Divine Advice For Roseanne Barr

Dear DA,

Americans are nostalgic and they love a comeback, and I’m both. Or at least I was. They liked me so much they thought I was kidding about being a Trump supporter.

I guess what the millennials say is true. If you’re a rich, privileged, white woman, you can get away with almost anything, except for showing them what hypocrites they are. They liked me, so they figured I must be one of them.

Don’t get me wrong. You’re technically God, so you can’t get me wrong and there’s no point in lying to you.

What I tweeted was racist. But is that any reason to shame me? That’s race shaming. They’re making me ashamed of being white. Being a racist I can live with, but being white? I’ll never be able to wear a bikini in public again.

If I wasn’t a racist, I might actually be ashamed of being white for no real reason. But as a racist, I literally think that being white is the best. And as one of the whites (or at least close enough, especially after this), it irks me that they blame everything on the whites or the males or the straights. You can’t have hope without accountability, and how can you be accountable for anything if all of your problems are someone else’s fault?

Everyone should change except me.

Roseanne Barr

Dear Roseanne,

I remember in the 80’s thinking “Do we really need two fat Rosies?” Of the two of you, O’Donnell was the more bearable. Somehow, you’re both still around, and I guess these days you’re both defined by your relationship to Trump. To be clear, you are absolutely on the wrong side of that. We already knew you were overbearing, belligerent and off-putting, but now, I guess we know you are racist too. I have to wonder how many of the Trumpanzees who shit themselves over Colin Kaepernick taking a knee during the National Anthem remember that time you shrieked the “Star-Spangled Banner” and grabbed your crotch before that Padres game in 1990. I’m guessing that, in light of your current racism, they’d give you a pass. Racism really is their favorite thing. It’s what unites them and inspires them. The canceling of your show will only cement your position in their hearts. At this point, you don’t even have to look back. You can make a career catering exclusively to the most ignorant 40% of the population just as Trump has. Sure, you may be kept off of mainstream TV, but who cares? Just get yourself a podcast. Tour the south. You should at least be able to live a Larry The Cable Guy kind of life.

—Jesus Christ

Dear Roseanne,

I, for one, am glad your show was canceled. But that’s just because I hate multi-cam sitcoms with laugh tracks. Most of them have predictable watered-down jokes because they’re packaged for mass appeal. They’re just slightly better than reality shows. I agree with Jesus that mass appeal is no longer a thing you can expect to have, but I think you should push things even further. Instead of a podcast, I think you should have a live sex cam show on Pornhub where you fuck yourself with various foods and then eat them. Sure, maybe that doesn’t actually sound original—people fuck themselves with cucumbers and bananas on live sex cams all the time. Well, you’re Roseanne fuckin’ Barr! Rub your clit with a whole pineapple, then chew through the rind and eat it without cutting it. Sit on a pig’s snout as it’s rotating on a spit over a barbecue pit then eat the entire animal without utensils, with your hands tied behind you back as though you were bobbing for apples. Stick a live lobster in your pussy then bite his head off while he’s still alive before dropping him in a pot of boiling water so you can finish the rest of him off with a side of warm butter which has been softened in your asshole. You could call the show What’s Cookin’ In Roseanne’s Pussy. I’m sure it’ll be a much bigger hit than your stupid sitcom.

—Satan the Producer

Have an uncomfortable question? Need some advice about your deviant behavior? If so, then it’s time to pray. Email your question to ryan@skullislandtimes.com, and it shall be answered in a Divine Advice column by Jesus and Satan.

H. Seitz
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