Dear Divine Advice,
Is it possible that this is the first time I’ve ever written in? I know that my name pops up a lot in your columns, mostly because of the fact that my husband and I are revolting people. We don’t have to go through the list (it’s extensive), but I get it, we really are awful.
So, I have a confession to make. Even after losing the Presidential race a couple of years back, I still want to get into the Oval Office. A lot of people assume it’s because I am a power craving egomaniac, which is true, but….here it is, I really just want to fuck a horse. Catherine the Great has always been a great source of inspiration to me, and I’ve always associated great political power with Horse fucking.
It’s a little-known secret that every U.S. President …yes, every one, fucks a horse when they are elected…..especially Bill. God he loved fucking that animal. I think Catherine was one of the first female despots to engage in horse-fucking, and it really spread like wildfire afterward.
So, that’s the real reason that I want to be President… I want to fuck a horse. So, what do you think? Satan, I know we’re going to be seeing one another quite a bit in the near future. How about a little joy for me before that happens? You know that Bill and I never have sex, and I just know it’ll be amazing with a horse. Jesus, I’m open to a deal with you too. See? I really am a great politician.
Figures you’d want to fuck a horse. If I wasn’t the One True God who knows for a fact there’s no such thing as reincarnation, I’d be thinking you actually were Catherine the Great in a past life. But then again, there’s one huge difference between the two of you: she actually was an Empress, whereas you’re just a sour grapes runner-up. The thing is, you don’t have to be president to fuck a horse. All you need is enough money to afford one of those horse-lowering devices. You should be able to find one at a Brookstone in any suburban mall. They don’t usually have them in stock, but you can try out the floor model there, then order it and have it delivered right to your house. Just let your Secret Service mail-checkers know it’s coming so they don’t think it’s a bomb.
So why am I giving you advice on how to fuck a horse? Because, at this point, it doesn’t fucking matter what you do. After the child sex rings and murders and, of course, those emails…
To be honest, I still don’t understand what the big fuckin’ deal is about those emails. But you’re as slimy as politicians come and will be suffering the same fate they all do. The worst thing about being in Hell is that your husband will be right there with you.
p.s. Happy belated birthday
I have a confession of my own. I’m sorta responsible for that mail bomb. I got inside that crazy Florida guy’s head and made a “suggestion.” Another confession: The reason I’m trying to hasten your arrive to Hell is that, well… I have a bit of a crush on you. I know it probably sounds preposterous that any sentient being could find you attractive, but I’m The Devil. I have weird fetishes. During your campaign, I got excited when you had that dizzy spell. I started sprucing up a new cell for you and everything. But then it turned out to just be gas or whatever and you didn’t die. Talk about blue balls! Since then, I’ve been pining so hard for you.
I know I could just go up to Earth, disguise myself as that sexy black horse that was famous on the internet a few years ago and seduce you. But I’d rather have you down here. We’re going to have so much fun together. Sure, you’ll be tortured, too, but I’m also going to let you be involved in the punishment of Trump and his cronies. In fact, you can be in charge of administering the ass cobras.
I can’t wait to peel off that human skin suit and get a gander at your sexy lizard body underneath. And I’m getting a boner just thinking about that Venus flytrap pussy of yours. So what do you say? How’s about throwing yourself off a building and speeding things up a bit? You’re only 71, and I know you lizard people can live to be 200. I don’t think I can wait that long.
—Satan The Smitten
p.s. Don’t worry about what Jesus said—you and Bill will have separate cells down here.
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.