Author: Arthur Pendragon

You wanted a prophecy? Here is your prophecy!
Posted on

Bogus Berg

An Essay for Madonna

There comes a moment in every artist’s life when the mountain they thought was sacred reveals itself to be nothing more than a pile of cleverly arranged stones. In this story, that mountain is what I call Bogus Berg—a fictionalized version of those glossy, mystical “spiritual schools” that promise enlightenment but operate more like a luxury boutique for the soul. The thesis is simple: any organization that treats faith like a revenue stream is a dangerous cult—one that wants devotion only insofar as it can be monetized.

For years, the world has whispered about Madonna and her fascination with esoteric wisdom. But the truth—at least in this essay’s imaginative retelling—is not about devotion but disillusionment. The fictional Madonna of Bogus Berg didn’t walk away from her mystical mountain because she lost interest. She walked away because she finally saw the truth: her then-husband, Guy Ritchie, had already descended the mountain long before she did. In this narrative, Guy wasn’t the one clinging to the practice—he was the one slipping quietly out the back door, shaking his head at the absurdity, long before anyone noticed.

The Architecture of a “Money Mountain”

Bogus Berg’s model is simple:

  1. Promise cosmic secrets.
  2. Put a price tag on them.
  3. Convince the famous that fame is a cosmic signal that they were destined to join.
  4. Treat celebrity bank accounts like holy wells.

In this story, Madonna wasn’t recruited for spiritual depth—she was recruited because she was Madonna. Her presence added shine to the mountain. Her name added gravity. Her wallet added fuel.

Bogus Berg never asked what she believed; it asked what she could fund.

Guy Ritchie: The One Who Saw Through the Curtain

This narrative recasts Guy Ritchie not as the man who left Madonna behind, but as the man who left Bogus Berg first. Here, he plays the role of the truth-teller, the skeptic, the one who grumbled, “This is bollocks,” and walked away. In this fictionalized reimagining, his exit wasn’t a dramatic clash—it was a quiet shrug, the shrug of a man who grew tired of ceremonies that cost more than his film budgets.

But the mountain hated losing him.
Bogus Berg didn’t just want followers; it wanted power couples. It wanted the image of mystical glamour. Guy’s departure cracked the facade, and when Madonna later stepped away too, the mountain lost its brightest torch.

Madonna’s Awakening

The fictional Madonna of this essay stands atop the rubble of Bogus Berg and realizes something profound:
Spirituality that demands transaction is not spirituality—it’s theatre with invoices.

She discovers that real inner growth requires:

  • No branded water
  • No celebrity-only classes
  • No cosmic lectures that look suspiciously like sales funnels
  • No emotional dependence packaged as “higher learning”

Her awakening is not a rejection of mysticism, but a rejection of manipulation posing as meaning.

The Cult of Celebrity vs. the Search for Truth

Bogus Berg didn’t prey on the weak—it preyed on the powerful. The famous are often the most vulnerable because the world already believes they have everything. A person who has everything is often the one searching hardest for the one thing money can’t buy: a sense of purpose.

But Bogus Berg, in this story, turned purpose into product.

In the end, Bogus Berg is not a real place; it is a metaphor for any structure—religious, corporate, cultural—that monetizes vulnerability. The essay warns Madonna, and anyone like her, to guard their hearts, their minds, and their bank accounts from those who promise eternity but demand exclusivity, obedience, and credit card numbers in return.

Conclusion: Leaving the Mountain Behind

“Bogus Berg” is the story of a woman who climbed a mountain believing she would find enlightenment, only to discover a gift shop at the summit. It is the story of a man, Guy Ritchie, who refused the mountain’s souvenirs and walked away first. And it is ultimately the story of liberation: choosing wisdom over glamour, truth over performance, and authentic spiritual searching over curated mystical branding.

The mountain never deserved her.
And when she walked away, it trembled—not because she lost anything, but because she finally saw it for what it was.

Posted on

United Crowns – Excalibur

Joe Jukic and Madonna sat in the dim studio, the lights low, the bass warm and heavy. KRS-One’s voice filled the air — “The Odyssey” unfolding like a myth reborn, the Templars of Hip Hop conjuring ancient power with every bar. The moment Excalibur was mentioned, the room seemed to vibrate, as though some old, forgotten magic approved of its name being spoken again.

Joe closed his eyes and let the lyrics run through him. Hip hop as sacred geometry. Hip hop as initiation. KRS-One sounding less like a rapper and more like Merlin with a microphone.

