Author: G.I. Joe

Knowing is half the battle...
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Joe VS Mafia Doctor

Title: The Pope of East Van
Genre: Urban Legend / Political Satire / Crime Drama with Balkan Swagger
Starring: Joe Jukic as Himself, Bruno Jukic as his consigliere, and a multicultural gang of misfit European expats.

STORY: THE POPE OF EAST VAN

Narrated by Bruno Jukic

Let me tell you a story about how my brother Joe became a legend—not just in our neighborhood, not just in East Vancouver—but all across Europe… from the grey towers of Glasgow to the sweaty clubs of Zagreb. He was just Joe once. Now he’s The Pope of East Van. The Don of the EU Mafia. And yeah… he still hasn’t had that hernia surgery.

ACT I: “DON’T QUESTION JOE”

It all began in a rundown East Van boxing gym, where Joe Jukic, scarred but stubborn, sat on a cracked bench press refusing to go under the knife. The doctors begged him: “Joe, your hernia’s the size of a grapefruit.”

Joe puffed a cigar and growled, “I won’t be sliced open till I see the Adriatic Sea again. If I’m dying, I’m dying Croatian.”

But Joe wasn’t planning to die. He was planning something else.

You see, the government started cracking down on cash work. Food trucks, painters, construction crews, even the Slavic wedding bands. They wanted taxes. Paperwork. Permits. But Joe had a vision: No European pays taxes to a foreign empire. Ever again.

So he called a secret meeting at Vesuvio’s Pizza—neutral ground. Italian-run. Cash only.

Every Balkan, Slav, Greek, Portuguese, Pole, and Scot in East Van showed up. Some were drunk. Most were armed.

Joe stood on a folding chair in his tracksuit and yelled:

“No more taxes. No more UN. We pay tribute to no one but our own. This is East Van. Our Vatican. And I am your Pope!”

The room fell silent. Then cheers. Then chaos.

And so the EU Mafia was born.

ACT II: “THE UNION OF ALL G’S”

Bruno built the infrastructure—encrypted apps, underground crypto pools, and fake IDs printed in the back of a Serbian bakery.

Joe negotiated peace between warring Polish drywallers and Romanian landscapers.

He forged alliances between Croat stonemasons and Albanian mechanics. Even the Irish joined when Joe let them run the St. Paddy’s Day racket tax-free.

Every ethnicity had a role:

  • Italians ran the espresso smuggling operation.
  • Bosnians controlled the black market for Tesla parts.
  • Hungarians built tunnels under Hastings Street.
  • Ukrainians did security. Silent. Efficient. Spoke in memes.

Joe made deals with Sikh truckers, Chinese counterfeiters, and Native herbalists. He paid homage to the real East Van OGs. Respect earned. Never taken.

He even made a treaty with the Portuguese Tile Layer’s Guild, after sharing a bottle of rakija with their leader in a Home Depot parking lot.

ACT III: “THE VATICAN OF VANCOUVER”

The UN tried to audit him. Revenue Canada sent agents.

But when they arrived, they found an independent sovereign nation operating out of a strip mall on Commercial Drive.
Flags flew: EU stars over a Croatian checkerboard, flanked by a kebab skewer and a concrete trowel.

Joe declared:

“We are neutral. Like Switzerland. But way tougher. We do not recognize your tax code, your bureaucracy, or your Prime Minister. We recognize one thing only: Loyalty to the G’s.”

When asked what “G” stood for, Joe simply said, “Every G. God. Grandmother. Gangster. Gladiator. Good guy. Got it?”

No one argued.

EPILOGUE: “THE SURGERY”

Eventually, Joe flew to Croatia—not by plane, but by cargo ship disguised as a fridge inspector.
The EU Mafia paid for it all in cash and war bonds.

In Split, a retired Yugoslav army doctor finally performed the hernia surgery with a flask of slivovica and a scalpel from Tito’s era.

Joe recovered in a stone cottage by the sea, surrounded by cousins, pigeons, and unreleased Thompson CDs.

Back in East Van, the people still speak his name in whispers. Some say he’ll return when the maple leaf threatens their independence again.

