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Confessional

- (Exasperated) What Buddha doesn't know won't hurt him. No soul, no goal. Keep going, you're breaking my rhythm.

Okay. I broke the windows of shops and houses, set fires in the backyards of neighbours I didn't like. I used a slingshot to break streetlights, kill seagulls and hit housewives on their fat arses. I spraypainted walls and vandalised trains. I, uh, masturbated countless times from puberty onwards. I looked at pictures of women without clothing and had dirty thoughts. I grabbed the breasts of schoolgirls on the bus without their consent. Wait, it's a sin regardless of consent, isn't it, no don't answer that, I should know this one, and you have no sense of humour at the moment. I had sex with a girl three years older than me when I was thirteen, obviously the pre-marital variety. That's got to be a serious one, eh? (Hears sigh of disappointment from priest, continues anyway). I drank alcohol, smoked a little dope, defied my parent's rightful authority by sneaking out of the house at night and going to parties where much teenage hijinx ensued. I listened to heavy metal music, played records backwards, dabbled in the occult, played Dungeons and Dragons, took part in seances. I went joyriding in stolen cars, yelled abuse at policemen, defied my teachers. At uni I cheated on a test, cheated on my girlfriend. I lied on a tax return. I thought about having sex with my best friend's girl. (Stops upon hearing disgruntled muttering emanating from the priest's direction).What's wrong,

Father, aren't I doing this right? Am I hurting you?

- (Sighing) My boy, I don't think your heart's really in this. This is small potatoes, small fry, small time shit. You're not giving me anything to work with here. I hear this exact same shit day in day out, from the same unimaginative cattle. Most of your sins have already been downgraded by the Vatican from the status of sins to being minor misdemeanours not worth wasting a single prayer or candle on. Or the other crap? Jesus wept! I grow so weary of this task on days like this.

Is it my fault you don't like your holy work.

- You think this job is easy? Being taken for granted, every shlub coming in here thinking that I'm going to be impressed with their mundane sob stories as if it's my first time, or like I've never heard of a sin so big before. For fuck's sake, I've been on the game for thirty five years! This isn't just about you, you selfish little cunt! Try thinking about someone else's needs for a change.

I'm sorry, Father Pucker, forgive me. Please, tell me what to do to make you happy.

- Tell me the good stuff. I mean the 100% pure uncut shit. You know what I mean. And don't leave anything out. I don't care if you have to make it up, just tell me what you know I want to hear. Get to it boy. Now, before I lose my patience with you. Your half hour is nearly up as it is. How am I meant to give you absolution if you don't take this seriously?

Yes, okay, Father, I'll try harder this time. Try this one on for size, I paid working girls for sex, then beat them up afterwards and stole all their money. This is what you want, isn't it.

- Oh yes, my boy Errol (spits into hand), now we're getting onto the good stuff.

I did have sex with my best friend's girlfriend, got her pregnant as well, then convinced him that the baby wasn't his and that his girl was a slut. He kicked her out with nothing to her name, she ended up drowning the little fucker in a river. He never knew it was me.

- Ho, oh, that's good one (The priest's breathing speeds up to shallow gasps, racing heartbeat can almost be heard throughout the church). More. More!

I sold smack to school kids. Made a fucking fortune too. If the kids stiffed me on the cash, I would hot needle them. They never knew what hit them. I put girls as young as fourteen on the street to pay for their habit, and they would usually last a year before the smack burnt them out or some other rascal would playfully pop their cork.

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