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This is a question Guilty Pleasures, part 2

It's been a while since we last asked this question and CaptainFellatioNelson's confession that he likes "to fart under the duvet, creep in and see how long I can last only on the fart air contained within" reminded us just how good it was last time.

What are the little things you do for fun when nobody else is around?

(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 11:48)
Pages: Latest, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, ... 1

This question is now closed.

running up the stairs
using my hands as well as my feet

LOVE IT!!
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 14:49, 27 replies)
Supermarket Trolley Gliding
Everyone does this. Earlier today doing the big shop for the week, I launched into a trolley glide just as someone else who, like me, is old enough to know better, launched into a trolley glide coming towards me. We didn't say anything, just nodded in mutual recognition as we glided past each other.

Brilliant.
(, Sat 15 Mar 2008, 13:42, 5 replies)
BGB's post below reminds me:
At four o'clock yesterday afternoon many of you lot were at work, slaving over a hot desk. Me? I was under the duvet, my hand in me knickers.

Pleasure? Oh yes, yes! YES!
Guilty? Only the slight worry that my flatmate could hear my screams of delight.
(, Wed 19 Mar 2008, 12:05, 263 replies)
The opportunity doesn't arise that often
A few circumstances need to come together for this one, which I've experienced twice in my life, but on both occasions filled me with unholy glee.

1) I need to have a seat on a train that has no other seats available, but where there's still plenty of standing space.
2) A parent needs to come in with a young child (old enough to walk, young enough to be ickle), and both must have to stand because all the seats are full.

I will offer my seat to the child, as in general parents are more concerned about their kid's comfort than their own. As they reach their destination they normally head towards the door, standing up a minute before the doors open.

My guilty pleasure is timing a smile and a wave at the little kid just before the train starts braking. As they wave back they take their hands off the handrail, and if my luck holds the deceleration of the train makes them land flat on their face.
(, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 2:17, Reply)
In which Chickenlady had an adventure.
Some years ago I had the opportunity to take part in something which can only be described as a truly Guilty Pleasure….

I went out with a good friend of mine one evening. The plan was to meet up with her sister and have a few drinks and a laugh, maybe even go clubbing.

I went over to Karin’s house and from there we were getting a taxi. In the taxi I began to worry about my shoes – I didn’t normally wear five inch stilettos, but they looked great.

We stopped outside a loud and busy bar, Karin paid the taxi. ‘I’ll get the first drink then’ I said to her.
‘Oh, you’re fine, don’t worry about it. Jen will get the drinks – she’s always loaded.’

Karin had told me about her sister Jen - she had some hot-shot job in London working for a glossy magazine. She lived the real Briget Jones life but seemed to have the whole boyfriend thing sorted too, ‘He’s some Hedge-fund guru’ Karin had said, ‘Gives Jen an allowance each month. No idea why; he’s not married to her, but I would guess that the sex is good, knowing Jen.’ I hadn’t yet met Jen but was already frightened of her.

We pushed open the doors to the place, smiled at the large bouncers and headed for the bar. It was packed, loud, and hot. I followed Karin and tried to ignore the trickle of sweat down my back. I wanted to look as if I belonged here, in this bar full of young women in their early twenties who held down interesting careers and had every man in here waiting for a look or even a word from them.

Karin was kissing a small, birdlike woman who had long brown hair flowing over her shoulders, Jen. They both turned and looked towards me. Jen smiled shyly and asked me what I’d like to drink. She had a husky voice and winked when she mentioned champagne. I was feeling more uncomfortable with these two elegant women – I was more used to washing up and doing the vacuuming.

I stood next to the glass topped bar and tried to look nonchalant as I scanned the room. It was full of city boys and their girlfriends – everyone looked as if they shopped in designer places and didn’t have to max out their credit card just to get a nice skirt. I knocked back the wine. Karin and Jen were still catching up with each other; Jen had some tale to tell about her boyfriend and Karin was laughing loudly. The bottom of my glass was the most interesting place I had ever seen, Jen noticed, ‘I’m so sorry, we’ve been ignoring you – that’s not fair. I’ll get you another wine.’ I began to worry about how much wine I was drinking. The room was feeling hotter, ‘Um, excuse me; I need to find the loos.’ I muttered and started to stand. Jen jumped up, ‘I’ll show you, I need to go anyway.’

