False Confessional

“Bless me father, for I have sinned,” Vance said.

“You don’t really need to say that any more, my son. But if it makes you more comfortable, then do so. What have you done?” The voice on the other side was kind, comforting, and rather old.

“I have had impure thoughts, father.”


“About myself. I’m a babe, father. A stone-cold fox. Help me, father, for I am too good looking.”

“Hm. Well, my son, remember: a false confession before God is the worst of all possible sins.”

“It is no false confession, father. Every day I look at myself in the mirror, and I masturbate to what I see. I’m sexy, father. I’m sexy and I know it.”

“Oh, Jesus, Vance!” the voice finally broke, sounding suddenly younger.

“Carl?!” Vance said.

“Buddy, what the hell!”

“Aww shit, what?” Vance came tearing out of the confessional, and reached in to the preacher’s side to haul Carl out. “I’m going to pound you you little – ”

The father appeared behind them and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Take a seat in the confessional, please. Both of you. Now.”

Vance and Carl sat quietly, and listened to the extensive penance they now had to serve.


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