Dear DA,
I notice you chastising people for not asking questions, while at the same time you never bother to answer any of the questions anymore anyway. As a Catholic, I completely understand religion being full of hypocrisy and insane contradictions, but as me, Matt Damon, who isn’t really religious at all, I think it’s a crock, and that you guys are big jerks. You heard me—jerks.
It took guts for me to open up and share all of my problems, and you never helped me at all. I still randomly scream “Monkeys!” by the way, thanks a lot for helping me out with that one, it’s only been two and a half years. My wife left me because of it, or at least that’s what she claims. It’s a pretty sweet deal for her. $100 million for writing and starring in that movie about janitors, the other one where I’m a robot, the three where I’m also kind of a robot, the one where I’m in outer space. She did a great job writing half of the janitor movie and starring in half the scenes of all the other ones. You can’t even tell it’s her because it wasn’t, yet she’s entitled to half, and all because I can’t stop screaming “Monkeys!”. It’s going to cost me well over $100 million if you include the legal fees. For a guy who supposedly created heaven and earth in six days, it’s kind of surprising that you can’t stop one guy from screaming “Monkeys!”. Actually, that’s sarcasm. It isn’t surprising at all because you obviously can’t do anything. You’re probably a 40-year-old man sitting in his basement, just like that “chick” I meet on Tinder.
And my “best friend” Ben, you wouldn’t believe the ego on that guy. Even before he was Batman he was unbearable, that smug, stupid look on his face. I’m screaming “Monkeys!” and my marriage is falling apart and all he can talk about is his new facial moisturizer. “Does my skin look alright, Matt? It doesn’t look too tight, does it? Like surgery? Because I swear to God I did not get surgery.” I punched him in the face, I actually beat the crap out of him, how do you like them apples you jackass? That alone should get me into “heaven”.
It was all over for me since that mess with the SJWs, when I tried to say there was a difference between looking at someone and raping them and they crucified me for it. I know you supposedly really did get crucified, but you have to admit, you kind of deserved it. You claimed you were the Son of God and waved your dick at the Roman Empire, so I kind of get it. You were a clinically insane person and you had other lunatics following you. What were they supposed to do? I bet you had the same question, and I bet they didn’t answer you, either.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go out and buy a $200 million yacht and crash it into an iceberg, so my wife can enjoy half of that.
Sincerely,
Matt Damon
Dear Matt Damon
I guess the reason I’ve been ignoring your question is that I actually find this whole “monkeys” thing to be hilarious. Also, it’s kind of not worth my Godly superpowers to fix it. It’s a waste of my time and energy. I mean who gives a shit that your wife left you or that Batfleck doesn’t like to cuddle after you blow him or that SJWs have thrown you to the dogs as though you were nothing more than a common Weinstein or Spacey. These are all just typical rich white guy problems.
By the way, I take exception to being called a lunatic. It’s not my fault your puny human brain is unable to comprehend the complex reasons behind all my genocides and mass murders and natural disasters. You don’t have the intellectual capacity to understand why I claimed to be the King of the Jews, and then told my disciple/cuddle buddy Judas to betray me instead of just turning myself in, or why I even chose to surrender to the Romans in the first place and then let them torture and execute me even though I could have turned them into salt, or why giving up my life in such a way isn’t considered suicide. Sure, I guess I’ve been parenting with a little of that “do as I say, not as I do” philosophy, but that’s because you, my feeble child, couldn’t possibly “do as I do.”
Did I answer your question this time? No, I guess I didn’t. But keep asking—maybe one of these days I will. Not.
Yeah, that’s right—I just referenced Wayne’s World, bitch! He shoots, he scores!
—Jesus Christ
Dear Batfleck’s Sex Slave,
You best believe that your wife will enjoy all 100% of you crashing a $200 million yacht into an iceberg, as long as it kills you. And, according to the Man Upstairs, it most certainly will kill you. So go ahead. Buy the yacht, snort a few lines and go sailing near Greenland. But you should go before Trump buys the place and nukes the glaciers just to spite liberals. How humiliating would that be if you made this big show of offing yourself and you go up there and find nothing to crash into. Instead of dying in a blaze of glory, you just come home with a mild case of the sniffles.
Or maybe I read your question wrong. Are you telling us that your plan is to fake your own death to get out of paying alimony? Because that is a plan I fully support. Let me know and I can borrow the Kraken from Poseidon and arrange for the beast to attack your yacht. That’s a much cooler way to almost die than crashing into an iceberg anyway. Full discloser: if we bring the Kraken into this, there’s a good chance you’ll actually die for real. Still—it’d be a pretty cool way to go, right? And then you get to hang out with me down here in Hell for eternity. We can film the gay porn version of Good Will Hunting I wrote, called Good Will Grunting. That’s just the working title—I feel like I can come up with something better. Anyway, I think you’ll like the script. Spoiler alert: your ass gets destroyed by my 12-inch barbed cock. Then afterward, I’ll be all like “listen to me, son—it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.” And you’ll be balling your eyes out, saying “don’t fuck with me, Satan. Not you, too!” And then we’ll hug. And then I’ll tear up that ass some more.
—Satan
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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