Thursday, February 15, 2007

Confess-o! Oh!

Confess-o! Oh!

1984: Back in the days when I was a terrible student, surviving on a mere fifteen quid a month (before beer tax), I once stole a packet of rub-down lettering from WH Smiths in Bracknell (value: 35p).

Desperate to avoid any actual revision, I decided that my physics folder desperately needed jazzing up, and the only way I could achieve this was through the addition of "S. Duck, Physics" in solid black lettering.

Loitering around the store that fateful lunchtime, I chose a fine packet of lettering from the crowded stationary department, read all the magazines, thumbed through the records, programmed the display ZX Spectrum with

20 GOTO 10
then fled to enjoy my rubby-down spoils.

And it was worth it, too. I got a Grade E.

Confession is good for the soul, so those boys and girls at the Catholic Church keep telling us.

What you don't know, however, is once you've paid your money and you're sitting in the little confess-o-booth, it's all being channeled back to the Vatican by red-hot altar boys, where the Pope's writing a book of Best Confession Anecdotes so he can go out and buy himself a new slattern.

It's all in his eyes, if you care to look closely. They make him look like the Galactic Emperor from Star Wars, and he had to pay for his slatterns, too, the Dark Side being what it is.

So, confess-me-up instead, and I promise not to blackmail you. Much.

Meanwhile: No vote-o today, because it's my birthday (I am old, if you're asking) and I fully intend to get thoroughly pissed on cheap lager. Hooray for me! *cough*AmazonWishList*cough*

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