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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)
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This question is now closed.

I am currently sitting at a desk avoiding work in a busy office
apparently acting as a forum administrator for a certain ISP for the next 2 hours. I have made one post on our forum.

I've actually posted more on b3ta.com than the forum in that period of time.

Sometimes life sucks...this isn't one of those times :D
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 13:25, Reply)
When I was about 10, I convinced my little sister I was dying
Just so I could find out what she'd got me for my birthday.

It was quite a convincing display - I lay on the bed, coughing my little lungs out, croaking, "I'm...not going to make it...be...before I go, I... I just wanted...to know...what presents I was...going to get...urgh...hurry, I've not got...much time"

Turns out it was just a colouring book and some crayons. What a disappointment. I hope she was suitably ashamed of herself...
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 13:00, Reply)
just made it
I used to wank to pixelated women wrestlers on the N64 when I was a young teen.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 12:57, 6 replies)
Mmmmm, holy water.
My (Catholic) grandad had 4 (uber-Catholic) sisters. They were basically nuns but without the habits. They lived together in a massive house that smelled like church, with icons and bottles of holy water from Lourdes in every room. Whenever I went to visit them, I used to drink the holy water and top the bottles up from the tap. I'm going to hell.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 12:40, 7 replies)
Steve, I'm sorry I ruined your birthday.
Back in the mists of time, when I was merely 20, a friend of mine turned 21. It happens to most 20-year-olds at some point, but Steve was slightly special as he was the oldest in our circle, and therefore the first to reach this milestone.
His birthday plans were modest: himself and 15 of his friends would meet for a few beers, we'd go for a Mexican at 8ish (this was winter, so no need to book) and then meet up with another dozen or so after. More beers, then spirits, then nightclub. Flirt badly with people we know, dance badly with people we know, go home alone. Standard Saturday night really, apart from the Mexican restaurant.
Ah, yes, the Mexican. Me being me, I was already slightly pished by the time we got to phase 2 of the evening. I ordered margaritas and shots of tequila for Steve and myself before I'd ordered food, and my inner drunken arse was only around the corner.
There being 16 of us meant that this little restaurant was slightly unprepared, and there was a good ten minutes between the first and last food being delivered to our table. Plenty of time for me to get bored.
I'm sat there drumming idly with my knife and fork, Steve sat next to me ignoring his tacos in favour of turning his napkin into a hat for the girl opposite him, Alix (who was similarly ignoring her fish), when I notice a gloroious, mysterious thing. There's a bee stuck in the tiny fake flowers in the middle of the table.
I carefully reach out with my knife, all thoughts of cutlery percussion banished from my head, and wiggle it under him. He stumbles, grips on... and sits there. I have a bee on the end of my knife.
The sensible thing to do would be to say "look guys, I've got a bee on my knife" and carry it outside.
Instead, I put it on Steve's taco. This'd be funny, right?
Right?
Wrong.
He reached down without looking, picked up his taco, actually took a bite (missing the bee, thankfully) and only noticed it when it was inches from his eyes.
He panicked, and threw it across the table, hitting Alix, who was just reaching over for a drink. She recoiled, and the glass in her hand collided with her plate, dragging it into her lap. She screamed: understandable really, since she was covered in Steve's taco and her own grilled fish.
Then she noticed the bee. The angry bee.
She jumped almost vertically, overturned her segment of table (3 or 4 had been pushed together to accommodate us) and screamed.
Then she screamed some more.
Her dress was ruined, her and Steve's food was ruined, the night was probably ruined, and I was suddenly very sober.
Incredibly, no one had seen me plant the bee in Steve's taco, so to this day, no one knows it was my fault.
Steve: The ballsing-up of your 21st birthday was all my fault.
So was the bee taco 'n' fish on Al.

Many apologies.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 10:36, 28 replies)
I'm crap at my job.
I have been working in the same industry for 22 years. I have never really known what I was doing.

I am quite lazy. I spend at least 2 hours a day fucking about on the net. If I don't know how to do something (frequently), I don't do it. I seem to get away with it. I have been on trips, costing thousands of pounds in airfares and hotels, where I have acheived nothing. Sometimes I achieve something on a trip, but when I get back I forget to follow up, and achieve nothing.

