Front page of Le Canadien, November 22, 1806, vol. 1, no 1.

Only a news site born of the print world would have a confessions section. Jake clicks on the link.

The latest confession is a women trying to understand why she has dreamed of an old crush which she had thought forgotten.

The next entry is a disappointed reader of the section. The schadenfreude junkie has read four entries and vents his frustration at the lack of acts confessed by belittling them.

Jake reads on. Vegan irony, bitter satire and an anti-left rant. The schadenfreude junkie is right: Where are the confessions?

Jake skims through a long unloading by someone who is in difficult times, borderline depression. He struggles to sympathize. The speedy reading is his way to avoid judging the writer. He knows a lack of reaction to tough times is not a measure of toughness.

He scrolls. More of the same. Rants, opinions and laments. He stops, stares at the screen. He sees that it is a place for the anonymously personal; a mind dump ground with no user name necessary and moderation to keep out the smelliest garbage.

Jake stares at his screen hoping that the scrutiny will lead to a profound insight of human behaviour. Lesson number one: he has again gone too fast and missed an important detail: The posts can be voted up or down and can also be commented upon. He now understands why there are opinion posts.

He scrolls backwards; The opinions are losing the popularity contest.

He is back at the top of the page. It is telling him to confess. “I am in the mood for thievery but I can’t find anything here worth stealing.” He is pleased with his entry. It is scandalous, unbelievable and technically true.

And it would make him check the reactions. He cancels the submission. He does not want to come back to this page. The only reason he opened the page was in the hope of finding ideas to steal.

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