"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been twenty-six years since my last confession."

"That's a long time but God's mercy doesn't count days and months and years. Tell me your sins."

"I've had impure thoughts. Like the other night I thought about pregnant Britney Spears sucking me off while Christina Aguilera sat on my face."

"I see, well you're not alone there. Father Smyth actually drew a very realistic picture of that not three days ago. And what else?"

"Well, I once thought about doing it with Anne Doyle the RTE newsreader while she was dressed in a school uniform."

"I meant what other sins, not just impure thoughts."

"Oh, right. Well, I've stolen, Father."

"What did you steal?"

"£26m from the Northern Bank last Christmas. Also, Edvard Munch's 'Scream' from a museum in Norway and Robin Cook's heart attack medicine."

"Stealing is wrong. You know that."

"Yes, Father. I just can't help myself."

"Go on, my son."

"I've killed people, Father. I'm a bastarding serial killer and I can't stop. I travel throughout the country looking for homeless people and I befriend them, offering them shelter, money and booze. I get them really drunk then I batter their heads in with a solid silver candle stick my mother gave me on her death bed. Then I dismember the corpses, bury the parts in quicklime filled graves I have pre-dug in the Dublin mountains and play football with the heads around my house. Then I boil the skin off the heads and make authentic Hamlet props which I polish and sell on eBay."

"Erm...well...."

"Also, when people stop me for directions I always send them the wrong way. I've tripped up blind people as they're tip-tapping their way past me on the street. I fart on buses and blame it on other people. I drink too much. I make prank phone calls to victims of tragedies. I'm a radical Muslim cleric. I've sabotaged the peace process. The LUAS was my idea. I made Samantha Mumba a star. I invited George Bush to Ireland. I wear metal tips on the heels of my shoes and follow women across poorly lit car parks. I urinate in public and I don't mean behind trees, I mean in the middle of Grafton Street. If I have to poo when I'm out I always use the ladies and make 'Urrrrrgh' noises. I never flush. I make up stories about people and put them on the internet. I've hijacked the special bus and let all the kids out on the main road. I read the Phoenix. I covet my neighbour's goods and wife, in that order. I've taken the name of our Lord in vain, like this 'WHAT THE JAYSUSING FUCK ARE YOU DOING LISTENING TO ME?'. I've stopped taking my medicine, Father. I've started hearing voices again. I've started carrying a large chef's knife around with me.

What? No, I can't. I WON'T KILL A PRIEST. NOT AGAIN! ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!'

"Right...er...the power of Christ compels you. The power of christ compels you. Say 12 Our Fathers and three Hail Marys."

"Fair enough, then. G'luck, Father."

"See ya next week so, Twenty."