I am starting a new job in January. The new company paid 1,800 for me to travel to meet with them for an interview, and offered me the job. At least half of the job they are employing me to do I have no experience of.

I am pretty sure one day I'll get caught out. Untill then, I guess I will ride the gravy train. Wheee!!!
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 10:33, 11 replies)
I confess that whether or not a story is true on QOTW doesn't really bother me
It's how well it's written or presented, or how interesting the idea or subject is that I enjoy.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 9:04, 14 replies)
Sorry little man...
...but I removed all of the batteries from your Thomas the twitting tank engine toys. It wasn't, as I claimed at the time, your fault for leaving them outside in the rain. They were effing annoying though!
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 8:53, 2 replies)
I confess to nothing....
My sister did it.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 1:26, 2 replies)
I don't like cricket.
It is fucking dull.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 0:34, 7 replies)
was playing hide and seek with my sister when I was 8
I found her when I was ten, mom and dad were PISSED OFF.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 0:24, Reply)
I confess
I miss Spankyhanky's posts

May have been total bollocks but they made me laugh
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 23:57, 12 replies)
I must confess
I don't like football.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 23:47, 12 replies)
The hamster was like that when I got here
Me and the wife had a hamster. Little runt was noisy, annoying and bitey (drew blood on more than one occasion).

It seemed to be getting poorly, to which i thought hallelujah! But, when home at lunchtimes from work, it seemed to be getting better.

So, took it out, and twatted it off worktop in kitchen......

I still don't know how I managed to look shocked when I came home after work, and my wife had looked sad at the hamster cage not moving.

Ah well. She had a good run. For a bit.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 23:41, 17 replies)
My confession is something all of you already know
I have as much writing skill as Stephen King after he got ran over.
My storytelling ability is about as good as Tiger's fidelity.
My sarcasm is as witty as Amorous Badger's attempts at puns.
I lie as much as Madonna and Angelina Jolie adopt kids.
My analogies are all I have that are any good.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 23:14, 8 replies)
The grievous sin ofattempted accidental fratricide.
Hi there, b3ta. Long time lurker, first-time waster of company time.

When I was six,my little brother and I played cowboys and Indians.
I realise this sounds like he beginning of a penthouse letter written by a paedophile, but these were more innocent times. Having won the game by capturing my brother, I decided to tie him to a bush.
A holly bush, in point of fact, because I was an evil, evil child. Having done this, I retired into the house for a leisurely game of mario, leaving the little gleet there to squirm.
He managed to free himself, of course, but not entirely. He got free of the bush, but with his hands and legs still tied together. He decided, as one does, to hop into the house to dob me in.

Unfortunately, our garden was steeply terraced with a broken concrete path and no guardrail between it and the sheer six-foot drop to ground level. I returned to the scene of the crime with my camera just in time to see him hopping triumphantly to freedom, letting out one shrill scream and toppling sideways in slow motion, over the edge.
He was mercifully un-dead, but he'd chipped his teeth badly. I, being the kind and considerate brother that I am, threatened him into silence before fetching help.
He now lives on a secluded island in the North Sea that is cut off from the mainland 12 hours a day, communicating with the rest of the family only rarely.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

I'm actually seeing the pope when he comes to England, even though I'm not a Catholic. I hope he's got his best absolving trousers on, that's all I can say. The ones with the specially-reinforced, altarboy-repelling gusset.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 22:28, Reply)
Forgive me father, for I have killed...
Whilst playing outside in the garden one day, aged about ten, I spotted a Blackbird chick cowering under the hedge. The poor thing had clearly fallen from its nest and, fascinated, I picked him up for a closer inspection. I couldn't see the parents anywhere to hand him back to, so I took him inside to show my Dad, who told me that they might not want him anymore now he had been handled by a human. Distraught at the sudden realization of what I had done, I decided to put the chick in a cardboard box with a few holes punched in the lid and take him over to the local RSPCA shelter. When I got there, however, they were shut, and so I left him outside the gate for whoever opened up in the morning to find and rescue.

