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This is a question The B3TA Confessional

With the Pope about to visit the UK, what better time to unburden yourself of anything that's weighing on your mind by posting it on the internet? Pay particular attention to the Seven Deadly Sins of lust, greed, envy, pride, posting puns on the QOTW board and the other ones. Top story gets to kneel before His Holiness's noodly appendage, or something

(, Thu 26 Aug 2010, 12:47)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

To my eternal shame
I don't know if I got my end away or not.

I'm not guilty about any of the sex I know that I've had, but one occasion stands out where I simply do not remember whether or not the deed was done. And as me and the girl involved parted ways after that, I never got a chance to make sure.

Munich, 2002. I'm working for a company that makes helicopters as part of my degree with a half-dozen other reprobates. We're at our usual Saturday night haunt: Club DOOM, the gloriously cheesy hangout for goths and metalheads.

We met up with some German friends, including Nikki--who I'd been chasing for a few weeks at this point. We drink, we dance, some people drift off to other clubs or to catch early trains home, and then it's just the two of us leaving the club at 6am.

I know we went for coffee, because the trains were shit until about half seven on a Sunday morning. We chatted, I forget about what--me in broken German, her in broken English. But we got kicked out of the coffee place early, and I invited her back to mine.

I have no memory of what happened from leaving the coffee shop to us waking up at half twelve on Sunday and her panicking because she was supposed to meet her family at one.

I met her three times in the month after that and each time I wimped out of asking her if we'd done anything. She left for university in Frankfurt and I never saw her again. To this day, I still wonder if we did--and if it was any good.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 16:20, 7 replies)
Aged about 11
I lived with my folks on their smallholding. Wood pigeons would eat all our veg crops any time they got the chance, and as well as netting over the top of them, Dad bought an air rifle to keep them down and taught me to shoot with it. I got fairly good.

Good enough to hit a wood pigeon in flight, anyway. The first time, the bird was still alive. We had no gun dog to bring it back to us, so we yomped across the field to where it lay, flapping abjectly. My dad looked at it and solemnly pronounced that, since I'd wounded it, I should learn to put it out of it's misery. The kindest and quickest way, he informed me, was to gently pull it's neck until I felt a 'pop', which would be its neck breaking.

So I gently grab Woody the Woodpigeon in my left hand. I gently grab its bobbing head in my right. I gently pull, or so I thought. Probably over egged it a bit, since the poor bloody bird's head came off in my hand.

We had pigeon pie that night, and it tasted 'orrible. And not just because I couldn't get the image of those little pigeon eyes rolling back in its head just before severance.

I later killed ducks, geese and chickens, I still eat meat, and would still kill for food or to protect food from pests. But I'd like to think I have a bit more respect for living things now, compared to your average Joe whose exposure to real life stops at the supermarket chiller cabinet.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 15:48, 3 replies)
I kinda wish I'd tried harder to find my father.
Five years ago I managed to get it right. I came to a small city in Chile, Arica, as one of his possible locations in South America, after 20yrs of not being in touch with each other.

Five years later, I realised I'd been so ridiculously close it makes me feel that being a touch clevered would have helped. Soon I'll write a guide on how to find loved ones in far away countries... For now though I'm writing about my experiences in Chile, having just attended his funeral. It's pleasingly purgative.

www.davesgonemental.com/category/friends-and-family/dad/ (in reverse chronological order)

Not especially funny though.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 15:26, 1 reply)
Despite singing ballads at many sessions, I should point out the following;
I do not have a cousin called Arthur MacBride,
While out walking one morning in May I did not meet a young couple,
I have never been exiled to Van Diemen's land,
I played no part in the 1913 lock out or the Easter Rising,
I was not alive in 1649,
I have never been a whaler
And as far as I am aware my mother never attempted to attend the waxies' dargle.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 15:06, 8 replies)
Dear any company I've ever worked for
I've wanked in every male toilet in your building. It's a challenge I set myself very early in my working life and I'm proud of it.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 15:02, 15 replies)
Poor birdy
Quite a few years back, me and my mates were doing the usual shit(pissing about, griefing old people and such), when we seen a bird nest up a not so strong tree. After an hour of tree shaking one egg hatched and moved ever so closer to the edge and was about to fall off. As I was made to be the catcher, I stood chin up, arms stretched out. For those who haven't seen a fresh egg hatched at the age that I was I can assure you that it looked absolutley grotesque. It fell towards the floor with speed and everybody was shouting at me to catch it until I got a full glimpse of this mong bird.