Jen led the way to the ladies and then stood back at the door to let me go first. I joined the queue and waited, wondering what to say to Jen.

A cubicle opened, I went in and Jen was right behind, ‘It’ll save time if we both go in together, okay?’
‘Oh. Um. Right.’

Dear God, what was going on? I had never, ever been in the loos with a girlfriend; this was just plain bizarre; I wasn’t a teenager and now I had to pee in front of this woman I barely knew. I could do this, I thought, it was nothing, I was a grown-up, this was no big deal, just pee and keep looking down, avoid any eye contact and perhaps she’ll turn away.

Jen stood with her back to the locked door, ‘Your hair is a really lovely colour, who does it? I’m always on the lookout for a new colourist’ She leaned forward and touched me, ‘It suits you.’

I looked down, I really needed to pee. I started to push my skirt up and was pleased I’d decided to wear stockings; the satin lining of my tight skirt moved easily against the nylon, but I had to tug a little when it reached the top of my thighs where the skin was warm and damp. Quickly I pulled down my knickers and had the relief of pissing, at last. ‘Tissue?’ Jen was holding a wad of paper out. ‘Oh, um, thanks’

This was embarrassing. I was going to make sure I turned around when Jen went, despite Jen having no problems with watching me pee.

I pulled up my knickers, smoothed down my skirt and started to change places with Jen. I slid around behind her and was facing the door when she put her hands on my waist and whispered into my hair, ‘Turn around’ Slowly I did and then very lightly Jen kissed me, her pillar box red lipstick sliding against my nude beige. I gasped and pulled back, ‘Jen, what the-’
‘What? Never been kissed by another woman?’ Jen tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and looked at me intently.
‘No, I haven’t and I’m not a lesbian’ I replied rather primly. Jen laughed and then undid the top button of my blouse. Again I gasped and realised that my nipples were hard and I was turned on - by a woman, and a woman I’d only just met. Jen undid another button and then slipped her small hand into my bra. It was cool, her fingers found and squeezed my left nipple. I felt a shudder of warm desire run up and down my spine and I knew that my face and chest would be flushed in a give away sign of how horny this was making me. ‘See, it’s nice, isn’t it?’ Jen looked me in the eye again and then lifted my breast out of my bra. She bent her head and took my nipple into her mouth. Her lips and tongue were hot and gentle as she sucked and lightly bit. I fell back against the door and moaned, my hand went up to my mouth and I sunk my teeth into the knuckle. Jen laughed quietly, ‘You never realised how good it can be with a woman?’ She lifted her head to kiss me again and I could see my breast was smeared with scarlet lipstick.

Now when Jen kissed me it was harder, more insistent; teeth grazing lips and tongue exploring my mouth and this time I was kissing back. Jen’s hand went back to my nipple and then her other slipped down the side of my skirt. ‘Jen, I…’
‘Relax, you’ll enjoy it.’ Jen’s hands were sliding my skirt over my thighs and up to my waist; she ran her hands along my stockings and up to my knickers, cupping my arse in her hands. I was lost, my breathing was ragged and irregular and waves of heat were pulsing deep within me.

She pulled my black knickers down and then told me to step out of them, her eyes were dark and she was breathing heavily too. ‘Lift your foot so I can see you properly.’ She dropped the loo seat down and sat back, took my black stiletto heeled foot in her hand and placed it next to her own thigh. She ran her fingertips around the heel of my shoe and then trailed them up my calf, thigh and slowly stopped at the top of my stocking and looked up again, ‘You do it. Let me see how you make yourself come.’ I couldn’t stop now, even if I had wanted to, so I slipped my hand down and felt my almost bare pussy. Jen’s hands moved up higher and touched the sensitive shaved mound; ‘I like it tidy, smooth. But I like it better wet.’ With her fingertips she gently opened my warm moist slit and leaned forward, dipping her tongue into me. I groaned and pushed my fingers towards my clit but Jen took them into her mouth and sucked them while she slipped two fingers deep inside and started to grind her thumb against me. I was wet, hot and throbbing and beginning to come; I was breathing in short, sharp intakes and could feel myself getting higher and higher. Jen stopped sucking my fingers, pulled me down and I started to come as she kissed me and fucked me hard with her fingers. I could hear loud groans and realised they were my own as we finally pulled apart. Jen slipped her fingers out of me and sucked on them.

