Reverend Farter

Reverend Farter

My name is Father Jorge Alvarez, and, as you must have guessed, I am a Catholic priest.
One evening, I was sitting in the confessional, meditating on the life of the Saint Francis of Assisi, when a terrible fart escaped my holy butthole. It was so bad, the Saint Francis fainted in my mind, I guess.
Just when I was about to run out of the confessional, the confessers’ door opened, and a young man, barely a boy, sat beyond the separating lattice.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” his voice quavered.
“When was your last confession?” The usual question, to which he just shook his head, not looking away from , perhaps, his feet.
“What’s your sin, my child?” I managed.
“I…I…” he stammered. “Last Sunday,…I … farted in church.” He looked truly sorry. “And now, everywhere I go, I seem to carry the smell with me. Please, pray for me.” And he started to sob profusely.
” I can smell it,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he wept. “It will never happen again,” his voice flowed with tears.
“Don’t cry, my child. Your sin (and the smell of it, I’d added in my mind) is forgiven. Go and sin no more.”
“Thank you, Father. Thank you, Father. Thank you.” He sniffed, and wiped his face, and stepped out of the confessional, thinking the stench he’d left behind was that of his days-old fart.
I think I need to be confessed.