Madonna leaned back, watching Joe take it in. She’d lived long enough, seen enough, to recognize when a force — musical, mythic, or otherwise — was speaking through the world.

When the chorus hit, she tapped Joe’s shoulder and said quietly:

“You know, Joe… with great power comes great responsibility.”

Joe smirked.
“Spider-Man?”

Madonna shook her head slowly.
“No. That line is older than comics. Older than Marvel. It’s a truth that goes back to every king who ever picked up a sword — especially a sword like Excalibur.”

Joe nodded, feeling the weight of her words.
The song continued, KRS-One proclaiming knowledge as the true weapon, the true blade.

Madonna continued:

“Hip hop is Excalibur now. Knowledge is Excalibur. Words are Excalibur. And if you’re going to pick up a weapon like that — if you’re going to speak truth, cut through lies, and shape people’s minds — you have to treat it like a sacred duty.”

Joe breathed in.
He understood.
KRS-One’s voice cracked through the speakers:

“Teach the youth… guide the lost… protect the culture…”

Madonna placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder — just briefly, as if passing the sword itself.

“Use your voice like a blade,” she said. “But never forget: Excalibur chooses the one who wields it.”

Posted on

Rockefeller Resurrection Poll

JCJ the Prosecutor and Michael the Defense Attorney: The Resurrection Debate
Live from the Celestial Tribunal

JCJ the Prosecutor (Justice Crusader Joe):
clears throat and adjusts robe with righteous conviction

“Honorable Council of Cosmic Resurrection, I rise today to oppose the resurrection of John D. Rockefeller, the so-called oil magnate turned ‘philanthropist,’ whose war on natural medicine birthed the age of cancer profiteering. He didn’t cure cancer — he industrialized it! Through his funding of the Flexner Report in 1910, he crushed homeopathy, natural cures, and traditional herbal healing in favor of a petrochemical-based pharmaceutical empire. Why? Because he owned the oil. He didn’t just monopolize energy — he monopolized medicine, rewriting health care for corporate gain.

Do we resurrect a man whose legacy is a trillion-dollar cancer industry that treats but does not cure? A man who paved the path for a generation of quacks in white coats with degrees but no conscience? No. We do not resurrect a fossil of greed. Let the Dire Wolf roam, not the oil baron who turned health into hell.”

Michael the Defense Attorney (Cool-headed Brother, Defender of Due Process):
smooths his tie, speaks calmly

“Brother, your passion is moving, but the law is about balance. Yes, Rockefeller’s influence shaped the modern medical establishment, but he also donated over $500 million to education and public health. He established the Rockefeller Foundation, which helped eradicate hookworm in the American South and funded research that advanced science globally. We must not judge solely with hindsight. He acted within the spirit of his age — industrial progress.

And let us remember, the same oil you vilify powered ambulances, factories, even the planes that brought medicine to the sick. He brought order to chaos, brother. We can’t throw out the man with the motor oil.”

JCJ:
slams celestial gavel
“And yet, for all his wealth and ‘benevolence,’ where is the cure for cancer? Where is the holistic vision? This man made a cathedral of chemicals and taxed the poor for entry. If we must resurrect, let it be someone who birthed life, not industry.”

Michael:
“Then who, JCJ? Who shall we raise in his place?”

JCJ (with glowing reverence):
“I nominate Madonna’s mother — Madonna Fortin. A humble French-Canadian woman of faith and grace, who passed too soon from breast cancer when her daughter was just five. Her absence shaped a pop queen, but imagine what her presence could have inspired.

She is no titan of oil, no sculptor of monopolies. She is the soul behind the song, the ghost in the girl who taught the world to express themselves. Clone her — not to commercialize her — but to give her a second chance to dance with her daughter under the stars.

A mother’s love can heal more than any patent medicine.”

Michael (smiling softly):
“You always win when you play the heartstrings, brother. The court may well agree with you this time. Let the past tycoons sleep — and let mothers rise.”

The Celestial Tribunal goes silent. A beam of light descends toward a quiet village in Québec…
Resurrection Request Granted: Madonna Fortin
Resurrection Request Denied: John D. Rockefeller

The Dire Wolf howls approval.

Would you like the next scene — maybe Madonna and her cloned mother reunited in a secret garden of healing arts?

Resurrection Poll 13: Madonna's Mother or John D Rockefeller?
  • Add your answer
Results