The Comments

I confess that being the first person to confess is rather invigorating!

I confess that the shirt Adam linked too is making me quite nostalgic for outdated video games that would be laughed at by the spoiled youth who deposit their time into stuff like Wii and PS3.

I confess that Donkey Kong Country (SNES original version) is like the greatest video game ever, one that I would really like to play right about now – I dare anyone to contradict this assertion.

I confess the only way one might argue with this ranking is by claiming that DKC lacks the requisite sexual tension to makes it truly great, which was like omnipresent in the Super Mario/Princess Peach relationship. Maybe Bowser was just trying to protect her chastity, not that she explicitly requested it, but he felt it was his moral obligation, or maybe there was a secret illicit affair between the two – either way I think this places him, Bowser, solidly in the Republican category.


I confess that I've eaten way, way too much cake.


I confess that any video game with more buttons than the NES is too difficult for me to maneuver.

I confess that I (well, my nieces and nephews) still have my original console and all the cartriges.

I confess that we still play them every Christmas instead of spending quality time with our folks or singing carols or shit.

I confess that after almost twenty years of practice I am still unable to complete all the levels of Mega Man.

I confess that if I had a game system here (or even tv) I would never finish my dissertation.


I confess that I purchased an episode of Battlestar Galactica ("Epiphanies") from iTunes that I thought I had not seen, but actually had, and this made me incredibly angry, both that I had made this mistake and that I had to pay for the episode in the first place.

I confess that I believe that Battlestar Galactica comes the closest to recapitulating Elizabethan drama in its subtlety, complexity, and pathos as anything I have ever viewed. (Kurosawa is a different matter altogether, and does not approach the level of "general watchability" that Shakespeare, among others, sustained and BG maintains.)

I also confess that I am only 3/4 of the way through season 2.5 and if anyone spoils anything for me, I will...well, be very, very angry (please don't.)


I confess that I'm pleased you, Adam, are discovering the joys of eating out by yourself. I highly recommend movies next; after all, it's not like you want to talk during a movie anyway.

I also confess that my husband's trick of sitting on his ass, even after I've asked him to do something *and he's agreed*, until I start doing it, and then saying "let me do it!" and getting mad at me for basically taking a "fuck you" attitude at that point, is seriously pissing me off.


I confess premonitions that Adam is in love.

I confess that what I've been writing is finally coming together.

I confess that I've been watching too many videos since my girlfriend went back to see the parents this week. I've already seen Desperate Housewives series 1 and 2.

I confess I feel like a desperate househusband and need my girlfriend to come back soon.


bitchphd - I recommend the following strategy. Request that the task be done, ignore the fact that it is not done immediately, do not at any point do the task yourself and never mention it again. In about a week's time, the cognitive dissonance caused by this radically unthinkable confounding of expectations will totally paralyse your husband's brain.

I confess that it bugs me no end that agreeing in principle to do something at some unspecified point in the future doesn't make the pressure to do it, like, now immediately go away. Especially when I have a getting-up-off-my-ass scheduled for about twenty minutes from now, and will very probably do it some time around then.


I confess that Bitch and Dominic have hit on the most annoying aspect of any marriage/long term living together/civil union/common law whatever. I further confess that it drives me fucking crazy when I just sat down with a book and Hayley screams across the apartment, "Anthony, can you take out the trash right this mother fucking instant!!!!!"


I confess that I avoid any potential cohabitation irritation by doing the bare minimum necessary to avoid the flat descending into total dejection, never delegating tasks, and hardly ever being in the flat. That way you can spend the rest of the time together drinking heavily, arguing about books and watching obscure films!

I confess that this seems to be a fairly successful way of avoiding the slow death of domestic resentment, the possibility of which scares me more than almost anything.


I can confess that Dr. thought and her co-habitation sex boy are pretty wonderful together. Maybe that whole mathematical nihilism thing isn't so bad.


I confess I resent them for it.


co-habitation sex boy

It's not a boy, it's a monkey!

On the downside, to pacify your resentment - there's never any milk, I'm a massive flirt and sometimes I get so belligerent the only thing to do is just walk out. So, you know.


I confess that myself and Sarah are almost unrelentingly evil to each other. I confess that this eventually becomes a source of entertainment in its own right.

