Divine Advice For John Cena

Dear God’s advice,

First of all, please forgive my bad grammar, but this letter was translated from traditional Chinese using Google Translate. Anyway, solve my problem…

When promoting my upcoming blockbuster F9: Fast Saga recently, I mistakenly referred to Taiwan as a country. I immediately realized that I had offended our Chinese overlord and publicly apologized in Mandarin and kissed their ass. Kneeling seemed to work. I was not knocked down by lightning, and my career was temporarily saved. The problem is that from that day on, I cannot speak or write in English. I don’t know if I was cursed by a certain Taiwanese wizard or by the ghost of Uncle Sam or Ronald Reagan. Anyway, I was humiliated in front of American friends, and the Chinese people did not respect me. One day, Chinese will become the only language in the world, but before that, I need to be able to order cheeseburgers in McDonald’s drive-in restaurants without making people suspect that I am a traitor to my country. Please provide an antidote to my terrible situation.

John Cena
P.S. If you can’t see me now, then maybe I’m a ghost too

Dear John Cena,

I confess that it was neither a Taiwanese wizard nor the ghost of an American patriot that struck you down—though, the whole thing was, in fact, Reagan’s idea. He offered me the free punishment tip hoping I would reward him by letting him out of Hell. Sucker. I stole his plan and left him down there to be perpetually sodomized by Robot Gorbachev and his hammer-and-sickle-shaped dick. So, yeah, it was actually Me who cursed you, but not for the reason you think. I don’t really give a fuck about all this patriotism nonsense, but if you think you can walk into Hollywood after a mediocre wrestling career and take The Rock’s place in the greatest film franchise in cinematic history, you’ve got another thing coming. If anything, I let you off easy, though I know how hard it’s going to be for you to live without your McDonald’s cheeseburgers.

—Jesus Christ

Dear John Cena,

You were funny on an episode of Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me I listened to 12 years ago, which has earned you a soft spot in my heart. That said, I echo God’s sentiment: You are no Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. It’s like replacing Sylvester Stallone with Ray Romano in Rocky, or Jean-Claude Van Damme with Gérard Depardieu in Blood Sport. I don’t blame you for trying to have a successful film career, but you need to do a Suburban Commando, or at the very least a Mr. Nanny before you make it in the big leagues. I know you did some forgettable shit in the late 2000’s, but they were just bad action movies, not even ironically funny enough to get me through the opening credits. My advice: stick to rapping. That is where your true talent lies and I foresee nothing but success for you in that arena. Think about it. Who doesn’t want to see a white meathead from suburban Connecticut doing a terrible Marky Mark impression? And if you can rap in Mandarin with an exaggerated Boston accent, all the better. If Matt Damon could have done that, then The Great Wall would have been the best movie ever made.


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.

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