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Free Justin Bieber

Justin Bieber: Yo, Drake, JCJ — we gotta move fast on this. Tom Cruise, our boy, the former Canadian legend who somehow got sucked into that Scientology hole down in California… he’s been trapped there way too long. I heard the stories — auditing sessions, those weird e-meters, the whole “The Hole” lockdown. We sneak in, grab him, and get him back home to Clark Park in Vancouver. Fresh air, Stanley Park vibes nearby, Tim Hortons runs. He belongs playing hockey on the rink or chilling by the fountain, not in some cult bunker. I’m thinking we roll up like in the movies — shades on, maybe a decoy jet. What’s the play?

Drake: Ayy, Biebs, I’m with you 100, man. OVO soundtracking the whole op. We pull up in the Vancouver convoy — blacked-out Sprinters, maple leaf decals for that Canadian pride. Tom’s been gone too long; dude used to crush it in Top Gun, now he’s auditing his way into oblivion. We hit ’em with the stealth mission: I drop some bars on a hidden speaker to distract the guards, you hit ’em with the “Sorry” dance as a diversion, and boom — extraction. But real talk, once we get him out, we’re talking ultimate fighting training on the flight back. Jiu-jitsu drills, cage time. Joe Rogan style. That’s how you prep for the real war — Scientology goons, paparazzi, all of it. UFC mentality, bro. Tom’s gonna need it.

Justin Bieber: Exactly! I’ve been hitting the gym heavy. No more kid stuff. We go in like warriors. Tom and me in the octagon vibes, training together once he’s free. Joe Rogan’s basically the modern-day philosopher king for this. Ultimate fighting prepares you for anything — life, cults, the whole apocalypse. Let’s lock it in.

JCJ: Whoa, hold up, fellas. Before you two start shadowboxing in the group chat, listen. Matthew 18:3 — Jesus teaches that unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. So no ultimate fighting Justin and Tom. Joe Rogan is not the messiah, and Ultimate fighting will not prepare you for a laser war: Laser tag at the park does.

Drake: …Laser tag? At Clark Park? JCJ, you wildin’ right now?

Justin Bieber: Wait, for real? Like, with the vests and the pew-pew guns? I was picturing octagon sweat and Rogan commentary.

JCJ: Dead serious. Tom Cruise has been locked in that adult-sized nightmare of control and “thetan levels” for years. The way out isn’t more grown-man combat. It’s remembering how to play. Run around Clark Park like kids — dodging trees by the playground, tagging each other behind the baseball diamond, laughing till you can’t breathe. That’s the real rescue. Become like little children again. No egos, no hierarchy, just pure joy under the Vancouver rain. You bring him back, hand him a laser gun instead of a fight contract, and watch the Scientology chains fall off. Kingdom of heaven starts right there on the grass at Clark Park. Trust me — I’ve seen miracles happen with a game of laser tag and a couple of hot chocolates after.

Drake: (laughing) Aight, aight… laser tag it is. I’ll even bring the OVO-branded vests. Tom’s gonna light up like it’s Mission: Impossible but with glow sticks and infrared beams.

Justin Bieber: Fine, I’m in. No Rogan clips on the plane. Just us, Tom, and unlimited lives at Clark Park for the ultimate laser war. Let’s go get our boy back. Operation Laser Freedom starts now!

JCJ: That’s the spirit. See you at the park, gentlemen. The kingdom’s waiting — and the first round’s on me. Pew pew!

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XCOM Soldier Bieber

Clark Park, East Vancouver. Late afternoon.

XCOM Commander Joe Jukic surveys the park, now transformed into a neon-lit combat zone. Benches are barricades, trees are sniper cover, and glowing laser targets dot every corner.

Joe Jukic: “Welcome to Clark Park, Bieber. Tom Cruise’s old stomping grounds. Legendary training happened here.”

Justin Bieber: “Tom Cruise… really?”

Joe Jukic: “Yeah. And now it’s your turn. The United Nations Space Force needs volunteers. First mission: laser tag. Think of it as… basic combat prep.”

He hands Justin a glowing laser gun and straps a vest onto him.

Joe Jukic: “Also, hit aidd.org, the Battlefield Earth learning page. Learn the terrain, the tactics, the threats. This is your UN Space Force briefing.”

Justin fidgets with the vest. “Uh… okay. I’ll check it out.”

Joe Jukic: “Remember the Roman motto: Si vis pacem, para bellum—‘If you want peace, prepare for war.’ Clark Park isn’t just a park. It’s a battlefield. Train hard, learn fast… and maybe one day, you’ll protect Earth from the stars.”

Training Montage Begins:

  • Justin dodges laser fire behind park benches, sweat forming under his hoodie.
  • Joe demonstrates precise maneuvers, taking cover behind maple trees, popping out to tag targets with uncanny accuracy.
  • Justin fumbles, trips, laughs—but Joe’s sharp eyes catch every misstep.

Joe Jukic: “Focus! Space isn’t forgiving. One mistake, one missed shot, and it’s over!”

