i am not afraid
of any man
i have seen the promised land
i will make it there with you
If I Was President
Sleeping Sons of Jacob
Joe and BK Discuss the Sleeping Sons of Jacob Rothschild and the Four Horsemen
BK: You ever notice, Joe, that Africa always seems to get the short end of the stick? No food, no water, no shelter… but billions of dollars in vaccines.
Joe: That’s the Black Horse of famine riding, BK. You know what the Bible says—”A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny.” Food so expensive the poor can’t afford it.
BK: But they got vaccines. Somehow, there’s always money for that.
Joe: Yeah, funny how that works. No money to build wells, no money for farming infrastructure, but hey—line up for your shots. The Sleeping Sons of Jacob Rothschild must think that’s the solution.
BK: Sleeping sons? You mean the old money, the ones that stay in the shadows?
Joe: Yeah, the ones who pull the strings from their castles. You don’t see them in the news, but their policies shape the world. They got a plan, and Africa ain’t a part of it—except for experiments.
BK: They keep saying it’s about “public health,” but what’s healthy about starving with a full vaccine card?
Joe: It’s about control, BK. The Red Horse is my old comrade—the horse of war. They use war to destabilize, and when that’s not enough, they let famine do the rest.
BK: So that’s the game. Keep them desperate, keep them sick, but never let them rise.
Joe: Exactly. No independence, no self-sufficiency—just dependence. You ever see a man fight back when he’s weak from hunger?
BK: Never. A starving man doesn’t start revolutions. He just begs for crumbs.
Joe: And that’s what they want. Hunger, thirst, disease—they’re weapons. But they disguise it as “aid.” The Sleeping Sons bankroll it, the Four Horsemen deliver it, and the world just watches.
BK: So what’s the move, Joe? How do you fight horsemen?
Joe: You wake the people up. You tell them the truth. And maybe, just maybe, you teach them to plant their own food instead of waiting for handouts.
BK: Sounds like a dangerous game.
Joe: It always is. But some of us aren’t afraid to play it.
African Apocalypse
[Scene: A high-tech conference room in an undisclosed location. Solid Snake, African Union President Bkenyan Lewis, and Elon Musk sit around a sleek black table. A large screen displays maps of Africa, hunger statistics, and a bold figure: $7,000,000,000. Snake leans back in his chair, arms crossed, while Musk absentmindedly fidgets with his phone.]
Solid Snake:
Elon, let’s cut the crap. Seven billion dollars. That’s all it takes to feed Africa’s hungry. I’ve been in warzones where kids fight over scraps. Meanwhile, you’re over here talking about terraforming Mars.
Elon Musk: (not looking up)
Mars is the future. Humanity needs to be a multi-planetary species.
Bkenyan Lewis: (leaning forward, serious tone)
Africa is humanity. And right now, we don’t need escape plans. We need food. If you can fund rockets to colonize space, why not invest in keeping people alive here?
Elon Musk: (finally looking up, smirking)
So you’re saying I should take a break from building the future to fix the past?
Solid Snake: (gritting his teeth)
I’m saying that before we go anywhere, we should make sure the people here aren’t starving. You keep talking about a better world—how about starting with this one?
Bkenyan Lewis:
Imagine Africa not just surviving, but thriving. Seven billion isn’t a black hole—it’s an investment. Agriculture, infrastructure, clean energy. We’re not asking for handouts. We’re asking for vision.
Elon Musk: (tilting his head, considering it)
So… you’re saying Africa could be the model for sustainable living? A proving ground for the tech we’d need on Mars?
Solid Snake: (scoffs)
If that’s what it takes to keep your head down here instead of out there, sure.
Bkenyan Lewis: (nodding)
Think of it this way—before you feed aliens, let’s feed humans.
Elon Musk: (pausing, tapping fingers on the table)
Alright. Show me the plan. If it’s viable, I’ll back it.
[Snake and Bkenyan exchange glances—Musk might be a space case, but at least, for a moment, his head is back on Earth.]
Protecting the Rainbow Cubs
The sun dipped low over the urban jungle, casting a golden glow across the city skyline. BK and JCJ, two regal lions with manes shimmering in hues of silver and gold, perched atop an abandoned skyscraper. Beside them stood the ghost of Bob Marley, a spectral lion with a mane that seemed to ripple with the colors of the rainbow. Below, the rainbow children played in the cracked streets and empty lots, their laughter a melody that echoed against the concrete walls. These children, whom BK and JCJ affectionately called their “cubs,” were human—a diverse group of young souls embodying hope and unity in a fractured world.
