Discover the wild world of Bareggio with "Confessions of an Italian Priest." This shocking, no-holds-barred novel will leave you breathless as you follow the journey of a priest determined to get his hands on some cash, no matter what it takes. From tricking the parishioners, to sleeping with half the women in the town, this tale is anything but simple. With the bishop imposing new targets, the competition is fierce and the stakes are high. But amidst the scams and cheating, miracles happen in the most unexpected ways. Get ready for a hilarious and entertaining read that will challenge your beliefs and leave you wanting more.
Genre: FICTION / Erotica / GeneralThis book has been very well received so far and has reached as high is the top 100 in its category. It is now settling down though the audiobook sales are picking up...
I had chosen the wrong life.
I was locked in the confessional, keeping myself busy guzzling a Corona, complete with lemon tucked into the neck of the bottle. That song kept running through my head without interruption, Hit the road, Jack, and the idea of not coming back no more was quite appealing.
The habit of isolating myself further, usually in the early afternoon, and taking out a carton of beer before the afternoon mass, was a tradition I started after a particularly difficult exorcism years before. Still, I was doubtful if it succeeded or not. Not that I knew of other priests respecting this orthodoxy, as much as I was aware, beer was my thing alone. Of course, others would bend an elbow with vin santo, but those were mostly of the old guard.
No, nothing better than a cold beer. I also wanted to smoke but the smell would have stank the confessional. I tried it once and the nuns had launched dirty looks in my direction all the time. I even attempted to smoke the Swiss cigarettes, which smelled of incense. Another failure, I could have smoked a joint in the first place, but that afternoon I had no desire to climb up to the top of the Bell Tower.
“Father Venanzio, Father Venanzio!" shouted a boy’s voice. I heard the heavy footsteps, in a hurry, as he approached. I drank one last mouthful from the bottle, I rested it on the ground and I popped my head out from the confessional.
“What's up, George?" I asked the young boy who had just entered. His glasses were far too big for his face.
"The guys on the pitch are beating the crap out of each other”, said the boy. He was short of breath.
A wasted beer, I thought, but I rose, following the youth outside the Church. I hadn't yet walked ten steps when another voice called to me.
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Italian
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Unavailable for translation.
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