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You ever been to a Catholic men's retreat? It's like a spa day for the soul, but instead of massages, you get guilt trips! I went to one recently, and they had this thing called "confession." Now, I'm used to confessing to a priest in private, but at this retreat, they thought it'd be a good idea to make it a group activity. Yeah, nothing like airing your sins in front of a live audience! So, I'm in this circle, and the guy next to me is confessing to stealing candy as a kid. I'm thinking, "Am I in the right place? I once stole my friend's WiFi for a week, is that the same league?" It's like Catholic open-mic night, and we're all competing for the holiness award. I left there feeling like I should add some dramatic background music to my sins next time.
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The confession booth at these retreats is like a spiritual drive-thru. You roll down your window, spill your sins, and hope they don't mess up your order. But here's the thing, they're trying to make it more modern. They installed a touchscreen for your sins. I'm scrolling through my menu of misdeeds, and there's no option for "ate an entire pizza by myself." It's all high-level stuff like "coveting thy neighbor's ox." When was the last time you even saw an ox? And the priest on the other side is like a holy IT guy, trying to troubleshoot my sins. "Have you tried turning your soul off and on again?" I just miss the good old days when sins were handwritten and had that personal touch. Now it's all digital, and I'm worried my sins are going to end up in a cloud somewhere. Heavenly iCloud, anyone?
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Now, the food at these retreats deserves its own sermon. It's a potluck, but instead of Aunt Susan's famous casserole, we've got holy water-flavored Jello. I'm looking at the buffet table, and there's a sign that says, "Blessed Be the Potato Salad." I didn't know potatoes needed salvation, but here we are. And don't get me started on the wine they serve. It's like a divine game of Russian roulette. One sip, and you're either saying "Hallelujah" or "Call an exorcist!" I asked the priest about it, and he said, "Well, the Bible doesn't specify the vintage." So now I'm convinced Jesus turned water into boxed wine.
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You know, at these Catholic retreats, they have these team-building activities that are supposed to bring us closer to God. They had us do this trust fall exercise, but instead of falling backward and trusting someone to catch you, they want you to fall forward into the arms of God. I'm thinking, "Is God ready for my emotional baggage? Does He even lift?" We're all stumbling over each other, trying not to knock down the pious guy in the corner who's been fasting for a week. It's like a religious version of Twister, but instead of "right hand on red," it's "left knee on repentance." By the end of it, I was convinced that if team building were an Olympic sport, Catholics would take home the gold. The Pope would be on the podium, blessing everyone.
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