Tag Archive: Lebron James

Divine Advice for Kyrie Irving

Dear DA, You know that show Bridezillas? Think of me as the bride. Sure I got the fancy wedding and everyone put up with my crazy bullshit, but was it perfect? Was it? These moments don’t come around often, so when they do, it’s got to be all about me. With me, KD, and James Harden, the Nets got a real shot at a chip. The only problem is that NY requires people to be vaccinated if they want to eat in strip clubs or go to enormous sports arenas, even superstar athletes like me. Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m not getting that fucking vaccine for anyone. Assuming the Nets keep me, I stand to lose $17 million, a shot at a championship, and the chance to infect players, strippers, coaches, physical trainers, medical staff, reporters, vendors, more strippers, janitors, and fans from all over the country,…
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Divine Advice for Matt Damon 11

Dear DA, Well, I’ve stepped in it again. A guy from Boston admits he says the “F” word, what a shocker! I admitted my daughter taught me it’s wrong (I still don’t quite buy her argument) and I’ve agreed not to say fa-the “F” word anymore. See? I’ve learned and grown, and people are still shitting on me. Thank God (or I guess You) I didn’t admit to all the other awful slurs I say on a daily basis. My main excuse is that I’m from Boston and I’m getting old. You say horrible shit for the better part of 50 years, it’s hard to change. Have you been to NY? I hear the n-word 10 times a day, people there say it casually, but none of them are Matt Damon, so they don’t get crucified online. There are other famous people out there who have literally killed people, where’s…
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Divine Advice For He-Man

Dear Divine Advice, I’m used to enjoying a certain level of respect. At restaurants, I get seated immediately even if I don’t have a reservation, I can park my Bashasaurus wherever I want and never get a ticket, and I don’t have to wait in line at Disneyland Eternia. I can vanquish Skeletor with my eyes closed, I can beat Lebron James at B-A-T-T-L-E-C-A-T with one hand tied behind my back, I can run a 45-minute marathon and a 6-second 100m, I have a 20-meter long jump, I can throw a 135 mph fastball, I have a 145 mph slap shot, and can kick a 101-yard field goal. In spite of all this, I’m incredibly depressed. In public, I like to project this image of a huge, super-confident bodybuilder who never wears a shirt, but deep down inside, I’m a slightly smaller bodybuilder who dresses like a 16th-century thespian. The fucked-up…
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