Divine Advice for Shaq

Dear DA,

I may not be the greatest basketball player of all time or even the best center, but when it comes to eating pancakes, I stand alone.

Even when colleges were recruiting me, the one thing that impressed coaches more than my size and natural athleticism was my Shaqernatural ability to eat pancakes. You can google it. All of them agreed I was destined for greatness, and every single coach I ever ate breakfast with still talks about the insane amount of pancakes I can put away.(I mean amount, not number, because when I eat, food is measured by cubic kilo).

I was feared on the court, but I was even more feared at the Homestyle Buffet. Near the end, when I was pushing 500 pounds, they could hear me coming from across the parking lot and knew it was over. Check it: every city with an NBA team, I’ve put at least one “all-you-can-eat” restaurant out of business, and most of them were mercy killings. If they hadn’t gone bankrupt, I’d still be sitting inside eating.

My talent isn’t limited to pancakes alone. Remember that show Shaq vs? Basically, no one could beat me at anything involving size or strength because I’m just too enormous. The producers decided to switch to food, and I humiliated all the “competitive eaters.” That little dude from Japan who used to win all the hotdog eating contests? They had to stop me from eating him, and that was after I’d already eaten 214 hotdogs. After me, he never won again.

The producers decided not to air the shows of me eating. They said it would tarnish my legacy and terrify children, but I say next to my championships, eating is my legacy. Travel around the country to any “all-you-can-eat” restaurant, and chances are you’ll see a picture of my face under the words “BANNED FOR LIFE.” I’m not even allowed in any eating contests, even at carnivals.

Wherever you put me, I’ll eat into the ground, so you might want to consider adopting “Shaq Rules” and swap me every other decade. You’ll both survive, and I’ll have more variety in my diet. It’s a win-win. And to play my part, my will stipulates I be buried with 500 gallons of maple syrup, which should get us through our first few years together.

Shaquille “The Big Angel/Demon” O’Neil
PS: I can’t understand my own voice when I hear it played back to me either, so it isn’t racist to point that out.

Dear Shaq,

Boy, am I glad you were only joking about believing the Earth is flat because if you thought it was pancake-shaped, you might try to devour the whole fucking planet like Galactus. You’d be snapping maple trees in half and letting their sugary blood flow all over the countryside before taking a big ole’ bite out of the ground. While that would be entertaining, Paul Bunyan would be pissed at you for fucking up all his hard work. I’m pretty sure you could take him in a fair fight, but he’s usually armed with an ax, and has a giant blue ox at his disposal.

Actually, now that I think about it, you might as well eat the Earth, since I’m planning on destroying it anyway. Fuck Paul Bunyan. If he really cared about the planet, he would have done something to stop global warming. Those Exxon Mobile thugs wouldn’t have been able to suck up all that black gold had Paul and Babe been keeping watch like they were supposed to. I still don’t know what his excuse was, but if he’s going to let the oil guys have their way with the place, then it would be pretty hypocritical of him to try to stop you from eating it. Though he is pretty racist, so I don’t expect him to sit this one out. He doles out eco-justice like a typical cop—selectively. Don’t worry. If he tries to fuck with you, I’ll drop a mountain on him or something.

Anyway, if you’re hungry, I say go for it. I know the Earth isn’t really pancake-shaped, but can’t you just pretend it’s a giant meatball instead? You’d be really doing me a favor because COVID and climate change aren’t killing people fast enough, and I’m already 40 years behind schedule with this Apocalypse. I was really counting on the Ruskies to launch their missiles back in the 80’s, but they got soft towards the end of the Cold War.

—Jesus Christ

Dear Shaq

I see you braggin’ about your pancake game. Perhaps you haven’t heard of my son, Hellboy, but trust me, he can eat you under the table. He, too, has been banned from all pancake-eating competitions on Earth, so I guess we won’t see a showdown until you come to Hell.

Maybe you think your good-natured smile and “aw, shucks” personality have earned you a place in Heaven, but let’s not forget that you really do eat people. It started back when you were in high school and your b-ball team was heading back home after a big game in the neighboring town. The bus ran out of gas, and you all ended up stranded on the side of the road for what felt like days, though it was actually only about 30 minutes. Help was on the way, but you had already missed dinner and you couldn’t wait.


To your credit, you thought that first kid you ate was already dead. It turned out that he was really just passed out drunk, but how were you to know that? There was really no excuse for why you gobbled up those other 20 kids, the coach, and the bus driver. Also, the steering wheel and two out of four tires.

Anyway, why you’re going to Hell isn’t really important. What matters is my son is going to annihilate you in the pancake tournament once you get here. Sure, we’ll give you a few months to train—my chef makes the best flapjacks in the universe (he’s in Hell because he gave thousands of people diabetes), and you’ll have as much practice as you need. But take my word for it—no matter how much you practice, it won’t be enough. You’re going down hard, and it’s going to be epic. To make your defeat that much more humiliating, I’m going to have Hellboy take the form of Charles Barkley, meanwhile, the real Charles Barkley will be watching the Livestream of the competition from your bedroom on Earth while he bangs your wife.


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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