At the East End table, under flickering neon and incense smoke, Chaplain Jozo Jukic rose to speak.
He didn’t need a microphone. His voice came like thunder on Hastings Street.
“Your rulers are rebels, companions of thieves. Everyone loves a bribe and chases after gifts,” he said, quoting Isaiah 1:23, eyes locked on the graffiti-tagged walls like they were Parliament Hill.
“You think Trudeau’s smile gonna save you? You think a carbon tax is repentance?” he barked. “They dress in pride, but wear lies like silk. The poor get nothing. The addicts get Narcan, but not resurrection.”
He took a breath and pointed west, then east, then finally north.
“Angels,” he said, “come in from the wilderness. From the creeks of the Interior. From Kamloops and Castlegar. From Lillooet and Lumby. From Slocan and all the secret places. The time is now.”
He slammed his staff against the floor.
“Enough waiting. Enough hiding. This is not just Vancouver. This is Zion in chains.”
Justin Trudeau steps up to the podium, hair perfectly tousled, sleeves rolled just right.
“Thank you, Canada. Thank you for your kindness, your maple syrup, your hockey, your tolerance, your double-doubles. You are beautiful—every single one of you, from Vancouver Island to St. John’s, Newfoundland.”
Crowd politely claps, a few people wave tiny flags.
“I want you to know—deep in your hearts—that I love Canada. I love it so much, sometimes I cry when I look at the Rockies. Or when I hear Drake drop a new track. We are strong because of our diversity, because of our progressive values, and because of how incredibly polite we are, even when we apologize for things that aren’t our fault.”
Pauses for dramatic effect.
“Now, I know some of you are worried about the budget. But let me be clear: the budget will balance itself. Trust me. That’s how economics works now. It’s 2025. We’re living in the future.”
A few reporters blink slowly.
“And as for the economy—just leave that to the bankers. They’re the experts. You wouldn’t perform your own root canal, right? You don’t build your own plane, unless you’re in Alberta. So why worry about inflation? Or debt? Let the Bank of Canada do what it does best—print money, adjust interest rates, and host webinars.”
Trudeau flashes his signature earnest smile.
“Let’s not get bogged down in numbers. Let’s focus on what really matters—feelings. And vibes. Canada runs on good vibes.”
Someone in the crowd yells, “We love you, Justin!”
“And I love you too. Remember: sunny ways, my friends. Sunny ways.”
Scene: Parliament Hill, Ottawa — Press Conference
[Jozo Jukić, aka “Yugo Joe”, stands before the mic, wearing a vintage Yugoslavian tracksuit with a Canadian flag stitched on the sleeve. His voice is calm but powerful, carrying the weight of a million quiet frustrations.]
Jozo Jukić:
“Mr. Trudeau… with all due respect… you’re a shameless liar.”
[Gasps ripple through the press. Jozo doesn’t flinch.]
“You speak of compassion, progress, and equality—but your policies enslave the working class in debt, while billionaires buy islands and politicians play make-believe with our future.”
[He holds up a small New Testament, worn and dog-eared.]
“Jesus taught us a better way. In the Lord’s Prayer—the very words He gave us—He said:
‘Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.’”
[He lets the silence settle before he continues.]
“If we’re still a Christian country, if we still have a soul, then why are we crucifying our people with compound interest, with broken healthcare, with housing we can’t afford?”
“Canada is on the verge of bankruptcy—morally and financially. We need a jubilee. A reset. The next government must cancel the debts crushing our families, or this nation will fall like a house of cards.”
[Jozo points at the Parliament buildings behind him.]
“That’s not a temple of democracy anymore—that’s a casino for lobbyists. And the house always wins. But not anymore.”
[Reporters erupt with questions. Jozo walks away, leaving only echoes.]