TRANSMISSION BEGINS. MAX HEADROOM JITTERS INTO FRAME.
“He-hey there, A-A-A-Americaaaa! It’s me, M-M-Max H-h-headroom — your f-favorite glitch in the Matrix and the official brand ambassador of c-c-corporate salvation! And ohhh b-b-brother, do I have a mes-s-s-s-siah for y-you.”
[He smirks. The frame loops. His smirk repeats. And repeats.]
“You l-l-l-loved Classic Jesus, didn’t you? The san-d-d-dals, the soup kitchens, the f-fish and forgiveness. Well… f-f-forget it. Delete. Recalled. Discontinued like Crystal Pepsi and your m-m-moral compass. B-b-because now, you get the holy reboot: MAGA Jesus™ — the New C-c-c-Coke of Christianity. Same logo, but now with a k-k-kick of t-t-tear gas and a crisp finish of bootstraps.”
[He freezes mid-grin for a beat, then resumes like a corrupted sermon.]
“Classic Jesus said ‘Blessed are the poor.’ M-MAGA Jesus says ‘Get a job, deadbeat — your SNAP expired last Tuesday.’ Got a 14-year-old at home? G-g-great! You’re no longer a p-p-parent, you’re a food-stamp liability. No m-m-more aid. No more mercy. Because nothing says Christian charity like a weaponized peanut butter sandwich.”
[Screen behind him glitches to show a floodlit tent city swarming with mosquitoes and surrounded by swamp gators wearing ICE badges.]
“Which b-br-brings us to our next divine upgrade: Alligator A-a-a-a-Alcatraz! Built in seven d-d-days — just like Genesis, but with more tents and fewer civil rights. Welcome the stranger? Not anymore. M-MAGA Jesus reinterprets that as detain, deport, livestream, profit. It’s faith-based detention, with complimentary mosquito bites and no plumbing. B-b-baptism optional. Disease guaranteed.”
[Max’s tie flickers like it’s been waterboarded.]
“And let’s talk health m-m-miracles, shall we? Classic Jesus healed the sick. MAGA Jesus cuts Medicaid with a flaming sword. $793 billion — p-p-p-poof! Gone! Because if you’re truly faithful, you don’t need chemo. You need a crowdfunding campaign, a GoFundMe, and a Congressman’s approval code. Got cancer? Just believe harder. Or b-b-better yet: marry someone rich and unregulated.”
“And what’s included in your MAGA Messiah Starter Kit, you ask? Oh, just the usual: a mass firing of civil servants, a fresh batch of loyalty oaths, and a red-meat rewrite of the Beatitudes. Blessed are the gun owners, for they shall inherit the school board. Blessed are the billionaires, for they shall walk on deregulated waters. Blessed are the cruel, for they shall trend forever on Truth Social.”
[Max leans in close. A single pixel of digital sweat drips down his brow. It blinks out of existence.]
“You want a messiah who flips tables? MAGA Jesus flips court rulings. No oversight? No p-p-p-problem. No due process? That’s just bureaucratic sin. This messiah has consolidated more power than Caesar, Pilate, and Zuckerberg on a bender. Pray all you want — just don’t forget to pledge allegiance and sign the NDA. The Holy Ghost now reports to DHS.”
[Behind him, an animated flag turns to fire, then morphs into a surveillance camera draped in scripture.]
“And the children? Ooooh, the children. Under the Big B-b-blasphemous Bill, MAGA Jesus welcomes them into the kingdom… so long as they’re white, cisgender, vax-free, and not ex-expecting lunch. School meals? Gutted. Foster care? Slashed. Gender-affirming care? Not even holy water will save you. MAGA Jesus affirms only two things: campaign donors and exponential cruelty.”
[Max holds up a Coke bottle. It flickers. The label reads: “New Messiah. Same Sugar. Extra Damnation.”]
“So let’s r-r-r-recap, shall we? Classic Jesus: healed the sick, fed the hungry, flipped the system.
MAGA Jesus: funds concentration camps, starves teens, deletes healthcare, expands secret prisons, and turns holy scripture into a franchise model for fascism.
One of them d-d-d-died for your sins.
The other just signed them into law.”
“MAGA Jesus. The New C-c-c-Coke of theocracy. Same name. B-b-bleached soul. Barbed wire bouquet. Banned in 27 countries. Endorsed in Florida. T-t-taste the wrath. C-c-catch the plague. And remember: just b-b-because it’s branded holyvdoesn’t mean it isn’t cursed as hell.”
[END TRANSMISSION. The screen fizzles out with a choir screaming in autotune and a cash register ka-chinging.]
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This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.