The Catholic Church got it right.
They allowed people to forgive themselves for transgressions, in much the way Oprah and Dr. Phil now do, by making them own up.
It is time for Confession to be extended beyond the walls of empty churches, and given home in new locales…

The 14-Year Old
Forgive me Mother, for I have sinned. It has been six days since my last shower, and even then I washed not behind my ears.
I have had impure thoughts about Kathy Barnstable, but I rinsed the stains out in the sink before dumping my clothes on the bathroom floor for you to pick up and wash.
I only walk the dog so that I can smoke the cigarettes that I steal from your handbag, and I usually just tie him up to a lamppost around the corner and go to hang out with the big kids.

The Lawyer
Forgive me client, for I have sinned.
I only did twenty-three minutes’ work on your case, before dumping it on the government-paid-for student to finish off, rather than the sixty-three hours I charged you for.
I would like you to take into account that I had an unhappy childhood, and that I have fallen in with the wrong kind of people – other lawyers.

The Schoolteacher
Forgive me student, for I have sinned.
I really know absolutely nothing about what I am supposed to be teaching, which is why I’m stuck here instead of doing a real job.
At college, I just got drunk all the time and tried, unsuccessfully, to have lots of sex – it’s not true what they say: girls don’t really go for stupid guys.
My answer to your question the other day was pure bullshit. I did not know the answer, so I bluffed and then changed the subject to what I had read up on the previous evening.

The Railway Employee
I don’t give a shit about your forgiveness.

The Hollywood Producer
Forgive me viewer, for I have sinned.
I have subjected you time and again to the God-awful acting of that stupid blonde bimba only because she shags like a lemming.
I know I have no talent in writing, but I still insist on re-writing perfectly good work by gifted authors, bringing it down to my own mindless level, just to get my name in the writer credits.
I spend more on special effects than on plot development because I think you are too stupid to care about the story, as long as I can make you wet your pants.

The Airport Baggage Handler
Forgive me passenger, for I have sinned.
Your big suitcase did not end up in Patagonia by accident, as it says on the report; I simply could not be bothered to pick it up off the trolley because it was heavy.
And the damage to your suit bag was not caused by insects; we used it as a back-plate for our dartboard.
And the scratches on your video camera were not caused during customs inspection; we used tie-wire to attach it to the gantry so we could film up women’s skirts.

The Newspaperman
Forgive me reader, for I have sinned.
The glowing article I claimed to have written about that politician was actually written by his aide, and I covered up the lurid sex and corruption stories because he gave me lots of money.
The only reason I have mentioned Poopsie-Cola 658 times in my last 45 columns is because they give me lots of money.
During my career, I have given jobs to 7,193 talentless hacks because they bought me drinks, and not one single job to anyone because they were talented.

The Software Engineer
Forgive me end-user, for I <+Error in line 6258:char29–pageframe missing–terminating wordprocessing functions+>


You have just been subjected to a page from

This page and all original content and all local pages linked to and all their original content are copyright © 1997-2023 by Mark Wallace unless specifically stated otherwise.
All Rights Reserved.