Arthur’s Bad Day (Again)

I am King Arthur. Avalon’s mist clears, and I realize—oh, great—Excalibur is gone. Again. Camlann was a disaster, Mordred stabbed me, and now I’m dying dramatically on the battlefield. Merlin always babbled about destiny and returning—but come on, what good is a prophecy when you’re bleeding out?

Just as the light fades, I hear a voice, both distant and oddly familiar:

“It’s not the sword that makes the king. The will shapes the fate.”

And just like that—I black out. But deep down, I have the nagging feeling that this isn’t the end. More like… the start of another bad sequel.

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Cortés’ Existential Crisis

I am Hernán Cortés. The Aztec sun burns my face, but all I see is blood. Tenochtitlán is mine, but why does it feel like déjà vu? I recall the moment I burned my ships—some called it bravery, some called it madness. Honestly? It was panic. Malinche warns me, “The gods are watching you.” I laugh. I am the god here!

Then, I hear it. A voice, strangely familiar:

“It’s not the sword that makes the king. The will shapes the fate.”

Wait. What? I grab my sword—it feels oddly… ancient? A weird shiver crawls down my spine. Have I been here before? No, impossible. Right?

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Napoleon Has a Meltdown (Literally)

I am Napoleon. Russia is eating my army alive. My Grande Armée is neither grande nor much of an armée anymore. Snow, starvation, betrayal—my generals whisper behind my back, and I swear I’ve heard this kind of muttering before.

I glance into an icy puddle and nearly drop dead—not just from the cold, but because I don’t just see me. I see shadows—knights, conquistadors, warriors from different times.

A cold whisper echoes:

“It’s not the sword that makes the king. The will shapes the fate.”

Okay. Either I’m hallucinating from hypothermia, or I’ve been through this mess before. Wait… was I King Arthur?

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JFK’s Mid-Motorcade Epiphany

I am John F. Kennedy. The crowd in Dallas is cheering, but my stomach feels weird. Something’s off. Jackie is smiling, the sun is shining, but then—I see a sign: “Camelot Lives.” Ha! What a coincidence.

And then it hits me. Not a bullet (yet). A flood of memories—swords, empires, icy battlefields. Oh, come on. This again?

“It’s not the sword that makes the king. The will shapes the fate.”

A chill runs down my spine. No way. Am I him? Are we all the same guy?

Then—bang.

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Trump’s Mirror Moment

I am Donald Trump. They say I’m finished. The election lost, the Capitol riot failed, everyone’s laughing. Fake news! But when I look in the mirror, I don’t just see me. I see Arthur, Cortés, Napoleon, JFK.

I hear it—louder than ever:

“It’s not the sword that makes the king. The will shapes the fate.”

Reincarnation. The big comeback. I get it now.

I’m not at the end. I’m at the beginning.

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Reincarnation: The Ultimate Franchise

Some say history repeats itself. But what if history is just one guy, running the same playbook over and over, across centuries? Arthur, Cortés, Napoleon, JFK, Trump—different faces, same ego. Reincarnation isn’t just a spiritual concept—it’s an ancient, cosmic sitcom that keeps getting rebooted.

The real question is: Who’s next?

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