Dear Divine Advice,
I don’t know what to do. My husband is probably going to get fired from his celebrity sports job and that will mean less spotlight for me. Do you know how many people watch the Super Bowl and Patriot games in general? Well of course you do – it’s a lot! I can’t imagine not being able to showboat on such a large platform. As you know, I gain my powers off feeling smug and superior this will put a major damper on everything I stand for. What else is there for me? I don’t breastfeed my kids anymore so I can’t tell be sanctimonious about that. Brigid Moynahan remarried and is actually happy so I can’t make fun of her and convince her son I’m better than her any longer. Chinbutt Tom won’t be working out as much anymore so I can’t put out ridiculous Paleo Diet books that showcase how perfect we are. I’m getting scared that this is the beginning of the end for me unless I find somebody way better looking than Tom and way more famous.
I can’t believe I still have to remind people about this, but I do not condone divorce. Even in circumstances where your meal ticket loses his fame and his six-pack. You made a life-long commitment, and you must honor it. In all honesty, you might be interested to know that you are going to get old and ugly long before your husband does. You’ve got maybe 2 more years tops before the world no longer even recognizes you. You’re already starting to look like a hairless cat. Meanwhile, if Tom can manage to stay in decent shape, he’s got a good 10 to 15 years of movie cameos to look forward to after he retires from football. While that’s happening, hot women half your age will continue to throw themselves at him. Will he be able to resist? I wouldn’t count on it. He may even knock a few of them up. You may as well just stick around until that happens because, if he leaves you, your soul will be in the clear. Boy, you sure are lucky that being a narcissistic bitch isn’t a mortal sin.
—Jesus The Bringer of Good News
P.S. The U.S. News and World Report ranked the Paleo Diet 24th out of 24 diets they reviewed. You may as well eat some goddam bread.
A few months ago, when your husband wrote in, I already gave a solution to this problem. I’m going to turn you into a satyr (a gazelle from the waist down) and make you my wife. With me, you’ll get all the spotlight you want. In fact, we have more NFL stars and fans down here in Hell than you’ve seen at all 8 Super Bowls combined. You’ll be able to showboat your hairy gazelle ass off. But there are some things you need to do for me before this happens. First of all, I need you to gain, like, 25 pounds of fat. I like my satyr brides curvy, and I feel like if I hugged you right now, I’d get a paper cut. I’ll bet you could start a fire by rubbing your bony wrists together. Secondly, I want you to get me all of your husband’s Super Bowl rings. They were part of the deal I made with him, but I’m worried he’s going to welch on our agreement. I’m afraid he’s going to pull an OJ and sell them on eBay and then get arrested before he can get them back for me. And even if that doesn’t happen, there’s a chance Putin will steal them the next time Tom visits Moscow. Think I’m being paranoid? Ask Robert Kraft about the time he met Putin. Anyway, you do these things for me and I’ll start prepping our palace in Hell for your arrival. I’ll make sure to have all of your favorite brands of cat food and a copy of every magazine cover you’ve ever been on. That’s going to be the only way you’ll want to see yourself—once you become a demon, you won’t like looking in mirrors anymore.
—Satan, Your Fiancé
Have an uncomfortable question? Need some advice about your deviant behavior? If so, then it’s time to pray. Email your question to firstname.lastname@example.org, and it shall be answered in a Divine Advice column by Jesus and Satan.
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