"Errr fuck that I'm not catching it" I yelled

I moved my arms apart and connected with it full force with my foot and it splatted off a tree. Realising it's quick and bloody demise had to be covered up, we stuffed it in a cigarette box and buried that too. Despite the LOL's we had at the time, guilt took over and I cried when I went to bed.

Length? About 6 foot before it hit the tree.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 14:56, 6 replies)
Before they got Call Recording Equipment at Work
I was deliberately rude and unhelpful to a customer. The customer demanded to know my name and I gave my colleague's name.

He got a warning, but he deserved it for being a cnut!
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 14:52, Reply)
Does it blend?
A LONG time ago, I was seeing a lovely young lady whom I won't name. We went to stay with her father and step mother for a weekend and I found out that the step-mother was the most vile, poisonous piece of Lucifer's jizm I had ever had the misfortune to meet.

We'd been there a day or so when said Beelzebub-woman felt the need to start randomly having a dig at my up bringing. Now, I'm from a fairly comfortable working to middle class home and, without being too twee, my parents are together and the most amzing people who have done the absolute best for me. Not exactly something to be got at.

This riled me somewhat.

Anyway, another few hours pass and I can't wait to get away as I really did not feel the desire to stay any longer than completely necessary. Just as we are about to leave, I decide to leave a depth-charger in her bog. "That'll show her!", I think. Now this is a fairly cliché form of revenge, but then the most dispicable plan hatches in my head... "Fuck it", I thought and without further thought I decide to crack a quick one-minuter and spill my beans all in devil-lady's face cream. A quick swirl with the index finger and no one is to know.

I think about this every now and then and have told a few close mates who find it hysterical.

Regrets? None.
Would I repeat this performance? Probably, given the chance.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 14:22, 3 replies)
Dear Mr Ratzinger
I confess that, like many around these shores, I'm not enamoured by the thought of spending a hospital's worth of public money on you visiting us, what with your stance on AIDS, gays, abortion, women, condoms and your cover-up of child rape.

Therefore, I also confess that I will be one of many making you unwelcome in London on 18th September.

Sorry for lack of LOLs, but I promise to make amends by having a seriously* funny placard.

* Funniness of placard not guaranteed. Your LOLs may go down as well as up.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 14:16, 12 replies)
Karma be damned
I fucked someone on my honeymoon who wasn't my new wife.

I've kept this quiet for 4 years now, and in case anybody is wondering, I have paid for it many times over in terms of guilt, and the fact that my life has been shit ever since. We start divorcing next month.

Sorry for lack of funneh, but sort of glad to get it off my chest in 'public' as it were.

EDIT : Yes, I am a very bad man.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 14:10, 37 replies)
I could have prevented the Bin-Cat Lady from committing crimes against kitties.
I saw the video, like most of you will have, through the B3ta Links twitter. Living in Coventry and housing 2 fluffy kittehs myself, I was seething. How could a monster like that exist, and why does she exist so close to me?!

At first I was scared that she'd do it again to different cats, or step up the cat-tormenting. I wanted her out.

All the time ignoring that strange niggling feeling that the woman in the video did look a little familiar. The name came out, 'Mary Bale' yep, definitely heard that name before but where?

Pushing the feelings aside and focussing once again on how awful she is, I hadn't realised the link between where the cat-attack had happened and where she lived. When the address came out, one of my old house mates emailed me to confirm


For over a year.

Mary Bale, the tormentor of fluffehs, terrorist mastermind against for the feline community is the nutbar lady from next door.

Which is strange because when we lived in that house, there were loads of cats around. Being students, we invited them all in and gave them silly names like 'Salami' and 'Vodka'. Perhaps we were serving as a safe-house for all those terrified moggies.

