**Brad Pitt Saves the World Again (And Again, And Again…) ** The world trembled. The infected lurched through the streets, a wave of gnashing teeth and CGI-funded horror. The media screamed, the politicians flailed, but the people—the desperate, helpless masses—knew there was only one man who could save them.
Brad Pitt.
From the moment the first zombie bit an unfortunate extra in the opening scene of World War Z, the planet collectively exhaled and reached for their popcorn. Brad Pitt, humanitarian, action star, and part-time deity, had arrived. He was here to guide humanity through yet another apocalyptic scenario, all while maintaining flawless hair.
With the subtlety of a messianic figure who just happens to have a perfectly tailored scarf billowing in the wind, Pitt’s character, Gerry Lane, dashed from country to country, solving problems that had baffled the world’s greatest scientists. Could the CDC, the WHO, or any trained virologist figure out a solution? No. But Brad Pitt? He had this. With nothing but sheer charisma and a manly-yet-sensitive furrow of the brow, he cracked the zombie pandemic like it was just another bad divorce settlement.
“Gerry Lane, former UN investigator, father of the year, and reluctant savior of mankind,” the media gushed. “Look at him go! No time for bureaucracy, only time for heroics.”
Indeed, the film’s logic was airtight. Who needs governmental response teams when one ruggedly handsome man with an iPhone and an expensive plane ticket can do it all? Nations crumbled, infrastructures collapsed, and yet, the world’s best hope was a man who once played Floyd, the stoned couch guy, in True Romance.
As the crisis reached its peak, Pitt’s on-screen wife gazed longingly at her phone, waiting for the inevitable satellite call. “He’s out there. I know it. Saving the world.”
And indeed, he was. Injecting himself with a near-fatal disease to outsmart the zombies, running through chaos like an Olympic sprinter, and still finding time to look existentially tormented about the state of humanity. When it was over, when the world was saved (for now), the camera zoomed in on his ruggedly exhausted face. “This isn’t the end,” he warned. “Just the beginning.”
Critics lauded World War Z as yet another masterpiece in the ever-growing genre of “Brad Pitt Saves Humanity on a Tuesday.” There had been 12 Monkeys, Troy, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Ad Astra—all proof that when the world was on the brink of collapse, Pitt was there to guide us to salvation.
“Brad Pitt has saved us more times than history books can count,” CNN reported breathlessly. “First from time-traveling viruses, then from Greek armies, then from his own marriage, and now from the undead. How does he do it?”
Fox News countered with, “Brad Pitt: Too Woke for the Apocalypse? The liberal elite’s golden boy survives while others die—coincidence?”
But the real news came from Pitt himself. The world’s savior was not done yet. With a casual smirk, he and his then-partner Angelina Jolie had already named one of their children New Messiah. “No pressure, kid,” he allegedly joked. “Just continuing the family business of salvation.”
As the film credits rolled, the world sighed in relief. Once again, a global disaster had been averted by the power of Pitt. People returned to their lives, reassured that should the worst ever happen again, should the skies darken and the undead rise, Brad Pitt would be there.
With his perfect hair. And a solution.
Coming next summer: Brad Pitt vs. the AI Overlords. Because of course.