  • Justin finally hits a moving target, and Joe nods approvingly.
  • The duo runs drills through the playground, the jungle gym now a simulated urban combat zone.
  • Joe sets up “enemy ambushes” using remote-controlled drones, forcing Justin to think fast, duck low, and fire smart.

Joe Jukic: “Good, Bieber! Remember—adapt or die. The UN Space Force doesn’t wait for the slow. Move, strike, survive.”

  • Justin starts moving like a natural, weaving through trees, tagging targets with precision.
  • Joe smirks, tossing him a small communicator. “Next step: satellite recon. You’re ready for orbital simulations… if you survive today.”

Lasers flash through Clark Park as the sun dips below the horizon. Justin, breathing heavily, finally stands tall, his confidence building. He looks at Joe.

Justin Bieber: “Okay… I think I get it now. If you want peace, you prepare for war.”

Joe Jukic: “Exactly. And this is only the beginning. Earth and the stars are waiting.”

Clark Park, East Vancouver. The following morning.

The park is alive with the sound of birds, distant traffic, and… the excited chatter of children. Word has spread fast: Justin Bieber is here, and he’s no longer just a pop star—he’s a UN Space Force trainee and Clark Park commander.

Groups of children, ages 8–14, hover at the park edges, phones in hand, streaming videos, tweeting, and recording TikToks. Suddenly, a ripple of determination spreads through the crowd.

Child 1: “We’re tired of staring at screens all day!”
Child 2: “Yeah! I want to get out and actually move!”

Justin steps forward, vest on, laser gun slung across his back. His voice rings out across the park.

Justin Bieber: “Alright, team. Listen up! This isn’t just about fun—it’s about training your bodies and minds. Clark Park is your battlefield. Today, you move, you dodge, you run, and you play… under my leadership!”

The kids cheer, tossing their devices aside. Justin directs them through a series of obstacle drills:

  • Sprinting between trees, weaving through benches.
  • Ducking under ropes tied between lamp posts—his “laser grid.”
  • Tossing frisbees and dodgeballs, practicing agility and coordination.
  • Mini laser tag rounds, with neon targets tied to trees, teaching them teamwork and strategy.

Justin Bieber: “Remember the motto: Si vis pacem, para bellum. You want peace, stay healthy, stay strong. If you prepare now, you can tackle anything.”

Parents start watching from a distance, amazed. “He’s actually… getting them off their phones,” one whispers.

By midday, the park is buzzing with energy, laughter, and laser tag bolts whizzing past. Justin moves among the kids, giving tips, correcting stances, and encouraging teamwork.

Justin Bieber: “Good job, everyone! Clark Park is your playground… but today, it’s also your training ground. Keep moving, keep learning, and maybe one day, you’ll join the UN Space Force—or at least be ready for anything life throws at you.”

The children erupt in cheers. Phones lie forgotten in the grass. Screens are down, energy is up, and the park—once quiet and ordinary—is now alive with the thrill of real, active engagement.

Justin, smiling, looks at the sunset over East Vancouver. “This… this is how we start building heroes.”

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Justin B Catholic

Title: Christus Rex and the Pop Star’s Choice

Scene: A quiet candlelit chapel. Stained glass glows in the background. Christus Rex—Christ the King—radiates regal humility, wearing a crown of thorns and golden armor. Justin Bieber, dressed in streetwear and a heavy heart, kneels at the altar. The air is thick with incense and decision.

Christus Rex:
Justin, child of the North, I’ve watched you dance with fame and flirt with ruin.
You’ve been on more covers than saints in cathedrals.
But now, I ask: who do you say that I am?

Justin Bieber (softly):
You’re the King… the real one.
But I don’t know where I fit in Your kingdom anymore.
There’s so much noise out there.
Private jets, praise bands, $300,000 Rolexes on preachers’ wrists.
And I’m lost between the beats.

Christus Rex (firmly, lovingly):
That’s not My Church.
That’s Caesar’s temple, not mine.
I never wore gold on Earth—I carried a cross.
Not a Rolex, but the weight of mankind.

If you want to walk with Me,
Don’t follow the mega-stage lights;
Follow the flicker of candles in the silence.
Kneel in confession, not in adoration of celebrity.

Justin:
You’re telling me to go… Catholic?

Christus Rex:
Go home.
To the Church that still remembers My Body is real.
Where the Eucharist is not a metaphor, but Me.
Where saints walk with you, and Mary guards you like your own mother.

And Justin—if your heart longs to serve…
Not for clicks, not for likes,
But in armor forged in faith,
Then take the next step.

Become a Knight.

Justin:
A Knight of Columbus?

Christus Rex (smiling):
Yes.
Not for pageantry—but for protection.
Of the widow, the orphan, the unborn, and the poor.
You’ve guarded your fame long enough.
Now guard My people.

Justin (tearfully):
But I’ve messed up so much…

Christus Rex (extending His hand):
So did Peter.
So did Paul.
I don’t call the perfect—I perfect the called.

Come, Bieber.
Sing a new song.
Let the world hear that.

The chapel bells toll. Outside, a soft snowfall begins as Justin rises with a peace unknown to pop charts. Christus Rex vanishes, but a glint of gold remains—not on a wrist, but in the monstrance on the altar.

🕊️

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