My breathing was beginning to return to normal and I felt good, ‘My knickers?’ Jen had picked them up; she stepped into them and slowly lifted her skirt up to show me how she was completely naked and shaved. She slid my knickers on and pulled them tight around her pussy, then gently rubbed herself through the lace, ‘Now I can feel what you felt, and I can keep your smell with me.’ Jen dropped her skirt back down. I adjusted my clothes and took a deep breath, ‘Will Karin have missed us?’
‘Oh god no! She’s probably in the men’s rodgering that pretty boy from the bar.’ she laughed and then kissed me again, more gently this time, ‘You’re lovely and I’m pleased I’m your first.’



The most guilty part of this pleasure? Knowing that some readers will take this entirely as the truth….but those of you who know me…..washing up and vacuuming? Me? Please.
(, Sun 16 Mar 2008, 12:34, 21 replies)
Forget my previous post...
I feel I should also mention this:

I recently stumbled upon the new digital station called "Birdsong" - the name says it all, 24/7 incessant chirping which is meant to be relaxing, but I find really quite disturbing. However, I realised the other day that there may be some fun to be had with this...

I have a cat, Matilda Bluebell, here's the bugger:
Image and video hosting by TinyPic

I called her down in to the kitchen and placed her in front of the radio, and turned the birdsong on full volume. Her little pointy ears suddenly prick upwards, and she starts looking around frantically, running about the room and sniffing in the corners, meowing and purring. That's when I left the room. I checked back an hour later, and she was prancing from blind to blind, doing some strange military march forwards and backwards on her hind legs, intent on finding the source of the noise. I think she gave up eventually.

I've been thinking of taking this to another level, and rigging up the radio to speakers, putting them on the pavement and waiting for the cats to assemble and start an all out war on the invisible birds.

I'll keep you posted...
(, Fri 14 Mar 2008, 22:06, 5 replies)
Helping people
Like yesterday night - I stopped a woman from getting raped.





I stayed in and watched telly.
(, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 16:59, 5 replies)
Tactical amusement
Every morning my daily commute involves a 10 minute trip on the waterloo and city line. It is always rammed full of people and most often I cannot get on the first two trains. Now this should piss me off. Bear in mind that I pay £7 a day for the privilege of stand squashed at the side of a train and tube for an hour a day.

But

I play a really fun little game.

Like most men, after waking up I yawn, take a piss and fart. Except on Mondays to Fridays – I hold the fart in. I hold it in all the way to the station. I sit on it all through the train journey and I hold it in while in the standing in line for the waterloo and city. By this time I have cold sweats building up and enough pressure to physically life my body off the floor.
The second before I get on the tube I let rip. As the doors close behind me I get to have a good look through the windows at the 50 odd suits that are squeezed into the tiny mushroom cloud of atomic poo death I have just created.

I then award myself a score based on facial reactions, hand gestures, face covering and tears of pain.

Today I scored a six…..yey

That’s my guilty pleasure – and I am very ashamed.
(, Fri 14 Mar 2008, 13:37, 2 replies)
Mastermind.
I love quizzes.

Mastermind, Fifteen-to-One, University Challenge, etc, etc... I can't get enough of them. My innate ability to remember the most random trivia and facts means that I do pretty well at them, and if I wasn't such a bottler, I'd have applied to take part in one. It's often said by my friends that I'd be one of those few winners on Who Wants To Be A Millionnaire.

You know that person who stands by the quiz machine and helps out random strangers having a crack at getting their beer money out of it - that was me. I'd actually HELP OTHER PEOPLE WIN MONEY.

Anyway shouldn't be a surprise that my love of quizzes extended to those of the pub variety - a love that has made me a few quid and earned me a fair few beers in my time, and notably my friends have been all too enthusiastic when I suggest going to the pub to take on the local trivia talents.

When I was studying for my PGCE in Manchester, me and my flatmates were full-time patrons of our local, The Rampant Lion. When I heard they ran a pub quiz on a Tuesday, I couldn't help myself. I was in the zone, and cemented my reputation as Sheffield's answer to 'That Taxi Driver Fella off Mastermind'.

We started to win every week. It was getting daft. We were starting to get suggestions from the management that we should 'piss off, you're losing our custom for us'. But, we carried on undeterred.