We all remember that woman very well. She was a total nutbar but always on the harmless, fun side of crazy. We could hear her laughing through the walls all hours of the day and night. She also used to sing. A lot. and go through numerous bottles of wine each week.

So, what's the confessional side to this crazy tale?

Had I known then that the harmless nutbag from next door would start torturing kittums, perhaps we could have put a stop to her madness before she crossed the line.

I apologise, pusses of the world, for letting the next-door nutbaggery continue.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 13:49, 7 replies)
When I was older
I used to love messing around in time machines
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 13:47, 3 replies)
Pyramid of poo
At the end of my student years I went down to London for an interview day at a big posh accountancy firm. Whether I was a naive country boy or what, but I really didn't like the people who did the interviewing. The people, the culture, the job. No thanks.

So after a day of nerves, and scoffing all the rich buffet finger food they provided after a simple student diet, I went to the loo on the way out.

And pooed. And pooed. And defacated an enormous log pyramid of well formed feces down the khazi. I must have lost half a stone immediately.

And I can't easily explain why. But I peered at my sculptured stool sample, and then a calm came over me and I simply left it without flushing.

Its certain that gluttony played a part, and maybe pride and wrath that I felt I was better than what they were offering, so I gave my poo in return. With the wisdom of age I know the poor sod who had to deal with it would be a minimum wage cleaner from Tower Hamlets, and thats why I feel the need to confess. Sorry mate.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 13:43, Reply)
When I was about six I stole a packet of Polos from our local Post Office.
It was run by a retired policeman and his wife, and they were really nice.

I got half way down the road and the guilt caught up with me, so I returned.

In trying to put them back, I got busted.

They weren't as friendly to me after that.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 13:30, 1 reply)
Tube travellers
that sticky patch you sat in this morning....

that was me!
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 13:15, 2 replies)
A few more.
M* my best old friend... Remember when i said i would never fuck your sister?
Oops. P.s, she loves it up the Gary.

Rakesh, Remember that you used to make me work 12 hour days in your shop for £30 a day? well to make up for that i liberally stole Scratchcards from you to make up for it. Sorry for that.

i also secretly enjoy watching women pee. There i said it. I confess. Hang me now
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 13:04, 4 replies)
When I was little I stole 50p out of my mum's purse.
This was when 50p was a lot of money.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 13:03, 4 replies)
My school was about 250 years old.
In one of the classrooms on the top floor, by the window, there was a large circle with "Please leave" above it drawn on the wall, and inside the circle was the biggest greenie anyone has ever seen.

No idea how old it was, but I think whoever did it should 'fess up, as it was most impressive.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 12:33, Reply)
Oh, all right then.
It was me. Sorry.
Your pal,
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 12:20, 1 reply)
Chickenlady's Seven Deadly Sins #2 GREED
How my own greed has caused my undoing in the past...
And I'm still working SLOTH because it's a pearoast.

Don't eat the meat toasties!
Case #1

Place: Istanbul and Bodrum, Turkey
Probable cause : Delicious meat toastie
1st Remedy : Lemon Juice mixed with Nescafe Coffee
Result - Copious vomiting

2nd Remedy : Laying in bed and attempting to die
Result - Auditory hallucinations - an entire episode of 'Moonlighting' (remember that?) heard in English, followed the plot, got the jokes, the lot. Except it was in Turkish. I don't speak Turkish.

1st Comedy Moment : I'm in the bathroom expelling from both ends. Boyfriend of the time in the bedroom asking me to hurry up. Now. Please. Hurry Up! Oh Dear God!

Don't bother.

2nd Comedy Moment : I will not be beaten by this bug so I book a daytrip to Ephesus. Feeling much better, managed the entire coach journey with no problems at all. Reach the ancient site, get off the coach.

3rd Comedy Moment : On return through Customs at Gatwick I am pulled over by the men in uniform. Why? I've just returned from a fortnight in the sun. I look like death - grey pallor, slightly sweaty, and who am I looking out for? My case has to be broken open - couldn't find the key. In an explosion of dirty knickers (eeww! But not *that* dirty) the Customs guys find……nothing but overspending. They fine me and tell me I'll be sent to prison if I do it again within five years. I cry as I watch men and women with healthy tans walk past wearing entire leather outfits and Turkish carpets strapped to their backs.

