Confessions

Another chap I met over in the speaker’s park, who seemed to be having an
off day, kinda mumbled to either me, a near-by tree or no one in particular,
“The difference between being a prophet
and making a prophecy is a great gulf indeed.” (Mumble, mumble.)

 

While there is obviously competition for the good stuff,
in the area of the super good stuff, is surprisingly enough,
there is no competition at all.

 

A pretty upscale new religion on this one little planet
has what they call a
“Boutique Confessional Booth”
which specializes in hearing only exotic,
one-of-a-kind sins.

 

After many of his chums commented on his father’s apparent cold demeanor,
the kid told ‘em, “Yeah, I know what you mean, but he’s not actually like
that; I finally asked him about it myself and he said that since he was not at
all mad at me, he just didn’t wanna be too obvious about it.”

 

The only mysteries are in the past,
and nobody finds this weird.

J.

 

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