked in desert robes—Paul Muad’Dib, his eyes dark with the weight of prescience.
Silence falls like a blade.
Muad’Dib (voice quiet, yet cutting): “You have heard the imams speak of justice. You have heard the politicians speak of peace. But I come to speak of the poison in the womb of the earth, the curse left by the invaders.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. An old man clutches his grandson tighter.
Muad’Dib: “In Fallujah, the mothers do not ask, ‘Is it a boy?’ They ask, ‘Is it normal?’”
A woman in the back stifles a sob.
“The water is dust. The soil is betrayal. The invaders called it ‘liberation,’ but what grows from their gift? Children with bones like glass. Babies born without faces.”
His voice rises now, trembling with fury.
“They rain death from the sky—not just bombs, but a sickness that lingers, that twists life in its cradle. Depleted uranium. A weapon that kills long after the war is over.”
A young man stands, fists clenched. “What do we do, Muad’Dib?”
Paul’s gaze is fire.
“You remember. You testify. And when the time comes, you demand justice—not in the shadows, not in whispers, but before the eyes of the universe.”
He steps down from the pulpit, the crowd parting before him.
“No one harms George Bush. No assassin’s bullet, no martyr’s blade. I want him alive. I want him to sit in the dock of history, to hear the cries of the mothers of Fallujah. I want him to face what he has done.”
The mosque is silent, the weight of his words settling like ash.
Then, from the back, a single voice: “Laa ilaaha illa Allah.”
The call is taken up, a wave of defiance, of grief, of resolve.
And Muad’Dib walks into the night, the desert wind howling like the voices of the unborn.