Divine Advice

Divine Advice for Mayor Pete

Dear Jesus and Satan, It’s pretty obvious that I’m a puppet for the democratic donor class, but some people think I’m literally made of wood, like Pinocchio. If that were the case, my nose would be the length of a telephone pole. The truth is I’m actually a hologram generated by a Facebook algorithm. Keeping this a secret has been difficult, and my PR team is wondering if it might be time for me to go public with it. Some of them think it could even improve my image. Voters love technology, right? Well, I’m 100% technology. On the other hand, I’m even easier to hack than a Dominion voting machine and I’m barely visible in direct sunlight. As holograms yourselves, what do you guys think I should do? Sincerely, Mayor Pete Buttigieg Dear Mayor Pete, I think your PR team is right—telling the truth could help your brand, but…
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Divine Advice for Martians

Photo by NASA

Dear Divine Advice, First of all, let me say on behalf of all “extraterrestrials,” that we appreciate how your pope has decided we might have souls. It’s condescending as fuck, but the fact that His Holiness is acknowledging us at all is real progress. What we don’t appreciate are your billionaires planning to colonize our planet as though it’s just another piece of real estate they can acquire in a game of Monopoly. Mars is an uninhabitable wasteland and there’s nothing worthwhile to mine, so I can only assume they’re coming here to enslave us. Aside from the ethical issues, there are practices problems with this as well. Gravity on Earth is 2.66 times greater than it is on Mars, so we Martians simply won’t have the strength to build your pyramids and railroads. Maybe you just want to force our women into prostitution, and let me tell you, that…
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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,…
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Divine Advice for Evander Kane

Dear Divine Advice, As one of the only black hockey players in the world, I’m kind of like a four-leaf clover, except I don’t bring good luck. Recently, I was given a 21-game suspension for submitting a fake COVID vaccination card, which is super embarrassing, because Canadians are supposed to be more sensable than our hot-headed American neighbors. Like a true Canadian, I apologized profusely once I got caught, but the guilt will haunt me forever. We don’t have guns up here, so walking around unvaccinated is the most dangerous thing you can possibly do in our society. Rules exist for a reason, and by subverting my employer’s health protocol in such an underhanded way, I’ve brought shame to my entire country. My suspension is little more than a slap on the wrist, and I fear a harsher punishment awaits me in the afterlife. Is there anything I can do…
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Divine Advice for Kyrie Irving

Dear DA, You know that show Bridezillas? Think of me as the bride. Sure I got the fancy wedding and everyone put up with my crazy bullshit, but was it perfect? Was it? These moments don’t come around often, so when they do, it’s got to be all about me. With me, KD, and James Harden, the Nets got a real shot at a chip. The only problem is that NY requires people to be vaccinated if they want to eat in strip clubs or go to enormous sports arenas, even superstar athletes like me. Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m not getting that fucking vaccine for anyone. Assuming the Nets keep me, I stand to lose $17 million, a shot at a championship, and the chance to infect players, strippers, coaches, physical trainers, medical staff, reporters, vendors, more strippers, janitors, and fans from all over the country,…
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Divine Advice for Buzz Aldrin

Dear DA, I’m writing this letter on behalf of David Scott (Apollo 15), Charles Duke (Apollo 16), and Harrison Schmitt (Apollo 17). All of us have been on the moon and we’re all still alive thanks to moon radiation, but Dave, Charlie, and Harry are well aware that the young people today are more concerned with their Miley Cyrus and Pokemon–whatever the hell those words mean–than men who have actually set foot on the fucking moon. Before we go, we wanted to set a few things straight for that weaselly Elon Musk fellow. The guy sounds like he was squirted out of a moose pimple and some idiot named it. Maybe he would have made it as an astronaut if not for his caved-in chest and his rickets, but I doubt it. Back in my day, people had the sense to know that just because a feller was rich didn’t…
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Divine Advice for Amanda Knox

Dear DA, There’s still a lot of controversy between who’s hotter, me or Casey Anthony? Without makeup, I win hands-down, and Casey Anthony has a strange giant forehead and lives in Florida, so that should automatically disqualify her from hotness, voting, or playing chess by default. The sun down there is murder on your skin, so she probably looks even worse than she used to. Like everyone else in their right mind, I think Casey did it. She looks nuts, with her wandering eyes and bulging cranium. I look colder and more calculating, but I’m also the kind of girl you’d take home to your parents. I speak properly, don’t dress like a tramp (cough-Casey Anthony-cough), and I’ve kept it high and tight, which is why I got a Netflix special. Meanwhile, Casey is out pretending to be a PI and probably searching for the “real killer” OJ style. How…
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Divine Advice for Bill Gates 2

Dear Divine Advice, People in the media have been giving me the business because of my supposed “relationship” with Jeffrey Epstein. The truth is, I barely knew the guy. Did he advise me to leave my battle-ax bitch of a wife? Yes, but it was more or less the same kind of advice you get from a bartender or stranger on a plane, and when he offered to console me with underaged prostitutes, I said absolutely not—at least not until my divorce was finalized. That woman took enough of my money as it was, and the last thing I needed was to be sued for violating the infidelity clause of our prenup. Of course, the main reason for my association with Epstein is that he was donating generously to the Bill Gates Foundation. I’m the second richest man in the world, so why did I need Epstein’s money? That’s a…
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Divine Advice for Nicki Minaj

Dear Divine Advice, As you know, my cousin’s friend’s uncle’s other nephew in Trinidad took the COVID-19 vaccine and got swollen testicles which made him impotent. I don’t currently have testicles, but I assume the vaccine will cause me to grow them, and that’s exactly the kind of side effect I’m worried about. Say what you will about ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine, but at least they don’t give you unwanted ballz that don’t even work. I’m afraid our country is becoming like China or Nazi Germany, where famous people aren’t allowed to go on Twitter and ask stupid, uninformed questions that lead to millions of their followers making equally stupid and uninformed decisions, which will exasperate the spread of an infectious disease and lead to hundreds of thousands of deaths. I never told anyone not to take the vaccine, I just told them to do their own research and to pray…
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Divine Advice for Ben Shapiro 2

Dear DA, I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you! It’s recently come out that I’m only five feet tall. You’d probably think I was kidding, but you made me. Being a man this short is worse than the Holocaust. The last time I went out jogging alone, a cop stuck me on a school bus and the kids beat me up. Whenever I try to buy beer, the shopkeepers just laugh at me. I am 37 years old! A grown man, a big boy! Even with lifts, I top out at 5’3”. Maybe I went too far claiming I was 5’9”, but people lie about their height all the time, and if you’re going to tell a lie, go big or go home. My wife was carrying me home from Sabbath last weekend (my little legs get tired) and told me not to worry about…
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