It was around the 3rd win on the trot that we started to have a bit of a rivalry with some nurses from the Infirmary. Every week, we'd come first, and every week, they'd come second (Nurses? Coming? Does this count as innuendo?).

Anyway, this rivarly kept on for a few weeks more - until one week, the nurses brought a friend. A lovely, blonde, nubile friend.

As the quiz started I couldn't help but notice that she kept looking at me. At first I thought it was just co-incidental, but when I asked my flatmate to confirm the situation it seemed I was right. Now, as you are all aware by now my social skills with the ladies are somewhat lacking, but even I could see that continual eye contact was a 'sign'.

This continued for the duration of the quiz. As it happened, for the first week in aaages - our team was in a tie break, with the nurses.

The tie break was 'How many bones are there in an adult human body?'. I know the answer now, but I was adamant it was 205 at the time. It was somewhat fortunate for the nurses, and they quickly said '206'.

They were right. Bastard.

Anyway, we were noble in defeat and applauded our conquerors with due respect. In return the ladies supplied us with a few of their won drinks and festivities proceeded.

And then, I managed to catch the eye of the newbie nurse, and summoned up my courage to capitalise on the earlier chemistry and talk to her.

Me: "So, well done, first time lucky eh?"
Her: "Yeah, sorry, I'm the girls secret weapon!"
Me: "No worries (confidence building) - so, how about you and me get a drink then?"
Her: "Ah, yeah, erm... well, I think I might have given you the wrong impression..."
Me: "Eh?"
Her: "The eye contact, I knew that'd give you the wrong idea - see, the girls asked me along because I can lipread, I train deaf people to do it..."

Oh yes. The lovely nubile nurse continually catching my eye wasn't, as I thought, giving me the come on, but instead reading my lips to get the answers for her mates.

Now, I know I'm good - but THAT good? Even so, I had the last laugh.

I woke up with her in her dorm room the next morning.

As Nick Berry once said - 'Every loser wins'.

Length? Like Andrex - Soft, strong and long.
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 19:39, 2 replies)
Ladies loos
Sometimes, I like to sneak into the girl's toilets when nobody's around and lift up the seats.
(, Wed 19 Mar 2008, 13:00, 3 replies)
Sometimes when i'm 'Primed for a poo'
i sit on the side of the bath reading books and give occasional pushes, and every now and again a small rabbit poo will drop into the bath making a little 'donk' sound.

i quite like this sound, and so i'll push again until eventually i have to sit on the loo and finish the job off.

it's probably a bit like having sex with a hooker, i feel a bit dirty afterwards, and of course i have to clean the bathtub, though once i forgot, and it was quite difficult explaining the droppings away to my mum.

nb: sitting with your thighs on the edge of the bath for a time gives you pins and needles in your feet, if you're not careful when it's time to get up you might fall over and shit all over the floor.

*edit*
I should have known this would be voted right up to my top answer. You're all so predictable, I mean really.

*editedit*
I also wank into the sink, but everyone does that, usually because you can watch your sexface in the mirror. Phwoar! (if you turn the taps on no-one can hear you) Don't forget to check the taps for semen: People usually don't expect to find it on taps and get 'all funny' about it when they do.
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:17, 4 replies)
Picture the scene of a family dinner…

A nice Sunday roast…everybody is polite – no elbows on tables, no speaking with mouths full and a veritable plethora of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’s…

The present Mrs Pooflake smiles sweetly at me as I compliment her on the meal, and both Mini-Pooflakes are resplendent in their displays of impeccable table manners.

The meal is finished, more thanks are thrown about…I offer to take the plates to the dishwasher and suggests to my sweetheart that she takes a well deserved rest as I pour her a glass of wine and begin clearing up…

I get to the kitchen with the plates etc…have a swift look around…

Then SCHLUUUURRRRPPP! – I gorge myself on the surplus gravy / remnants from every plate, licking them clean with a frenzy like I was a rampant Labrador round another dog’s ringpiece.

Everything is then popped into the dishwasher…

The perfect crime
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:18, 10 replies)
Hours of Fun
I give a colleague of mine a lift home every night, and he likes to wait and have a cigarette while I go get the car. However, when I pull up and he walks to the door, I reverse a few yards back. When he gets to the door again, I drive forward a few yards.

Every day.

