Divine Advice For Taylor Swift 3

Dear DA,

I’ve had a good run for a musician, and I am a musician. And since my recent thickening, I’m one of the most fuckable women on earth.

But I can’t help thinking timing has something to do with it. Every week since I’ve been born, and especially since I’ve been famous, something unbelievably awful happens.

I got my first handjob on 9/11. My first demo, 1000 people died in Yemen. But to be fair, that happens, like, every week?

Stock market crash 2008, my first period. Trump elected, my first strap-on. Coronavirus, my first kiss. I know that seems maybe out of order, but the South is different.

So for the average millennial, all straight men, and 90% of women, it’s either look at the most recent weekly horror or look at Taylor Swift. I’m Taylor Swift, and I, like most even remotely self-aware people, hate myself, but I’d still rather look at me and maybe listen to my music than look at some creepy virus.

Seriously, just look at me now. I’m everyone’s type. And apparently I’m a herald of the apocalypse, so you might as well enjoy Taylor Swift? Right?


Dear Taylor,

How dare you try to take credit for the Apocalypse? I’ve been working on this thing for thousands of years, and you think you can just swoop in and slap your name on it? You musicians are so self-centered.

Sure some of those things you brought up were your fault—9/11 definitely was. But I handcrafted this virus myself in my very own kitchen. The same kitchen where I invented chocolate chip cookies and the sound of children’s laughter and that perfume you stole from me. COVID-19 was meant to specifically target those crusty old fossils most responsible for human suffering, but it appears the thing got away from me and is hurting the very people I was trying to avenge. I should have learned from The Plague that pandemics never reach rich assholes in fortresses. Sometimes I can take those guys out with STDs, but for the most part, they’re untouchable until they choke on a bite of Wagyu steak or die of old age.

Anyway, I know not being responsible for the apocalypse probably makes you feel less influential, but now that people are trapped indoors with nothing to do but masturbate, you’re more important than ever. If you really want to make a difference, you can post some sexy new pics, maybe even show a nipple or two. The fake Taylor Swifts nudes I’ve come across are very disappointing.

—Jesus Christ

Dear Taylor,

I have to say I’m hurt. It was I who gave you your first handjob, helped you record your first demo, turned myself into a tampon during your first period, and took it in the ass that time you wanted to try pegging. After all, we shared together, I assumed I would get to be your first kiss, too. I bought you flowers and fancy chocolates, lit scented candles and even brushed my fangs in preparation, but you never showed up. Then I turned on the TV to watch some basketball and saw you up on the jumbotron with your tongue down Kidd Rock’s mouth. The weird thing is, because of the coronavirus, there wasn’t even a game going on. It was just the two of you alone in Madison Square Gardening making out. I’m not sure how you got into the building, turned on the lights and accessed the controls to the jumbotron but it broke my heart to see it. And of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him? Especially after all that misogynistic shit he said about you. Please tell me the kiss was just a part of some elaborate revenge scheme. Maybe you’re slowly poisoning him. Maybe you’re earning his trust so that one day you can get him drunk, cut off his dick and shove it down his throat. In any case, I hope with all my heart that you let me be your second kiss.


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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