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Friday Afternoon Confessional: It beginneth

Begone, Kotsko, from these hallowed halls. Your happy boasting, thinly disguised as “confession,” has come to an end. No longer must your readers endure the affront of your relaxing summer and happy relationship with The so-called Girlfriend. For behold! From the east there comes a great light, shining upon this blog even in its squalor. It is I: F. Winston Codpiece III, international playboy, certified financial planner, card-carrying member of Opus Dei — pimp, prostitute, and john rolled into one unending stream of blogorrhea.

Unlike young Kotsko, I know how to sin. I confess that I killed a man in Reno just to watch him die — but I got distracted, so I missed it. I confess that I stole that line from Kids in the Hall, to warm you up, since you are all pathetically nostalgic for the lazy afternoons you spent watching basic cable in some suburban wasteland. Admit it, reader: you masturbated to Benny Hill. I did! I am right now!

No, not Benny Hinn, you sick fuck. Although, okay, yeah. But really: what if this hollow shell of pain we knew as life was like Benny Hill. The infectious music, the madcap running around, and — most importantly — the women suddenly relieved of their clothing, somehow stripped precisely to their skivvies, often with those little clips that hold up the pantyhose. But who can compete with the man himself?

I confess that, yes, I have been absent from the blogging world for quite some time — or have I? For it is I, F. Winston Codpiece III, international playboy, etc., who am behind none other than the blog JEZEBEL. Donning the name of the pagan bride of King Ahab, I built one of the greatest blogging empires in the history of man! How was I able to do this, you may ask? Ah, you women — so many questions.

I confess that I am the factual basis underlying Stephanie Myers’ worldwide mega-hit, the Twilight saga. My skin is glowing right now, as it is daytime — because apparently that’s what happens in that? Fie on ye, Myers, for revealing my secrets! I shall mate with a werewolf, and our accursed offspring shall eat out thine eyes! With mind-bullets!

I confess that I, Klaus Kinski, am the author of this post and demand to be acknowledged as such.

Confess as you will, Webloggians. Your eternal fate is already sealed.

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July 16, 2010 - Posted by | Friday Afternoon Confessional

17 Comments

  1. This is deeply confusing and not only because I never ever masturbated to Benny Hill. I can admit it made me think of masturbating but I was never so entirely hopeless as to be able to get off being exposed to such brief moments of non-full nudity.

    Comment by Earnest O'Nest | July 16, 2010

  2. I confess that the errors associated with post scheduling are becoming more and more annoying to me.

    Comment by Adam Kotsko | July 16, 2010

  3. I confess that’s telekinesis.

    Comment by ebolden | July 16, 2010

  4. How about the power… to move you?

    Comment by Adam Kotsko | July 16, 2010

  5. I confess that there are two bad things about Toronto: (1) going to/returning from Toronto and (2) actually being in Toronto. While the traffic and parking in Toronto was insane yesterday (and, presumably, everyday), it was tiny Westport at the head of Upper Rideau Lake in Rideau Lakes Township that took the prize: a fully decked-out nun driving what they call a “beater” going through stop signs, breaking erratically and turning without signals that carried the day. The guy on the 401 east bound between Port Hope (where the highway becomes two lanes in either direction) and Kingston (only because that’s where I got off) who didn’t put his lights on until nearly quarter to ten and somehow managed to vary his speed from eighty to one-twenty in the left lane doesn’t even compare.

    Comment by Craig | July 16, 2010

  6. I confess that I had better not be getting a blister on my heel before my hiking trip begins, and me having forgotten to pack moleskin!

    I confess that I am a control freak.

    Comment by ben | July 16, 2010

  7. I confess I’m happy to see the return of Mr. Codpiece.

    I confess that I get defensive when the bagger at my grocery comments on the quantity of liquor that I buy. Like are you saying I’m a drunkard, fuck you etc. Anyway I confess that I’ve drunk quite a lot of that liquor tonight. I confess that sometimes I find it restful to be hung over.

    Okay, and this is maybe TMI but I confess that it is gross when people make the office bathroom smell. I mean for christ’s sake people. If you need to do a poo do it in private in your own home, not in a public area where your coworkers will be subjected to your shameful smells. I’m sorry to have to bring it up in this forum but it has been on my mind today for certain reasons, horrible ones as you might well imagine.

    I confess that it has been many days since I have washed my hair.

    Comment by jms | July 17, 2010

  8. i confess i’m always tempted to comment when i see the number of comments are 7 which is believed not a very lucky number, cz dordokhyn doloo (7 is for decline, a superstition)
    i confess i woke up thinking like a brilliant thought, why a fan blowing feels a little bit cooler, if it does not any cooling work, so the air movement must be consumes some heat, and i always wonder where it’s gone, for example when water evaporates, what i remember from physics is that any work releases or ‘consumes’ the heat, the release part is kinda understandable, the temperature decreasing part is like so mysterious, don’t know the basic thermodynamics maybe
    or perhaps just the proprioreceptors stimulated by the air moving suppress the thermo ones’ sensing

    Comment by read | July 17, 2010

  9. do,
    9 is the best number btw

    Comment by read | July 17, 2010

  10. If you need to do a poo do it in private in your own home, not in a public area where your coworkers will be subjected to your shameful smells.

    Seriously? No shitting on the clock?

    Comment by ben | July 17, 2010

  11. I confess that jms’ proposal seems inhuman, and likely to cause irritable bowel syndrome, trapped wind, and constipation. Perhaps it is part of the guerilla marketing of an antacid manufacturer…

    Comment by Gabe | July 17, 2010

  12. I confess to not having the proper bowel discipline to be able to place a personal moratorium on No. 2’s at work. Further, I confess to going at work as often as possible so that I don’t stink up my own home. I realize this is selfish, but I lessen my guilt by going up to the third floor bathroom that is the least trafficked and not available to the public.

    Comment by Matt in Toledo | July 19, 2010

  13. Matt, you’re a monster.

    Comment by jms | July 19, 2010

  14. Truly history’s greatest. Well, next to the people who do the same and leave their spoils for all to see. I, at least, courtesy flush.

    Comment by Matt in Toledo | July 22, 2010

  15. If you think of the final flush as a “courtesy,” you may actually be history’s greatest monster. The final flush is obligatory; flushes in the middle of a massive shit are the courtesy.

    Comment by Adam Kotsko | July 22, 2010

  16. I confess I regret having prompted a thread about poop.

    Comment by jms | July 22, 2010

  17. I don’t want to be too graphic here – perhaps too late, I fear – but I know which flush(es) is(are) can be called a courtesy and I employ them as necessary.

    Comment by Matt in Toledo | July 22, 2010


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