BK, his golden mane catching the last rays of sunlight, turned to JCJ, whose emerald eyes burned with intensity. “The rival lions are growing bolder,” he said, his deep voice carrying a note of concern. “Bill Gates and Donald Trump—their influence stretches far beyond this jungle. They see our rainbow cubs as a threat to their vision of the future.”
JCJ, his sleek frame radiating quiet strength, nodded solemnly. “Their vision is one of control and conquest,” he replied. “But our cubs represent something they fear: freedom, creativity, and the power of unity. We must protect them, no matter the cost.”
The ghost of Bob Marley stepped forward, his spectral form glowing softly in the twilight. “The power of the rainbow lies in its colors,” he said, his voice a soothing melody. “Each child brings a unique light to the world. Together, they shine brighter than any darkness.”
Just then, a new challenge arose. Justin Trudeau, a lion with a mane as polished as a diplomat’s suit, appeared on a holographic billboard above the skyline. “The rainbow children are mine,” he declared, his voice smooth but insistent. “They embody the alternative lifestyles I’ve championed. They are the pink nation, the future of progress.”
BK growled low, his golden mane bristling. “The rainbow represents every race, religion, color, or creed,” he said firmly. “It cannot be claimed by one nation, one vision, or one leader. The rainbow belongs to all.”
JCJ’s emerald eyes narrowed as he addressed Trudeau’s projection. “You speak of progress, but you’re not woke—you’re sleeping on the job. Unity isn’t about claiming ownership; it’s about fostering connection. The pink nation is part of the rainbow, but it’s not the whole.”
Bob Marley’s ghost nodded solemnly. “The rainbow’s strength lies in its diversity,” he said. “When leaders forget that, they divide what should be united.”
The Rival Lions
Far across the city, in a towering glass fortress, Bill Gates paced back and forth. His mane was neatly groomed, his eyes sharp and calculating. Before him, holographic projections of the urban jungle flickered, each marked with data points and strategic plans.
“The rainbow pride is growing,” he said to his advisors, a group of jackals and hyenas clad in sleek suits. “Their cubs are unpredictable, their unity a wildcard. If we cannot control them, they could disrupt the balance of power we have worked so hard to maintain.”
Meanwhile, Donald Trump stood atop a golden skyscraper, surrounded by roaring lions. His mane was a fiery orange, his presence commanding. “The rainbow pride thinks they’re special,” he declared, his voice booming. “But they’re weak. They rely on unity, on feelings. We’ll show them the power of strength, of dominance. We’ll make the jungle great again!”
The Battle of Ideals
Back at the skyscraper, BK and JCJ gathered the rainbow children. “You are the future of the jungle,” BK said, his voice steady. “Each of you carries a piece of the rainbow, a unique gift that no one else possesses. Together, you are unstoppable.”
JCJ stepped forward. “The rival lions will try to divide you, to make you doubt yourselves and each other. But remember: the strength of the rainbow lies in its unity. When you stand together, you are a force of nature.”
Bob Marley’s ghost began to hum a tune, a melody that seemed to resonate with the very soul of the city. The children joined in, their voices rising in harmony. They began their training, learning to blend their unique talents into a harmonious whole. One child, with a mind like a stormy sky, mastered the art of strategy. Another, whose movements were as fluid as sunlight on water, became a swift and agile scout. Each child found their role, their purpose, their strength.
The Clash
The day came when the rival prides advanced. Gates’ technological beasts—drones and automated machines—marched in precision, their metal forms gleaming in the city lights. Trump’s roaring masses charged with brute force, their chants echoing through the streets. Trudeau’s holograms projected his message across the city, attempting to sway the children to his vision of the pink nation.
But the rainbow pride was ready. The children, now young leaders, stood united. They used their unique talents to outwit and outmaneuver their adversaries. The stormy strategist led them in a series of brilliant tactical maneuvers, while the sunlight scout darted through enemy lines, spreading confusion and hope.
In the end, the rival prides retreated, their forces scattered. BK and JCJ stood proud as their pride celebrated. “We have shown them the power of the rainbow,” BK said. “But our work is not done. The jungle is vast, and there will always be those who seek to control it. We must remain vigilant.”
JCJ smiled. “As long as we stand together, the rainbow will never fade.”
Bob Marley’s ghost nodded, his form beginning to fade into the night. “Keep the music alive,” he said. “For the song of the rainbow will guide you through the darkest times.”
And so, the pride thrived, a beacon of hope and unity in a world of challenges.