I honestly believed that I was doing the right thing, but really I almost certainly ensured that the poor creature starved to death in the night, trapped in a box where his parents had no hope of finding him, or, worse still, was easy pickings for a cat or a fox. This only came clear a few days later when my Dad asked what I had done with him in the end, having assumed he was put back in the garden. I feel just as guilty for killing that bird now as I did then, and no matter how many fat-balls or bags of peanuts I buy, it just won't go away. Sorry, bird...
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 22:02, 29 replies)
Music
Ive been into Metal/Rock since I was 15; first gig I saw was Iron Maiden on the World Slavery Tour at Birminghma Odeon. Ive seen Motorhead, Saxon, Atreyu, Hawkwind, Dio etc etc etc.

But y'know what?

I really cant abide Zepplin. I can see why they are liked but I just dont get it. I hate Nirvana too. Ive tried, God knows Ive tried but its just miserable crap.

And the confession?

I really like Lady Gaga. And Kety Perry.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 21:50, 16 replies)
I think it's well past time...
...that I confessed something. Not because it's been weighing heavy on my conscience - because I don't have one - but because I need to prompt those too stupid to have worked it out by now.

Many years ago, I dated someone in the same profession as me - we were in the same industry, but had different job titles.

Oh, he was amazing - really good looking, 6'5" tall (and so very well hung), witty, charming, intelligent. (I have to admit that I was so loved up, when he gave me that look that turned me on so...well, a little bit of wee came out. Every time.) And I wasn't exactly too shabby, either. Although my looks have faded somewhat over the years (I'm still nice to look at, even if that's the only thing I'm nice for these days), and my tits now polish my shoes, back then I was just incredibly beautiful. And intelligent, too - I speak four languages. We seemed to be the perfect couple. I have never, ever been so in love - not before, and not since. And I thought he felt the same way, too.

But he dumped me because, apparently, I was "a psycho". I was absolutely devastated. All the plans we'd made for our future together, all the things we were going to do together, all the places we were going to visit together. All the adventures we were going to have together. All gone.

But I had a plan to get him back for breaking my heart. And because I wouldn't act on it for many, many years, it would have that much more impact.

I told anyone who'd listen that I'd been raped. But here's the really clever bit - I didn't name him as my attacker, not publicly. I just 'let it slip' that it was him to a few close friends, who believed me. And we agreed that it would do far more damage to him to reveal his identity indirectly, as that way the question of his guilt or innocence could never truly be known outside those who actually knew that he didn't rape me at all.

I did all the ground work, spreading the rumours through my friends so that I could never be quoted directly by those not in on it. It took a while, but it worked better that way. It made it look like I was telling the truth, or at least that the truth was being told on my behalf.

I waited years for my opportunity to tell the world my lie without actually having to tell them - quite literally playing the victim, and never commenting on it either way so that my lie could be told without any real consequences for me. Ah, the loopholes of the British system of law - absolutely delicious. Put very simply, I (very indirectly) got someone to blab for me and try to act innocently as if it was just a slip of the tongue, and then I just sat back and watched as the furore exploded around me.

It was incredible to watch. The rumour spread like wildfire. Very quickly, but also very slowly, my former boyfriend's life crumbled around him - his career as well, but I wanted to destroy his LIFE. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to end up taking his own life, and for the questions never to be answered. I was also amazed to see that there were other allegations popping up out of nowhere - almost as if they were breeding like rabbits - from women as desperate for the attention as I was. And you know what? I didn't begrudge them that. I didn't mind one little bit that they were trying to grab my limelight, because they were strengthening my case to be believed, and causing more questions to be asked.

I saw the effect it had on him, and I was pleased. Smugly so. I still am. It went even better than I had ever dare let myself dream. I had destroyed him. I had ruined his life. To this day, there is still a massive question mark over him. He actually went to court over the other allegations...he wasn't charged, but so what? Mud sticks.

And stick to him it still does, despite him being 100% innocent of what I accused him of. We don't want to disbelieve someone who claims to have suffered rape...I think it's natural to believe a story like that. Because it happens to so very many people - from all walks of life - most people will believe that there's no smoke without fire. Whatever happens, I look as innocent as this man really is. The beauty of it is that no-one will ever know...

Christ, that feels better. I can't believe I was able to leave it this long before I told people about it.

But I need to go now; I'm actually away on business as you read this, but I'm leaving a friend with instructions to post this on my behalf in case it's over the next couple of weeks that 'confessions' is the Q.O.T.W. I suggested it on the board quite some time ago, but it might not get picked as I think it's been done before.

