Divine Advice For Derek Chauvin

Dear DA,

I really screwed up, and most of it isn’t even because I’m a blatant racist.

You know how if you have a job for long enough, you kind of start to blow it off? It’s like every year, I have to watch a sensitivity training video again? Or get my eyes checked so I can be recertified to use a firearm? And this bullshit never ends.

I stopped doing all of that crap years ago, and it kind of bled over into my work on the streets. You hear enough people begging for mercy or to be treated like human beings, and you just kind of grow numb to it.

The pressure was also starting to get to me. A regular arrest, like what was caught on film, I practically sleep through.

You know what kind of calls I get? People used to complain to me about stray cats and dogs. Can’t this town afford a dog catcher, or an insane asylum, or something, anything, that isn’t supposed to be a part of my job?

I don’t mean to make excuses, and I know I deserve to go to hell, but maybe if they paid cops more and trained us better, fewer demented bullies would be able to join the force. I don’t know. I’m probably not the best person to ask for advice right now.

If I get killed in prison, please make it quick and painless.

Sincerely,
Derek Chauvin


Dear Derek,

You requested a quick death in prison. The problem is, as the Creator of the Universe, my perception of time is much different than yours. For example, is nine minutes and 29 seconds considered “quick?” I suppose it depends on the method of death, right? With an overdose of sleeping pills, it probably doesn’t matter, because there’s no pain. But inhaling bleach mixed with ammonia will burn holes in your lungs, so nine minutes and 29 seconds of that probably seems pretty long. How about nine minutes and 29 seconds of being shanked with a sharpened toothbrush handle, or however long it would take to be stabbed 929 times in the dick? I’ll bet nine minutes and 29 seconds of being beaten with brass knuckles wouldn’t be fun. Or nine minutes and 29 seconds of gang rape. Or nine minutes and 29 seconds of being drowned in a dirty prison toilet.

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

—Jesus Christ


Dear Derek,

In preparation for your imminent arrival in Hell, I went out and bought spiked kneepads. I can’t wait to try them out. I’ve been studying the video that girl took because I want to get your suffocation technique down perfectly. Of course, I’m an artist, so I plan to make a few changes for my version of the movie. For instance, instead of just standing and watching while I’m kneeling on your head, my fellow demons will be cramming venomous snakes up your rectum and attaching jumper cables to your dick. And instead of a blue wall of silence, it will be a red wall of blood-curdling shrieks. Demons can be a rowdy bunch.

Anyway, I can’t wait to begin shooting. For sound and lighting, we got a bunch of union guys who died of COVID while working on the latest Mission Impossible, and for wardrobe, we got the costume designer from the 1915 version of Birth of a Nation. Incidentally, there will be a robot Tom Cruise on set yelling at the union guys and possibly electrocuting them with cattle prods. RoboTommy can get a little carried away sometimes, and it’s possible he’ll zap you, too. Just try to ignore him, and he’ll eventually leave you alone. Take my word for it, though; you don’t want to make any cracks about his height. And, whatever you do, don’t bring up Scientology. The robot version is even more sensitive than the real guy, and is a lot more trigger-happy with a cattle prod.

—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.

H. Seitz

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