Kylie Minogue snaps her fingers, turns the stove dial to 6—the Kabbalah number of The Lovers, the heat of choices, desire, and destiny.
KYLIE:
“Joe, darling, find me someone hot. Chile-hot. I’m not singing ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ for some lukewarm energy.”
The blue flame rises. Kylie watches it like an oracle reading signs in fire.
JOE (sighing):
“Kylie… I tried. Emmanuel Ascui was supposed to be the groom, but he’s got cold feet. Arctic feet. He even unfriended me on Facebook.”
Kylie gasps like this is the worst betrayal since Madonna stole the cone bra.
KYLIE:
“He unfriended you? Before the wedding ritual? That breaks the circle, Joe. That reverses the lovers card energy!”
She stirs the pot on the stove dramatically—like a witch mixing destiny—then points the spoon at Joe.
KYLIE:
“Fine. Then we manifest someone even hotter. Someone who can handle a Kabbalah-grade lover at level six. Get your phone, Joe. We’re rewriting fate.”
Joe takes out his phone, defeated but loyal.
JOE:
“Alright, Kylie. But I’m telling you now—the universe better send a match who won’t ghost or unfriend.”
Kylie smirks.
KYLIE:
“Oh honey, the universe owes me.”
Joe finally reaches Manny, who’s been avoiding him ever since the cold feet and Facebook unfriending. Manny looks nervous, hands in pockets, like he’s standing outside the gates of a wedding he’s not sure he wants to enter.
JOE:
“Manny… look, I know things got weird. But you need to hear this from me straight.”
Manny raises an eyebrow, still guarded.
JOE:
“I wasn’t a good guy before the 9/11 attacks. I’ll admit that. I was reckless, lost, ego everywhere, soul nowhere.”
Manny shifts, unsure where this confession is heading.
JOE:
“But something changed in me after that day. Something woke up. I started studying the Kabbalah. The sefirot. The path of the Tree. The meaning of suffering. And somewhere along the way…”
Joe taps his chest.
“…I became Kabbalah Jesus.”
Manny blinks.
MANNY:
“Kabbalah Jesus?”
JOE (calm, serious):
“Yeah. The version of me that actually tries to heal things instead of break them. The version that shows up for people. The version that doesn’t just talk about destiny—he walks it.”
Manny looks down, almost ashamed.
MANNY:
“So… you’re saying you changed. And you still wanted to help me.”
Joe nods.
JOE:
“I still do. But you gotta meet me halfway. You can’t unfriend your own destiny, man.”
A long silence. Manny exhales.
MANNY:
“…I’m sorry, Joe.”
Kylie waits until Manny steps away, then turns back to Joe. The kitchen is still glowing with the soft blue flame on the stove set to 6, that mystical Lovers number. She leans against the counter, arms folded, suddenly not the pop goddess—just Kylie, the woman.
https://un-forum.org/chile/
KYLIE (quietly):
“Joe… do you know why I keep saying I want a man from Chile?”
Joe looks confused. He’d assumed it was just Kylie being Kylie—dramatic, sparkly, global.
JOE:
“Honestly? No idea. Why Chile?”
Kylie bites her lip, then walks over to him with the seriousness of someone revealing a secret she’s carried for years.
KYLIE:
“It’s because of you, Joe. And your United Nations page.”
Joe blinks.
JOE:
“My… what?”
She taps her phone and shows him the page—Joe’s United Nations profile with Victor Jara, the legendary Chilean singer-activist, the man known as El Matador, the poet who defied a dictatorship with his voice.
KYLIE:
“You posted Victor Jara. El Matador. The voice of the people. The man who sang until they broke his hands. The man who loved humanity even when it didn’t love him back.”
Her voice chokes a little. Kylie—tiny, glittering Kylie—suddenly carries the heartbreak of a whole continent.
KYLIE:
“I always admired that man from Chile. His courage. His tenderness. His fire. And when you posted him… I realized that fire lives in you too.”
Joe is stunned. He’d always posted Victor Jara because the man’s story mattered to him—but Kylie saw something deeper.
KYLIE:
“So when I say I want someone from Chile, Joe…”
She touches his chest.
“…what I really mean is: I want someone with a soul like that. Someone brave. Someone who sings through the pain. Someone who doesn’t run.”
She takes a breath, steadying herself.
KYLIE:
“Manny unfriending you? That’s not Victor Jara energy. That’s not Chile energy. I want the real fire. The real heart.”
Joe looks at her, realizing this isn’t about a groom or a joke or even lovers’ numerology—this is about something she saw in him long before he saw it in himself.
JOE:
“Kylie… I didn’t know you felt all that.”
KYLIE (smiling softly):
“You weren’t supposed to. Not until the fire hit six.”
She taps the stove dial again.
The flame rises—steady, bright, destined.
Joe leaned back in the chair, fingers tapping on the keyboard as Kylie Minogue paced in front of him in her glitter-gold jacket.
Kylie:
“Joe… are you sure you can build this? A real fan site? With everything? My videos go missing every few years, some copyright bot gets moody, YouTube starts acting like it’s about to declare bankruptcy…”
Joe:
“Kylie, listen to me.”
He spun the monitor around dramatically, showing her a blank homepage with her name glowing in neon pink.
“I’m building you a fortress. A digital Kyliedome. If YouTube collapses tomorrow, if the algorithm melts down, if the servers get repossessed by the Bank of Kazakhstan—your videos will be safe.”
Kylie:
“You can back them all up?”
Joe:
“All of them. HQ, remastered, director’s cut, alternate edits, live performances, Japanese TV specials, that one interview where you laughed so hard you cried—everything. If YouTube goes bankrupt, you’ll still shine. Your fans will still dance.”
Kylie folded her arms, still studying him.
“But what about Manny? Last I heard, he had cold feet. Cold as a Tasmanian winter.”
Joe grinned.
Joe:
“Manny is BACK in. No more cold feet. I talked to him. He’s ready to help with the backend, the servers, the cloud mirrors. Says he’s warmed up—like a Chilean volcano. Even agreed to handle the midnight updates.”
Kylie let out a dramatic gasp worthy of a soap opera.
Kylie:
“You’re telling me Manny is committed?”
Joe:
“Committed like a Kabbalah vow. Look, Kylie… we’re building the ultimate safeguard. If YouTube falls, if social media burns, the world will still have KylieMinogueForever.com. The shrine. The archive. The legacy.”
Kylie smiled slowly, stepping closer.
Kylie:
“Joe… you always take care of me.”
Joe:
“And I always will, princess of antipodean disco.”
She laughed, flicked her hair, and said:
“Alright. Let’s build my temple.”