But I just had to get this off my chest. Like I said, not to ease my conscience, but because I've been dying to tell people how I ruined this bastard's life for...well, about 7 or 8 years now. I just couldn't hold it in any longer.

And do you know something? I'd love to be able to say that I'm sorry - just to appear human.

But I'm not.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 21:10, 23 replies)
I can't tell if this is a confession or not..
Or something I wish I could have acted differently at the time.. A mere 2 hours ago. It's really quite pathetic, but I think it just isn't my character. And I hate upsetting anybody.

My [now] local Supermarket gets incredibly busy at the peak times, and getting out of the car park gets unimaginably difficult as everything gets backed up. I was on the main "road" as it were, which runs through the centre and all the adjacent junctions were queueing patiently as was I. One cheeky lady had started turning out of her junction and had her bonnet over the line and queueing so she'd established she was coming out regardless if I let her or not. Fair do's, I would have done the same, and I am somewhat a reserved driver, and I try and let 1 person in before I proceed to do my part and I'm always thankful when people let me in. Anyway, after the queue I was in started moving, the woman hovering over the line merged fully with the queue and I had my moved my car firmly over the junction and waited patiently to be allowed to inch closer to the manic round-a-bout. I heard a short beep, and had a look around out of curiosity. I made eye contact with an elderly lady [in her 60's] with a face like a slapped arse staring evils at me waiting at the junction I blocked. She started doing some pathetic hand gesturing and mouthing along some frowning. I took no hesitation to sticking two fingers up at her and looking straight froward and proceeded to let the other cars waiting patiently at the other junctions to be let out [Nb. Only 1 car par junction was let out].
The old lady in the car, now behind me, gave a few head shakes, and then proceeded to raise her middle finger all viewed from my interior mirror. At the time, I laughed as it genuinely amused me seeing a little old lady having some fighting spirit in her, and then I noticed a Christian cross hanging from her mirror. With my window open, listening to Radio 3 [without a shadow or irony I may add] I stuck my head out and yelled to her "How very Christian of you!". She proceeded to mouth something which I didn't pay any attention to as the queue started moving again and picked up enough pace for me to turn off and leaving her most definitely upset.

However, I want to change how that all transpired. I wanted to explain to her two things:

A) I already let somebody out of that junction and it's called "being patient". If I let everyone down that junction out, I would have annoyed the cars behind me as we were ALL moving only inches per minute.

B) I had priority. Who I let in at MY discretion is my choice.

My justification? I am quite a reserved person and I never initiate any confrontations. When someone confronts me, I tend to clam up and brush it off as I genuinely cannot be bothered with hassle and aggravation, and just let the other person think they've made their point and move on. Just once, I didn't want to take any shit from anyone when I didn't do anything wrong.

Not a confession, just a regret.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 19:29, 8 replies)
I had sex with another man's girlfriend....
Okay, so it wasn't his girlfriend but actually his fiancee. Oh, and he wasn't just 'another man' he was my older brother. While he was in hospital having his appendix out.
In my defence, she was an absolute slut who'd have taken on anyone, anywhere (which later caused the inevietable break up) and I was only 16. It was offered on a plate, and I took it.
Sorry, Bro. Don't know if you got an account on here but if you turn up at my gaff (which would be the first time ever) I'll expect the beating I deserve.

On a brighter note, I fully understand why you didn't dump her sooner, girls that willing only turn up once in a lifetime and it must have been hard to let her go. She was attractive, too.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 17:20, 5 replies)
I killed a cat..
It was entirely my fault and I've felt horrifically guilty about ever since.

I was about 9 or 10 and there was a cat sunbathing on the grass outside our house, I went over to it and it ran off under a car. Determined to pet the fucker, I ran over to the car, got on my knees and saw the little tabby looking at me. I stuck my hand out to see if I could reach him and he ran out into the road..

*THUD* .. *SCREEEEEEEECCCHHHHHHHH*

.... Fuck.

After hearing the thud and seeing the fur floating from impact behind the car, I ran indoors just sat there in shock. Someone's beloved pet was now dead. Confessed to the parents about it who were a little angry I didn't leave it alone, but understood I didn't know there was a car coming at the time.

