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The PSL Confession

Help, God. I have a sense of doom and a fall addiction.

“Bless me, father, it has been … I don’t know, decades since my last confession.”

“And have you sinned?”

“Oh, yes. Sinning all the time. Not really sure where to start, to be honest. Is this a list thing or should I just cover major categories?”

“You don’t remember how to give confession?”

“Well, decades—”

“—since your last confession, yes of course. Let’s start here: What’s weighing most on your soul? What brought you here?”

“A sense of doom. And guilt. A lot of guilt.”

“Doom. I see. How would a confession help with doom?”

“If we’re all going out tomorrow, I don’t want to roll the dice with my soul, do you know what I mean? Really, it’s a mom thing. She made me—”

“So you’re not here of your own accord?”

“My mom didn’t make me, if that’s what you mean.”

“But you just said—”

“While I mean she threatened me. But she didn’t force me, see what I mean? Anyway The church is just really close to the Starbucks and I was headed there for a PSL anyway, so…”


“Really, Father? Geez they must not let you leave this place. Pumpkin spice latte. The fabulous fall addiction.”

“Right, well, this is getting a little off the rails. Where is this sense of doom coming from?”

“My mom.”

“Your mom has an impending sense of doom and she asked you to come to confession?” 


“Did she … explain herself at all?” 

“Nah, it’s just one of those mom things. You learn to just go with the flow, do what makes them happy. Maybe it’s the war stuff. She gets really worked up about that. Like this one time, during the Gulf War—”

“Right. Okay, well, let’s turn to the guilt you mentioned. What’s sparking this guilt?”

“My mom asked me to come to confession two weeks ago.”


“And I’m only just getting to confession now. I kinda backburnered it — and you don’t wanna do that with mom stuff.”

“That’s good advice for us all. What else is surfacing this guilt?”

“That’s about it I think. I mean, I was supposed to get a PSL for my ex-girlfriend but that shit’s expensive. It’s good and all, but not $7 good. Still, I feel kinda bad.”

“Didn’t you just get yourself one?”

“Yeah, drinking it right now. You wanna try it? I can hop around to the other side of this box thing and—”

“No, no, that’s fine. Thank you.”

“Anyway, she and I, we’re kinda on-and-off. Her boyfriend doesn’t know about it but that’s cool. He’s megapoly. Anyway, don’t think she’s worth $7, know what I mean?”

“I honestly do not. But let’s move on to the—”

“Oh, padre, you gotta try one of these. They really do let you out of here, right? I mean, I know you give up all the pleasures of the body or whatever but this is totally worth it.”

“Yes, they let us out of here. I live down the street, but I’m not much of a coffee drinker. Anyway—”

“Hey, do you have any of that holy wine?”

“You mean communion wine?” 

“Yeah that stuff. Can I get a nip before I head back home?”

“That’s not really how that works. Out of curiosity, what church does your mom go to?”

“The Church of LYBL.” 

“LYBL? I’m not famil—”

“Live your best live.”

“Oh God. Are you even Catholic?”

“Hell no. I probably couldn’t spell it. C-A-T—”

“And your mom?”

“She was in a cult for a while. That was kinda Jesus-y but it got weird with the sacrifices and sun-god rituals.”

“Okay, I think we’re just about done here.”

“Don’t you have to give me the ol’ ‘Your Jesus who’s the best in heaven’ healing prayer?”

“Bless you, you’re healed.”

“That’s it, huh? And they pay you for that? Damn, I went into the wrong line of work.”

“I hesitate to ask, but … what line of work is that?”

“Well, right now I’m doing this finance thing. I’m trying to get people to share some of their money so my boss can invest it. You’re supposed to make a lot, but only if you get other people to sign up. My mom got me started on it.”

“God in heaven. I’ll pray for you.”

“Thanks muchly.”

“I just have one more question. Strange as this may sound… are you happy?”

“Hell yeah! Mamma’s good, the girlfriend is back (sorta), and I have enough money for a PSL. What more can a guy want?”

“What more indeed. Be well, my son.”

“Peace out, padre.”

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