Final Results and Conclusion
I see my GP. I suggest I have Typhoid. He tells me I have Salmonella. I lose nearly 30 pounds in weight.


Case #2
Place: Tangier, Morocco
Probable cause : Delicious meat toastie
1st Remedy : 'Medicalcork' (that's the generic name, it's also known as 'Bungup' and 'Stopshits' ) from the local doctor.
Result - Stop producing pale brown fluid from both ends.

2nd Remedy : Eating small quantities of boiled rice
Result - entire bowel peristalsis is halted
Comedy Moment : I can't go. At. All. I try eating a little fruit. Nothing. A little fruit juice. Nothing. Two days later I feel the urge to go. I retire to the bathroom - a cupboard in the hotel room. I sit and wait. And wait. Then. Oh. My. God. I want to die. I begin to cry. My husband (at that time, #1) hears me, he comes and holds my hands. Slowly over the course of what seemed like hours I manage to pass a small white golf ball.

A golf ball.

Forgive me for my greed.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 12:05, 4 replies)
It was me!

(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 12:03, 2 replies)
Extreme Papercut
I came up with a masterplan to get Brian P who had once punched me in the forehead during playtime. I held a piece of paper under my nose held taut and moved my head side to side marvelling and wowing. He got interested and I convinced him that there was a freaky optical illusion doing this if you move your head side to side REALLY quickly. He obviously couldn't get it to work, so I held the paper for him.... As he increased the speed of his head in frustration, i lifted the paper somewhat. The scream was incredible and the papercut went most of the way through the septum.
I still wince and shudder at myself to this day.

Footnote: I regret some of the actions of my youth and a brief spat of venting teenage frustrations on a couple of the school's most awkward and I now realise very misunderstood kids. But not Durrant, he deserved fucking everything.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 11:42, Reply)
I shot a man in Reno...

(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 11:25, 10 replies)
Forgive me Holy Father because I was/am a dirty little tramp
As a teenager with scruffy clothes, shit hair, little money, and even less to do -outside of hanging around outside corner shops spitting on the pavement or trying to bunk turnstiles into football matches- I used to spend an inordinate amount of time sitting in the public library reading pretty much anything I could get my hands on...

'thats highly commendable of you' you say...

well it WASNT.
For some reason Ive always found libraries to be apallingly sexually tense places...it must be something to do with the enforced silence and the tight tweedy-ness of the librarians...and after about 10 mins or so of trying to read a Star Wars graphic novel or a book about WW2 - Id inevitably get the raging horn.
Which usually led me first to the Shaun Hutson books with their lurid descriptions of copulating couples about to be eaten alive by something fucking stupid like slugs and then to the gents lavatories where I'd indulge in an act of self pollution over the afore mentioned sex/eaten by something scenes.

SO thats my confession Holy Father...
When I was shit haired scruffy teenager and didnt have the money to go to football matches or didnt want to hang around outside shops spitting Id go to the library and masturbate over shit horror novels...

Ten hail Marys Holy father?
that'll do nicely
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 11:05, Reply)
Dirty Pint Glass
Brace yourself, this one is quite strange (and disgusting) and features my friend Ashley, star of the ‘Some Dirty Bastard has shat on the seat’ post from the 'Caught!' QoTW. The location was The Antelope in High Wycombe, a medium sized boozer that has provided my mates and I with many a laugh over the years. This particular story happened one summer when the outside area was open and busy – an important part of this tale.

In the summer, the pub has an outside bar which comes in very handy. It also has a couple of portaloos, which, if you’re brave enough, can also prove useful. My mates and I were all sat round a table, basking in the warm evening air, when Ashley suddenly piped up;

“Fuck me, I need a shit and it feels like it could be massive”.

Now this in itself is a statement that would make any group of friends stop their discussion and go quiet. When the aforementioned statement is combined with a mischievous look like the one Ashley had on his face, you know something other than a bog standard shit is going to follow. We all stopped and looked at Ashley and then we began probing him as to his plans. This was only a couple of weeks after the shitting on the seat incident, and Ashley had received a fair bit of praise for that prank, so we were all wondering what he was thinking of doing next.