Whoever that cat belonged to, I'm so so sorry I killed it. I'll probably never get over it.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 16:35, 8 replies)
I like both Take That and Robbie Williams
I first heard of them when a Sun article was linked on a US website on how Robbie was trying to kill himself slowly. I researched, listened and really got hooked. I like Nobody Else and forward, not really the gay stuff and have watched more youtubes of the band than I care to admit. There are no "Take That Anonymous" groups in the US, so I hide my shame in darkness.

I have been a fan of The Who since five years old and am afraid Pete Townshend will find out about my Take That leanings and come to my house and give me a well-deserved bollocking.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 15:48, 12 replies)
How could I
Many years ago when I was a rampant permanently horny youngster, it was decided that I would deliver get well soon cards and other sundry gifts to a work colleague who had been taken ill at work.
I arrived at his house only to find he had been rushed to hospital in a critical condition, his mrs was in a state she had no way to get the hospital, well to cut a long story short I offered to drive her when we arrived he had been taken to intensive care so we couldn't see him.
I drove her back home I must admit I took full advantage of her emotional state and stayed to comfort her, which involved me sticking my cock into her love passage at least 3 times in the course of the evening.
OK he recovered, she became pregnant he was over the moon never did get round to telling him he wasn't the dad "oh well"
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 15:30, 28 replies)
I Hate DOGS
I noticed that the Cat Hater was developing a bit of a reputation for himself, and like anyone who knows how to ride coat tails, I jumped right on board with a slight adjustment the the furry critter in quesiton. Its all about the equilibrium with the cat dog divide.

Fuck off Dogs !
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 14:42, 23 replies)
Hahaha, farts eh
I eat richly fart-brewing muesli most mornings and by mid-afternoon, when I reach the gym, I'm ready to share the luurrrve.

Most of the best free weights will by then have been dragged off to the grunt arena at the far end, where Neanderthals strain and preen before the wall-to-wall mirrors.

I wander over, in an innocent search of the missing weights, passing wind in the faces of the grunts doing their press-ups and pikes. I especially enjoy crop-dusting the bench pressers, just as they take that all-important last deep breath before the lift.

Ah, life is sweet. I love the gym and d'you know, I'm getting so much fitter!
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 14:23, Reply)
It was me
As a teenager, I was riding the bus home and found that I needed a little fart. As it was near my stop I let out two tiny little farts, they felt tiny, but big things come in little packages.

The results was unbelivable! Leaving, the farts felt the same size as jelly beans (can any one else feel a size and shape somtimes?) leaving, the interior of the bus was far larger, yet the smell was wide spread and intense. People. Began to cry out in distress.

The bus driver was shouting that the smell was so bad he couldn't see. This was a double decker bus, completely overpowered by a fart.

Whilst getting off the bus, I heard a girl shout "That fucking stinks! Close the windows, it's gotta be the farm!" I laughed all the way home.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 13:55, 1 reply)
Actual confession
Every Thursday morning Concepta comes around to do the housekeeping. Nothing unusual there for a bachelor such as myself. But I don't tell her that Agnieska comes around every Monday morning to do it again, after the weekend. Again, nothing mental there either - I need two housekeepers to clean up after me, and both are oblivious to each other, as I am somewhat embarrassed to let them know that I make enough filth for the house to warrant cleaning twice a week.

The confession? Neither of them know that the reason the drain keeps blocking isn't because of the 'Victorian plumbing', but because I occasionally take a poo in the shower.

Length? Well, it almost felt as good getting that confession out as it does shitting myself up in the shower.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 13:47, 8 replies)
I confess
I tend to rally against worthy, righteous opinions - like atheism, Bono-hatred, and witty, ironic culture like Stewart fucking Lee, and anything by The Smiths.

It's because invariably it's peddled by twatbag students that think they're unique, interesting, and being reeeelly clever, and those who are trying to get said students to buy their wares.

The other day I passed a young gentleman wearing a t-shirt from the Tate Britain bearing the legend "Sold Out". He was wearing it in conjunction with a cheap hat, a cheesecloth shirt, and sandals.

It was as much as I could do not to twat the fucker, and so I do confess to feelings of violence, disdain, and hatred towards my fellow man.
(, Tue 31 Aug 2010, 13:39, 98 replies)

This question is now closed.

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