My record is 14 times back & forth before he secured the door handle. I'm going for 15 tonight.
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:16, 4 replies)
fucking stupid chav twunts
Next week, on my last day, I'm going to be soooo rude to all the unfortunate council tenants who are unlucky enough to get me on the phone when they ring in to whinge that a kitchen cupboard door has fallen off/their neighbour's son has driven over the grass by the pavement and made a mess/needs a council house because, funnily enough, their private landlord evicted them for not paying any rent for the past 5 years, and expects the council to pay for every damned thing despite them being a work-shy dole-scrounging layabout who contributes nothing except illiterate brats, high tax levels and the unwashed stench of old chip-pan oil and fags to society.

You got a blocked toilet? Don't shove fucking nappies down it.

Can't make the rent payments? Get a goddamn job.

Want a new carpet? Stop the kids from pissing on it.

The amount of scrounging makes me boil. They expect everything handed to them on a plate and cause a real fuss when it doesn't appear.

It almost tempts me to think that Hitler's policies were merely misguided.
(, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 15:02, 29 replies)
hot-air trousers
It's usually quite cold in our office, so I periodically go to the handicapped toilets (where everything is lower), tuck my trousers into my socks, unzip and then direct the hand dryer down my trousers so that they fill with hot air and bathe my pasty white legs.
And occasionally I have a wank.
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:00, 6 replies)
Patience is a virtue.
I used to be a part-time post office clerk. Mondays were best.

See, Monday was Giro day. Giro day on a council estate... well you can only imagine the queue. You'd be able to see it from space.

We used to have to split up fights about the position in the queue. It seemed the impatient bastards thought we'd run out of money.

Anyway, the guilty pleasure. We've all heard of Classical Conditioning and Pavlov's Dog. Well, I was the proud owner of my own experiment.

See, the sight of me in the shop window walking towards the door to open the shop had some kind of focusing effect on the chav nation - suddenly the line would straighten, the chit-chat would stop, ready for the scramble for dosh.

I loved it - I'd start walking round near the shop window at about 8.55 to see what the response was. It was amazing. The chav eyes practically following me round the shop - is he coming to open the door... no! He's stocking up the lottery slips! Are we going to get in now... no! He's straightening out the envelope stall!

I was a bastard, but fuck it, if they weren't so impatient and desperate, I'd not have bothered. The simple pleasures in life are the best.
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 21:36, 1 reply)
I like having a wank over my ex
I know its wrong but I still have a key, and she's a heavy sleeper

berdum tssch
(, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 17:55, Reply)
Machines
Whilst home alone of an afternoon, I like to create increasingly more contrived methods of automating masturbation.

Mainly because I'm a lazy bastard tbh.

Anyways, after various experiments with powertools and anything I can find about the house, the missus and I were doing some serious redecorating so we hired one of those paint-shaking machines. The sort where you clamp a paint-tin in it and switch it on and it oscillates vigourously, and saves you having to stir it manually.

Anyway, wife goes out and I go searching the house for parts to make a machine-penis interface. I fabricated something with a few layers of felt, rubber bands and gaffa-tape.

I started the machine, it was perfect. So I laid on the table next to it, got into position and set it going at about 60%.

Well that didn't take long, maybe 12 seconds. I'd struck gold in wanking efficiency.

Within maybe just over a minute, I'd cum 3 times and things were getting sticky. So I reached for controls, but in my ecstacy the machine had shuddered out of reach.

This was worrying and as I scrabbled around looking for something to cut the power with, pull the plug out anything. It didn't make it easy the fact that I cum two more times.

I was getting light-headed and was beginning to get distressed, though this was regularly punctuated with climaxes which were producing less and less fluid.

After maybe ten mins, I lost count at about 23 or 24. I lost track of time, but when my missus finally came in and rescued me I calculated that I'd been hooked up to it for best part of an hour and had probably orgasmed maybe 40 times. I looked like someone had glazed my abdomen with a dozen eggs.

The muscles behind the penis-root ached like hell. I now have groin muscles like Geoff Capes' biceps and when I shoot my load now I can hit the far wall with it.
(, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 18:43, 7 replies)
cerebral crosswiring
I'm a synaestehetic, which means the sensory receptors in my brain are crosswrired so that I feel sounds, smell tastes and hear sensations etc. Many people experience this to some minor degree (you feel that Wednesdays are purple, for example) but I'm a medically-certified sufferer.

