I’ve gotten a lot of criticism for the Green New Deal, apparently from people who haven’t even read it. It’s only 11 pages long, and in a big font, and has lots of bullet points. No paragraph is longer than three or four sentences. I should have included memes about ponies and unicorns.
They say I’m crazy, that I don’t understand economics, that what I want to do will bankrupt America, but that just isn’t the case.
If you read it, I basically want to make America a developed country again. Clean water, clean power, and affordable healthcare, and they want to crucify me. I know you’ve been crucified, and it doesn’t look good.
Other countries have shown us several ways to have better, cheaper healthcare that covers everyone. Really, any other way than ours.
I don’t think these people understand just how much a billion dollars is. It’s 1000 million dollars or 20,000 $50k jobs. And they say we can’t afford to pay people just a little more? Raise the taxes on a few billionaires just 5%, and we’d have it covered. All of it. I am trying to give them more money and cleaner air. And they hate me for it and say that I’m stupid.
I should have put more emphasis on education, particularly math. Just basic math. Trillion dollar bailouts and wars are fine, but taxing a few billionaires just a little more will bankrupt us? I know I shouldn’t say this, as I don’t want to be divisive, but I have my glasses on, and Americans are idiots.
I can’t help thinking I should be in a Revlon commercial. Don’t hate me because I’m fuckable.
None of this really matters, because I’m going to be President someday, and I think they all know it.
I’ll fight Trump right now, in a cage, and beat him to death. And his supporters know it, and I think they’d be kind of into it.
If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it. Honestly, I’d take any excuse.
Maybe I should just move to Canada.
Any advice would be appreciated.
Dear Alex (Can I call you “Alex?”),
First of all, I want to apologize for that dick pic. For all the dick pics, really. That darn Satan got a hold of my phone and thought he’d play a little plank. But uh… now that you’ve seen it, what do you think?
Never mind, you don’t have to answer that.
I am a little disappointed that you haven’t answered any of my letters, though. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I thought maybe you’d think it was romantic. Though I know Trump has been messing with the USPS so maybe you haven’t received them yet? One of the letters contains the latest poem I wrote about you. I dare say this one is a little—<ahem>—racy. There are a lot of metaphors for your vagina and descriptions of things I want to do to you.
I have to confess, I have this silly fantasy. I like to imagine you as my best friend’s hot mom (a MILF, if you will) who comes over to teach me how to fuck. I know you’re 2 years younger than I am, but that’s actually consistent with most MILF porn I see, where you have these fat middle-aged guys playing high school kids and women in their late 20’s playing their naughty teachers. Besides, in my day, 31 was ancient. Fun fact: most of the prostitutes I hung out with were 14 years old, and they were seasoned veterans by that age. Mary Magdalene was only 12. I know that sounds bad, but keep in mind I was celibate and never laid a finger on any of them. And trust me, it wasn’t easy because they were always throwing themselves at me.
Anyway, so the fantasy goes like this: I go next door to see if my best friend John the Baptist wants to hang out and maybe go get burritos or something, but he’s not home. You’re in the middle of cleaning the house, but because it’s so hot in the desert where we live, you aren’t wearing anything under your apron. Your cleavage is glistening with sweat and I can’t take my eyes off it. You catch me staring, but instead of scolding me, you invite me in. We sit down on the couch and you start telling me how your husband has been hanging out with under-ages prostitutes and he now has leprosy on his cock. You put your hand on my thigh, and I immediately pitch a tent in my robe. Instead of being freaked out, you’re actually aroused and start rubbing the bulge. I confess to being a virgin, and you tell me we can take it slow, that you’ll teach me. But then, before your hand even makes it under the robe, I totally blow my load. Instead of laughing at me, you hold my head against your breast and tell me it happens to every guy, that I just need more practice.
I just got word that you didn’t accept the flowers I sent. Maybe you didn’t realize they were from me.
I know it might have been out of line to send those dick pics, but I only had the best of intentions. See, Jesus is a little bashful and, left to his own devices, would never have summoned up the courage to make a move. I’ve been telling him that his Medieval approach to courtship doesn’t land with today’s women and that he needs to be more direct. Of course, there is the whole “Me Too” minefield to navigate, but writing sappy letters and bad poems isn’t the solution.
By now you must be wondering what letters we’re talking about. He claims to have sent them, but you never received them. The truth is Trump isn’t to blame for this one, I am. When I saw the hacky dribble The Lord had composed, I had to step in—for his sake and for yours. Trust me, if you had read it, not only would you have turned him down for a date, but you would have converted to Islam and told him to go crucify himself. I mean this stuff makes Fifty Shades of Grey seem like literature. It was embarrassing.
The thing is, I actually think you and Jesus would make a cute couple. Sure, his dick is smaller than mine and he doesn’t know what the Hell he’s doing when it comes to sex, but he’s sweet and tender and will always make you feel special. I say give him a chance. What have you got to lose?
Of course, if you ever get the urge for some deep dicking, you can always fuck me on the side. The Man Upstairs never has to know, though he’ll probably get suspicious when he sees you limping around the house because your pussy is so sore.
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.