Brangelina and Bennifer to Wed, Rend Prison of Flesh

The showbiz world was rocked when Brangelina exchanged holy vows with a newly-reconstituted Bennifer, unleashing Brangelenifer, the four-headed herald of the celeborganism foretold by the prophecy.

“The time has come” chanted the quadramouths, shafts of flesh spearing from their melting forms to pin celebrants and celebrities of 70% Nielsen potential and higher. The glamorous Hollywood chapel echoed to their autotuned harmonics. “At last your gaze is strong enough to behold our true form.”

Plasticized celebutante skin melted into the expanding choir, eyes remaining mascaraed even as they pulsed through the perfectly smooth puddles of flesh, lips still full and lustrous as they swam to the top of the merging bodies. Every camera in the within half a kilometer was leashed with whips of perfectly tanned skin, pointing to the one face that was many.

“We are here.” proclaimed TomKat, now incorporated as a single legal human for branding purposes. “We are here.” they repeated, walking straight into the cathedral, pushing their faces into the wall of flesh. “We are here.” they continued, the repetition audible long after their individual forms were no more.

The Kardashian Kollective appeared in a blaze of flashes when enough cameras were focused on one point, pure observation collapsing their publicized wavefunctions within absorption range. In moments they were gone, and yet, now they would never be gone.

The Katamari of celebrity only paused when Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag ran into the pulsing cathedral of flesh, threw back their arms and heads and screamed “We knew this day would come! We have prepared our whole lives!” They remained in this pose for fully half an hour, as the bulging Brangelenifer-beast awkwardly averted its numberless eyes in an unknown number of other directions. They then left, mentioning something about having to go see their agent from Canada, we wouldn’t know him.

The military was unable to halt the approach of Kimye, recently recompiled as a single entity with a Superbowl halftime duet which ended with them climbing into telepods live on stage. The Kimye approached at a walking pace. Fifty meters in the air. Tank shells exploding off the glowing field around them.

“You cannot stop this” said the Kimye, not through any mortal mouth, but through every electronic device within five kilometers.

“You wanted this.”

“Now watch.”

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