Mr. Beatle. Can you please answer a few more questions?" asked the female reported.
"Does it have anything to do with the war?" asked Beatle, sighing on the podium.
"Yes, sir."
"Go on."
"The war against suicide."
"Okay," said Beatle. "Palpable."
"Men in this generation are currently killing themselves. Why?"
"Are... Are you fucking serious? The Hikkomori Epidemic, right? Those men killing themselves in Japan? The so-called 'Pandemic' ailing our Multiversal society?"
"Yes! Yes, sir! I am truly saddened by-..."
"No, you're not," said Beatle.
"Sir?"
"I can sense when people bullshit. Call it a weird Biblical Cosmic Superpower to sense probability fields in reality."
"Uhmmm..."
"Why don't you ask Dennis, Sandra? Is that why you're asking this? To atone? Christ. Just call him back."
"How the hell did you know my name?"
"Sorry. Didn't mean to be rude... I just wanted to say that... This has nothing to do with the actual war. But fine. Your line of questioning ticked me off because of your character."
"Sir, that isn't fair."
"Yeah? Well Dennis is a fucking NEET fucking his sock right now while watching you fuck a handsome taller man who can give you a stable living environment. Is that right? And why did you reject him?"
"He's ugly."
"Close. Sorry, Dennis, but that is true. No. It's because the freedom of choice." Beatle sighs and takes out a chart with his puck. "Me Christ, this is gonna be another Monopolian Preaching moment... Fine. Lemme think of a parable. I uh... suck at these but fine. Uh... Ooh. Here's one. The Wandering Flower. The Wandering Flower was a plant of great excellence. They strived to be the strongest and most prideful. Why? Because he lived in... a garden... A beautiful garden with all sorts of flowers, ugly and beautiful depending upon how the Gardener treats their lives. Some are watered poorly, others are watered beautifully, and others are watered just right.
Some flowers attract the most beautiful bees, and the bees once had to search for their flowers. But soon, over time, the bees discovered something, a jar of honey, and all the bees went to the jar of honey, and only the jar of honey and the most beautiful of the flowers got pollinated, with each flower dying and suffering, unable to pollinate."
The reporters went to silence, thinking of thought.
"So, you're the Gardener."
"Jesus... GOD... IS THE GARDENER!!!"
"And women are the flowers?" asked another reporter.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
"MEN... MEN ARE THE FLOWERS!!!"
"Like Males?"
"HUMANS!!! THE BEES ARE NOT FEMALE!!! THEY'RE MEANINGFUL REL-... See? This is what my older brother says about patience! I just can't handle you Humans! You guys SUCK!!!"
"So... Males are... people too?" asked the reporter.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding-... Gender isn't everything! And yes, Males are PEOPLE, ASSHOLE!!! What if women are considered objects instead!?"
"What are you? SEXIST-!!? Oh, I hear it now."
"Fuck you for realizing that just now."
"Is it... a little bit of everything?"
Beatle takes a deep breath and sighs. "No."
"Even a little bit?" asked the reporter.
"I will send you to my brother," said Beatle, warping out a slipper. He turns to another reporter. "You. I sense your name's stupid. What's your name?"
"Skibidi Bopperson."
"Yeah. And you're the same people who ask why genders shouldn't be bullied anymore. I think they're just bullying you because your parents are fucking sociopaths. You?"
"What is pollination?"
"That's 3rd grade science. WHAT IS HAPPENING!?!? Gen Alpha... The FUCK DID YOU DO TO THE OTHER EARTHS!??!"
"And the jar of honey?"
"The brutal shifts of society! It's just reality. Over time the hive overindulges. Death to flowers, then when there are no flowers, THERE ARE NO BEES!!! GET IT!?!!?"
Everyone is astonished. "Ohhhh..."
"But what about the Lesbians? Do they have LESS or MORE rights?" asked the next female reporter.
"And should blacks indeed be superior now through educated segregation."
Beatle breathes in, furiously. "Humans are fucking stupid. Ugh..." Beatle sighs and walks away, picks up the mic and drops it. "Waste of my fucking existence." Beatle facepalms.
"YOU'RE OBLIGATED TO ANSWER OUR QUESTION!!!"
"I'LL SEND YOU THE RECORDING IN YOUTUBE!!!" he roared, annoyed, as the paparazzi followed him.
Later...
"No, Beatz! Go like this!" smiled Miguel. "'WHAT'S UP GUYS!!?'" he clapped his hands. "TODAY WE'RE GONNA-!!! Y'know? Like Social Influencers!"
"Social Influencers are closeted pedophiles," said Beatle.
"Why so cyncial today?"
"I haven't had sex for 800 years nor masturbated for 17. What do you think?"
Miguel is impressed. "How?"
"Strength, my child. Now why do I have to rent a fucking pyramid?"
"Because it's what Anthony Beastark would do!" smiled Miguel.
"That man was a fraud. He was a pedophile."
"Yeah, but-!!! Wait, seriously? So Pro was right?"
Beatle nods.
"Uhm... Fine... But even though they're villains, their strategy to look good on camera is pretty damned smart!"
"I don't care about 'looking good'. I just want to keep it... well-..."
"'Traditional?'"
"Holy shit, I'm my father."
"The Human one or the Supreme Being?"
"Yes."
"Just... Do what I say... Make like a real life... Squid Game or something."
"Do you WANT a child in my pants right now?"
"Gross! NO!!!"
"THEN STOP TURNING ME INTO BEASTARK!!! I'll do this my own way." Beatle opens the camera. He speaks monotonously and allows himself to have strange mannerisms, such as placing his nails on his lips, like softly kissing them, swaying back and forth, and even flapping his arms. "Okay. Parable of the Scorpion and the-..."
"Uh... Beatle? I may be autistic as well, but this is severely... well..."
"Autistic?"
"I was gonna say overt. (I was gonna say overt.)"
"Then what do you want me to do to be comfortable?"
"Minimal mannerisms. And speak with heart!" smiled Miguel. "Like you actually LIKE these people! Make your mannerisms as adorable as possible! Show them that softer side of you?"
"Dad always said softness is, and I quote, 'for pussies'."
"Your Human Dad or the Supreme Being?"
"I will send you to Daddy," he takes out his slipper again.
Beatle yells. "HELLO. WELCOME TO BEATLE'S PARABLES!!! TODAY, I WOULD LIKE-!!!"
"Dude. That just came off annoying."
"That's what you sound like," said Beatle.
Miguel sighs. "Just imagine you enjoy talking to these people."
"Like with kids? I love kids!"
"Do not say that out loud. Christ. It's 2060s in other Earths. You'd get hanged for that."
"Fine. Uh... I like taking care of children like they were my own because I have deep respect for their dignity?"
"Uh... Sure!" smiled Miguel. "Albeit longer, BUT GOOD JOB!!! Just... do this, Beatle. For their autonomy."
Beatle's eyes widen. He sighs and closes his eyes as the cameras roll. "Uhm... Okay... Hello, everyone! Heheh! My name is Beatle! Ever heard of this silly story thingie called 'The Scorpion and the Spider?' Long ago, the Scorpion, with its long stinger, differed from the other scorpions-..."
Miguel smiles, softly, seeing Beatle is willing to change, even for the slightest.