Until then, the EU Mafia pays no taxes. The UN stays away. And the Pope of East Van reigns.

Long live Joe. Long live the G’s.
🕊️🇭🇷🛠️🍷🇪🇺

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Marko Polo Movie Treatment

Title: Marko Polo
Genre: Dark Comedy / Urban Adventure
Rating: R (for language, drug references, comic violence)

MOVIE TREATMENT

Logline:
Two Balkan brothers, Joe and Bruno Jukic, concoct a plan to rescue their wayward cousin Marko from a self-destructive urban spiral by placing him under “house arrest”—with a fake ankle monitor and some Balkan-style street justice. But when the authorities get involved and Marko starts livestreaming his “captivity,” things spiral into viral chaos, Balkan feuds, and heartfelt redemption.

ACT I:

Setting: A decaying urban jungle somewhere between Toronto and Sarajevo—a crumbling neighborhood full of hipsters, drug dealers, paranoid landlords, and TikTok stars.

Joe Jukic is a stoic ex-boxer turned Uber philosopher who now drives a beat-up 2002 Honda Civic and listens to Croatian war ballads between rides. Bruno Jukic, his younger brother, is a failed DJ and conspiracy podcaster with a man bun and an obsession with ankle monitor tech he bought on Alibaba.

Their cousin Marko, aka “Marko Polo,” is a washed-up street legend—once a brilliant soccer prospect, now a drug-addled, hoodie-wearing ghost of his former self. He sleeps in alleys, rants about crypto, and gets arrested once a week.

Joe and Bruno love him like a brother—but he’s spiraling fast.

ACT II:

After a particularly grim overdose scare in an abandoned condo project, the Jukic boys stage a Balkan-style intervention:
They kidnap Marko and put him on fake house arrest in Joe’s bachelor basement suite—complete with an ankle bracelet hacked by Bruno using a burner phone, Bluetooth speaker, and parts from a drone.

They tell Marko, “The government finally caught you. You’re tagged. If you leave this house, you’ll be tased and deported.” Marko, paranoid and half-baked, believes them.

Marko spends his days smoking oregano, watching Serbian soap operas, and livestreaming his “incarceration” on TikTok under the handle @MarkoPoloOnLockdown. Somehow, the stream goes viral. Kids across the Balkans and Canada start wearing fake ankle monitors and chanting “Free Marko Polo!”

Marko becomes a folk hero—without leaving the house.

But trouble brews. Real authorities see the livestream. A parole officer gets confused. A Balkan war criminal turned community leader named Djordje the Butcher offers sponsorship. And worst of all, Marko starts to enjoy house arrest—refusing to leave even when he’s free.

ACT III:

The authorities raid Joe’s apartment thinking Marko’s under real federal surveillance. Chaos erupts. Bruno gets tased trying to protect his drone system. Marko flees—ankle monitor still blinking—on a stolen Lime scooter into the night.

The chase ends at a Croatian church picnic, where Marko, in a moment of accidental clarity, gives a bizarre sermon to a crowd of drunk old uncles and TikTokers about “the prison of the mind.”

Joe and Bruno finally confront him—not with fists, but with love. They offer him a deal: Get clean, or go full house arrest for real.

Marko agrees—on one condition: they let him keep the fake bracelet because it “keeps him grounded.”

EPILOGUE:

Marko opens a rehab clinic for Balkan youth called House Arrest Healing—a bizarre halfway house that combines ankle monitor therapy with ping-pong, Eastern Orthodox chanting, and cardio kickboxing.

Joe becomes a part-time counselor. Bruno monetizes the operation with merch and NFTs.

Tagline: “He couldn’t escape his past… so they put a bracelet on it.”

Tone:

Trainspotting meets Trailer Park Boys with a sprinkle of My Big Fat Balkan Intervention.
Irreverent. Absurd. Surprisingly heartfelt.

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Hamlet

Speech: “To be, or not to be, that is the question”

By William Shakespeare

(from Hamlet, spoken by Hamlet)

To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;

To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub:

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause—there’s the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovere’d country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And lose the name of action.