Confession of a Modern Sinner
STUFFED IF I KNOW Dear God, Felt the need to confess. Tried to find a priest but they're all a bit busy. Some sort of conference. No-one's answering their phones and George Pell is tweeting at #fuckedifiknowdude and #wheninrome. So I rang Head Office and spoke to a nice man called Frank who suggested I should just talk to you direct. Told me it's the modern way. Dude. So like ... Forgive me non-gender-specific supreme being but not like God in a religious sense because religion is really fucked and I'm just interested in being spiritual, for I have sinned. Well look when I say sinned what I really mean is had a moment of moral dyslexia. Or something. You know. Since my last confession I have: Checked Facebook forty-three times while driving in heavy traffic, attempted to tweet pictures of my naked knee to subordinates in the office and I have failed to like over three hundred stupid cute memes of cats on FB. I have willfully refused to wish at least hal