It was most extreme when I was a kid, and it allowed me more than a few secret pleasures. Listening to ABC's "The Look of Love" generated a powerful sensation of chocolate in my mouth, while eating actual chocolate altered my vision in much the same way as LSD might. If I ran my hand over the cat, I'd hear birdsong. It was fun experimenting.

The best experience of those times was my brief relationship with Deborah de Angelo. The phonetics of her name brought whisky to my tongue; her blonde hair made me hear cellos; her green cardigan caused a raging boner, and the sensation of her busy mouth upon my swollen helmet made me taste a full English breakfast.

Those days are over. With medication, my only pleasure these days is retiring to bed with a cowbell, mint humbugs and Toni Braxton's "Unbreak My Heart" - all of which, in combination, conspire to bring about the sensation of a hamster up my anus.
(, Sun 16 Mar 2008, 20:56, 9 replies)
trolley riding
surely I can't be the only old man who likes to push the supermarket trolleys 'round the aisles, then, when the required speed is reached hang on, with no feet on the ground, and just glide.
Weeeeeee!
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 16:39, 8 replies)
I like making special fry-ups
I use tiny chipolata sausages, slices of bacon cut up to make mini rashers, carve bread into quarters for small toast and then - best of all - make miniature fried eggs from quails' eggs. It's a micro-breakfast - I eat it with a big serving spoon and feel just like the BFG!
(, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 16:47, 6 replies)
Tormenting dumb animals
This will actually keep me amused for hours on end. Take one laser pointer and my three cats (mother, son and daughter). Initially the fun begins with running the laser dot around the floor with three cats all chasing it. This then progresses to running the dot up the wall and seeing how high they can jump. These don't make me feel guilty, but the next stages do.

Stage 3 involves running the dot up unsuspecting Mrs Smurf's leg, making her scream as three cats simultaneously leap with all claws out. This is particularly effective if she's wearing her silky pyjamas.

Once I've been suitably chastised by Mrs Smurf (you know when you do something so many times they lose any bit of humour about it?) it's time to move to stage 4, turning the cats on each other. Ideally this is best achieved by getting all cats in to a frenzy by running the laser dot at high speed across the floor several times and then running it up the side of mother cat, who proceeds to be flattened by the other two speeding pussycats. Retaliation follows and one 'cat fight' occurs.

Finally, stage 5. Turning the slightly dim son on himself. This is easily achieved by running the laser pointer towards him at slow speed and up front leg or chest, where he will proceed to stare and then snap at it. No matter how many times he can't catch/feel/smell the dot, he will always try to catch it with a quick snap and then look confused. This really does get me giggling insanely for some reason. Don't worry though, he doesn't hurt himself.
(, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 15:54, Reply)
every town, has its ups and down
My guilty please is....Disney songs. I fecking can't get enough of that shit, especially the old 70s and 80s ones where Roger Miller (he of King of the Road fame) did the music.

I have every song from every soundtrack hidden away in an obscure photoshop file on the communal imac i share with my roommates. I thought this would never be discovered...

When I'm alone I like to play the songs really loudly and sing along at a similar volume (my favorites right now are Not in Nottingham from Robin Hood and Tale as Old as Time from Beauty and the Beast).

I recently moved into a unbearably hip and huge warehouse complex in New Haven CT. Three days ago all my roommates went out and it was obviously Disney music time for little fawn. I cranked Oo De Lally up all the way followed by some choice Aristocats and belted them out at the top of my lungs.

All was well until the day later when I went with the roommates to a dive bar downtown. About 3 whiskey and sodas in Pin by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs came on and I was singing loudly.

My friend then approached with 2 very beautiful boys in shameful skinny jeans and pork pie hats. I got ready to trick them into shagging me with my English accent and milky white breasts when one of them said "do you live at ********* warehouse?" I replied in the affirmative and then they both burst out singing "EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE A CAT".
I was so surprised and embarrassed that I made a quick U turn and bashed into a wall, bloodying my nose.

Turns out that they live below us and the ceilings are rather thin...
I haven't been as humiliated in at least 3 weeks!