“You’ll see”. A smile formed across his face.

“Keep watching that portaloo door. I won’t be long”

Ashley got up and made his way to the portaloo. The rest of us got in the queue for the outside bar and waited. I was already chuckling to myself, wondering what on Earth he was planning. A few minutes passed and still we watched and waited, trying not to make it too obvious to everyone else around us that something was about to happen.

Suddenly, the door opened, very slowly. Ashley’s silhouetted figure emerged in the doorway, and as he opened the door further and the light hit him, I saw the biggest grin on his face. We still couldn’t see what he was smiling about, and not wanting to shout out to him, we kept quiet. I did notice that his arms were behind his back and I wondered what he was hiding.
I didn’t have to wait long. From behind his back, Ashley brought forth a pint glass, and in it was the single biggest log I think I have ever seen. It was a thing a rare beauty; long, thick and perfectly smooth. It was so big that it was jutting out of the top of the pint glass. It reminded me of an iceberg in a way, with most of the mass below the brim of the glass, but with the dome of the log peering over the surface.

I was on the floor.

I’m not sure why I found it so funny. I think it was the thought of him crimping off such a magnificent beast into a pint glass. Tears streamed down my face and I clambered to my feet, trying to regain my composure. My other mates were laughing too, and we were all thinking why he had committed such a crude act.

Ashley closed the door once again, and emerged shortly afterwards, joining us in the queue.

“I hope you’ve tipped that out and flushed it away you dirty fucker”,said I.

“Nope. I’ve left it in the glass! It’s by that little flushing handle thing! Ha!”

Ashley was obviously proud of his newborn, and funny as it was, we told him that he better get rid of it. Grudgingly, he turned and went to go back to the portaloo, but it was too late, two girls had nipped in and closed the door. By this point, I was absolutely pissing myself laughing again, thinking of their reaction on finding Ashley’s mess.

“Maybe they’ll think it’s one of those toilet attendants – it’s big enough” said my brother.

We all started sniggering. I was caught in a loop of trying to stop laughing, and then remembering what I was laughing about, which made me laugh even more. I think we’ve all been there.

Then, without warning, the door flew open and the two girls ran out covering their mouths. One ran to a nearby wall and promptly threw up, whilst the other one was stood next to her, still covering her mouth, shaking her head in a disapproving manner.

So, what’s the confession I hear you ask? Well, one of the ‘bouncers’ saw the girl being sick and asked her what had happened. He then saw our group pissing ourselves with laughter and put two and two together. When he asked us what we thought we were playing at, I pointed to a couple of blokes at the other side of the pub and accused them of the crime. The bouncer whispered into his radio, and we watched as the two fellows were escorted out, protesting their innocence to no avail. Random two blokes, I’m very, very sorry for ruining your night.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 11:01, 2 replies)
I'm a secret...
...lemonade drinker.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 11:01, 7 replies)
Once in my younger days I found a wallet on the bus
I recognised the person in the picture as someone that rode the same bus as me in the mornings so the next day gave it back to him. He was very grateful as his driving test was that week and he was panicking about losing his provisional licence. He rewarded my honesty with a crisp five pound note.

My confession is, I saw him get up and leave it on the seat and said nothing. I then picked it up and looked in it and on seeing there wasn't a crisp five pound note in there decided to give it back. I didn't deserve the five pounds worth of cola bottles and aniseed balls I took home from school that day.

That said I am not like it these days, I found a wallet in work looked at the ID and tracked down the student and told him that the toilets wasn't the best place to leave his wallet as there's no cctv in there.
(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 11:00, Reply)
To the waiter
in the Oriel brasserie, Sloane Square. Circa 1997.

It wasn't me that knocked the bottle of St Emillion over on the table, making you have to move everything off the table, change the linen, put everything back and mop the floor.

It was the girl I was having lunch with. She was one of our brokers, we were meeting to discuss business. I was fingering her under the table, and she knocked the bottle over when she came.

(, Fri 27 Aug 2010, 10:58, 80 replies)

This question is now closed.

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