I confess that we married, in Sarah's words, "for love and hate", and that given the amount of sheer existential rage sloshing around in my system this is probably a good thing. What the hell else is anyone going to do with me? Tender-hearted doe-eyed devotion would just get trampled into dust.

I confess that a girl I once needed to be in love with pointed this out to me very early on, and I'm still grateful for it. Bring on the piss and vinegar!


I confess that I remember reading accounts of Iris Murdoch's moth-eaten, dust-coated, book-cluttered, coffee-stained, booze-sodden domestic existence with John Bayley and sighing a deep sigh of longing. Not for Murdoch herself (let alone for Bayley), but for the freedom to not give a shit, to care about the things that matter instead of the things that don't.

Unfortunately, when you have children the things that don't matter ineluctibly start to matter. It's a sort of cosmic punishment. You have to look after the place for health and safety reasons; meanwhile, they do everything they can to cover it in piss, shit, vomit and small plastic toys.


I confess that I never finished the original Mario Bros. until they reissued it for the SNES as part of the "Super Mario All-Stars" package and added a little sound to indicate whether you'd gone the right way in the maze levels (most notably, 8-4).


I confess that I picked up a book by Catherine Malabou from the library yesterday, and ever since I've had the Tenacious D song "Malibu Nights" in my head.


I confess that I have to correct you when you say "Original Mario Bros." because you are really talking about the "Original Super Mario Bros.

Mario Bros


"there's never any milk, I'm a massive flirt and sometimes I get so belligerent the only thing to do is just walk out. So, you know."

Stop it! Why must you tease me so with your promise of no milk, infidelity and unrelenting belligerence? Have you no decency?

Even though you describe the co-habitation sex boy as a monkey the description you give of yourself above would suggest that you are actually the primate. Interesting, no?


Normal fucking relationships. Hate 'em.


It would have been better to say "Regular fucking relationships."


I confess that the *specific* thing I'm bitching about is not taking out the garbage, but putting the child in bed. Which, in fact, DOES have to be done more or less at a specific time.

I confess that I'm extra pissed that, when PK went and asked Mr. B. to read to him, Mr. B. said--not five minutes after bitching at me that "he does things at his own pace and THAT'S OKAY"--"what? It's 11:00." I confess that I was even *more* pissed when I said to PK, okay, *I'll* read to you, and Mr. B. came in to yell at me in front of PK that *he* would do it, and that saying "it's 11:00" certainly did *not* mean that he didn't intend to read to PK.

I confess that it's the fucking lying and "that's not exactly what I said" nonsense that pisses me off the most.


I confess that I'm nearing my wit's (and bank account's) end w/ the present job search.

I confess that I just intentionally twisted my sprained wrist, so that the sharpest of immediate pains would drown out the dullest of stupid, useless regret.

I confess that I take great comfort in the fact that my dog is licking my leg in an act of comfort.

I confess that I'll probably feel better tomorrow.


I confess that I am utterly at my end of my tether with having no money and owing my friends lots of it. I hate it so much, but despair of what I can do. A withering sigh.


you are actually the primate

I just accept it more than most! And bonobos are the best model of sociality ever.


I confess that Jacques Ellul's grand-daughter is threatening me with legal action. She's pretty hot.


I also confess that I'm much more distressed by the death of Mr. Wizard than I am by the deaths of Rorty or Baudrillard.


shock... nihil... IT... unbound...


Amish...eh?!


What makes that commercial truly eminent is Robert Goulet crawling away on the ceiling as if in a deleted scene from The Exorcist.


I confess that I was going to buy that shirt, but now I can't because of you, Kotsko. Damn you! I know that on one of the rare occasions we hang out, we'd both end up wearing it. And then we'd look like a really bad couple. And then a newspaperman would tell us that we made a cute couple. And then I would be nostalgic.

I confess that Adam is officially obsessed with Robert Goulet. I am troubled.

I confess that I am of the Sega persuasion. I confess that Sonic is the greatest game ever made. I confess that I managed to steal/take/borrow my brother's GameCube for the sole purpose of playing Sonic on it.

I confess that I might buy a Wii with the $950 that I have in a gift card to Circuit City, since they have barely anything else of interest (or rather, all things of interest cost much more than at other stores, and this seems like a bad deal). I confess that I would love you forever if you would purchase my gift card from me.

I confess that it is very difficult to type coherently when Nightline is blaring in the background.


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