Click I Like This and I'll post a pic of the bloody Disney-caused injury.
(, Sat 15 Mar 2008, 1:52, 8 replies)
I enjoy waiting for lorries or buses to drive past me whilst I'm
walking on the pavement, and then liberally spin around, arms flailing like a windmill, as if caught up in the turbulence behind them.
(, Fri 14 Mar 2008, 8:42, 1 reply)
Motorway games
Sometimes when driving back from working in London, tanning it up the motorway at 3am gets very boring and I have to play a game to stop myself from falling asleep (as we're no longer even allowed to smoke in company vehicles!)

One of my favourites is 'Undercover Copper'. It works especially well if I'm driving the dark blue Ford Mondeo I sometimes use for work.

It works like this - cruise in the left-hand lane at about 60-70mph. Wait for a BMW, Merc, or similar to go flying up the offside. Then follow them.

When you get close enough to them, it helps if you raise your hand to your mouth and talk into it, as though you are calling to check details of his car.

Normally, when you follow them for a few miles, they slow down. At this point, continue to follow them, until you have them well and truly paranoid.

Then boot it and wave as you fly past them.

I know it's evil, but I just can't help it.
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 16:21, 2 replies)
She's just a devil woman
I have one guilty pleasure, and I'm going to share it with you. Only one other person in the world, Mrs Smurf, knows this.

I'm an all out metaller. I no longer have the long hair, but instead shave my head (ok, I'm hiding the fact it's gone a bit thin on top). Every t-shirt I own is band t-shirt. I have several tats & piercings. A long leather coat. DM's. Faded blue jeans. I go to gigs regularly.

When people ask who my favourite bands are, I tell them Iron Maiden, Megadeth and Metallica, in that order.

If I were to tell them the truth, I would say Cliff Richard, Iron Maiden, Megadeth and Metallica, in that order.

I have every Cliff CD. I have a DVD of Cliff live in concert. My first ever gig was Cliff at Wembley almost 18 years ago at the age of 12.

My favourite songs are "Wired for Sound" and "We don't talk anymore".

We have a Cliff Richard calender in the kitchen (we tell visitors it was a joke present).

Cliff Richard, is my guilty pleasure.

*Edit: And let's not forget Heathcliffe: www.amazon.co.uk/Cliff-Richard-Heathcliff/dp/B00004CV5K
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 16:06, 10 replies)
Somebody has to be there - I don't know why she is still married to me
What do I do for fun? - turn on the heated passenger seat in the car and slowly up the control as the wife gets more and more uncomfortable. Keeps me happy for hours - she still hasn't sussed it

the car? its an estate - so of reasonable length
(, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 11:58, 4 replies)
This is a bit of a long answer to this question.
Lately, I think, when people talk about guilty pleasures, they’re often talking about television shows they’re ashamed to admit they watch. Beverly Hills 90210, Ghost Whisperer, Temptation Island – things like that.

The thing is, I have always watched those shows. And I have admitted it without shame –or, at least, with far less shame than regular people. I am a TV fiend. I know details about shows I’ve never even watched. For example, for Christmas 2006, I got a video iPod and a clear plastic protecting case for it.

“I’ve named my new iPod ‘Travolta,’” I told my best friend.
“Why?” he asked.
“The Boy in the Plastic Bubble!” I said.
“What?” my best friend said.
“John Travolta was in a TV movie called The Boy in the Plastic Bubble,” I said.
“Oh,” said my best friend, “No wonder I didn’t get it – I’ve never seen that movie.”
Pause.
“…Neither have I,” I admitted.

I watch a ridiculous amount of television. I love television. I revel in cheesy reality shows. I love soap operas. I love good television, too, but bad television is wonderful in a completely different way because it is something to make fun of. An easy target, maybe, but it’s always a good time.

I was very much an indoor kid as a child. My parents and sister would often tell me that I shouldn’t watch so much and that I should get outside and get some exercise, so, for a very long time, I felt bad about how much I watched TV. Normal, well-adjusted people don’t watch so much TV, so clearly there was something not quite right about me.

Now, even though my parents disapproved of my TV-watching habits, they were (and still are) very cool parents. They’ve always supported me in whatever I’ve wanted to do with my life and when I was wondering what to take in university, they encouraged me to learn something I liked rather than something I thought would make me a lot of money. My sister was an engineer in university, and she does make a ridiculous amount of money, but she admits that she hates her job.

I went to school for English, since even though I spend a lot of time in front of the TV, I spend an equal amount of time reading. I always enjoyed writing as well, and I thought, “I can get a degree for just reading novels and writing my thoughts about them? Score!” I also began working at my school newspaper, planning on becoming a journalist for the HARD NEWS! I’d be very, very serious and write Pulitzer-winning articles about… serious stuff. I didn’t know what. I planned on getting a master’s degree in journalism and being SUPER SERIOUS about writing.

But the thing is, I’m quite rubbish at writing serious stuff. I can do it, but it’s never my best work – I am at my best when I can just mock something. Even at my school newspapers, my best articles were things like comparing Beverly Hills, 90210 to The O.C. and making fun of both of them. It had just never occurred to me that there was a way to make money off of it, at least not right out of school.

But, lo and behold, luck was very kind to me. Searching for as summer job, I came across a posting for an internship for an entertainment news web site that prides itself on mocking celebrities and writing snarky articles about pop culture. Not only that, but literally everything they were looking for could be applied to me. Degree in English or journalism? Check. Interested in pop culture? Check. Grammar conscious? My friends call me the grammar Nazi. Sarcastic? Riiiiight, like I’m sarcastic.

I applied for the job, making sure to tell them just how perfect I was for the job. “When it comes to pop culture,” I wrote, “I can remember details without even trying. I can never find my keys, but I can remember the name of the evil car from Knight Rider. (That would be the Knight Automated Rover Robot, by the way.)"

My boss later told me that the Knight Rider comment was the entire reason why they brought me to be interviewed.

So I got the internship, and it was the best six weeks I’ve ever spent. Luck continued to favour me, as right near the end of my internship, one of the writers quit to concentrate on his music career. So I was hired for the rest of the summer and had way more fun at work than should be allowed. Last September, I left to start my postgraduate journalism degree, since I thought that having no formal journalism training might hurt me in the long run – and, even though I’d had a blast for the summer, I still had ideas of becoming a hard news writer.

But I soon realized that hard news was not for me. I couldn’t stop being cheeky. In my magazine class, I ended up writing an article about Brazilian waxes and included the line, “As soon as Sarah Jessica Parker got a Brazilian wax on Sex and the City, it was beef curtains for public hair.” I got in a little bit of trouble for that.

At the end of my first semester, I was doing well but I wasn’t enjoying it that much. Being a serious journalist was so stressful on my delicate sensibilities! When I found out that another one of the writers at my old job had left to work for the CBC, I told my old boss I was considering leaving school and would it be possible for me to go back to work for her?

“Hurray, you’re coming back!” was her reply. “I always thought it was a bit stupid that you went back to school. It was like you were going to school to get a job you already had.”

I couldn’t really argue with that point. I dropped out of my program and went back to work.

So now I have a full-time job as the TV editor for the web site. I get to write about television and interview TV people I admire – and even if I hate them, I am allowed to write about what idiots they are. Networks send me DVDs of shows that haven’t begun to air yet, and I’m allowed to watch them at my desk during work hours! I used to have to hide my TV-watching, and now I’m getting paid for it. My previously useless knowledge of obscure pop culture trivia now comes in handy every single day.

I’ll never be rich and I’ll never win a Pulitzer. But I have fun every single day at my job and I’m making enough to live on. I never dread the workweek ahead and I don’t have to worry about making too many puns. I may not be the best writer in the world, but I am having the time of my life.

TV might have started out as a guilty pleasure for me, but today I am proud that I never gave up on what I enjoyed. I’ll probably be a bit screwed if I ever have to get a job doing “normal” writing, but for now, I am very happy with my life.

Apologies for length, but I guarantee I’ve spent more time watching TV today than you just spent reading this.
(, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 20:19, 4 replies)
While out with the dwarf last night
I indulged in one of my favourite guilty pleasures; looking at entertaining shop signs.

This has us giggling a whole day later.

Image and video hosting by TinyPic
(, Sun 16 Mar 2008, 14:41, 2 replies)
Guilty Post
My Family has been brewing tea for generations.

Our secret method involves filtering the leaves out using an array of goldfish heads - the gills do a great job of keeping the leaves out and giving the tea that special flavour.

Not to blow my own trumpet, but our tea is considered orgasmic by most - a case of Gill-Tea Pleasure if I've ever seen one.






I'm so very, very sorry.
(, Sun 16 Mar 2008, 3:44, 4 replies)

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