At least now you have this reply, instead of that wanker below.

(McChinaman banned, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 14:06, Reply)

At least now you have this reply, instead of all the crap below.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 13:44, Reply)

Last

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 13:40, Reply)

If the mods are ignoring the saggy tit tat does that mean I can post Noel-spin and nekkid cheggers?

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 8:34, 10 replies)

I hated the past before it was cool to hate it.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 8:30, 4 replies)

QOTW the last few months
There were a few goldmines of answers among spam answers and jokes that had been done hundreds of times before. But it seems this week we've got decent answers! Yay! :D
(DarkMalfunction put the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional' on, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 0:28, 4 replies)

Vinyl Car Seats
Nothing quite like a 70s car with vinyl seats. That vile chemically smell that made you feel slightly queezy the moment you stepped into the car even in the middle of winter. Fast forward to a summer's day stuck in a searingly hot car, the smell ramped up to the max to the point where you felt sick, and the black of the seats absorbing the heat of every ray. You needed protection before sitting on one of those things; a nice thick blanket or something. Get in one with some bare skin exposed and you'd leave bits your burning flesh behind stuck and caramelising on the toxic seat covering. Good riddence to the damned things!
(An eejit passing by in a purple satin skirt with sparkly bits, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 22:25, 5 replies)

On the theme of AB below
He-Man was also a complete sack of shite. And a cunt. A cunt with a gay name.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 22:00, 21 replies)

Hirsute Porn.
70s bush was pretty impenetrable. You weren't seeing quite so much as you thought you were getting to see when the sparkly pants came off.
80s muff was at least well tended and edged like an ornate lawn, and maybe strimmed to a certain length.
90s quim was minimally adorned with a "mufftache", a Brazilian or an inverted goatee.
00s gash was bald as a coot and laminated, as though for hygeine, funnily enough at a time where hospitals stopped shaving cooches for child birth as pubes weren't considered as dirty a health risk as before.

These days, hirsute Afro-twat is back.....but lurking in the 'fetish' section of the top shelf mags. Whenceforth the subtle hint? The gentle tease?

It's Bald Or Yeti these days and nothing in between.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Wed 4 Sep 2013, 20:42, 10 replies)

Smash Monkey's tatts don't look so good nowadays

(DefinitelyNOTAmorousBadgerOhNo, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 20:40, 21 replies)

I cannot emphasise this enough.
'Thundercats' was, is and always will be shit.
You furry cunts.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 18:45, 19 replies)

Those were the days/Happy Days!
Errr - no they weren't. We had an outside loo with no light and newspaper to wipe yer arse. And in winter it was an absolute delight to try to melt the frozen bog with pee (after trudging through the snow).
No central heating - just a coal fire in the living room, that was only lit during the day. Layers of blankets & coats on the bed in winter AND ice on the inside of the window.
Cold, hungry and poor sums it up...
( Shallowz Has Aspirations Syndrome, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 18:45, 7 replies)

The Internet has ruined nostalgia.
I spent from 1985 to some time in the late 90s being occasionally delighted by an old song I used to like coming on the radio, or a good TV program being repeated on the telly.

Then I got Emule, Limewire etc.

I spent about a week scouring around for all the songs I liked - went through old chart listings, grabbing anything that I wanted. They're all on my ipod.

In the next year or so I downloaded every TV series from my childhood.

Great stuff.

Than I realised, it was like I had an orange that I had sucked all the juice out of. I don't like much modern music, so there was now no point in ever listening to the radio.

TV stations running old programs weren't interesting either, even if they had something I didn't already have, I'd just go and download the whole series, and watch it all in one weekend.

It's not fundamentally a bad thing, but it definitely changed the way I listened to / watched things.
(username failed moderation, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 17:29, 24 replies)

8-track tapes.
In the middle of the song they would fade out, there would be a two second pause punctuated by a clunk from the player, then they would fade back in.

If I had an album on vinyl that I loved and a friend had it on 8-track that always gave me the urge to HULK SMASH!

(But I do have to say that I still prefer buying music on CD rather than downloading it so that I always have it in case my hard drive dies.)
( Wanderer, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 15:55, Reply)

Subbuteo was fucking pish

(McChinaman banned, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 15:44, 1 reply)

Collecting coloured/patterned and/or fragrant paper. That was a thing. That was well shit.

( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 15:41, Reply)

Wat you talkin' bout Willis?

( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 15:36, Reply)

Old Skool Rave
I was an early adopter of the rave scene. I ended up the full on E'ed up twat with fluorescent clothes and a boring line in conversation and as time progressed I accumulated a lot of tapes most of them were bootleg recordings that would just have "Slipmatt" or "Easygroove" on them so my chances of tracking them down are precisely 0 Even though I'm not exactly proud of the personal journey (I was a bit of a dick) I wanted to hear the music again (the tapes are long gone)

Now these days you you can find things on line and I though of looking for some of the tapes I had with more memorable and identifiable names ie DJ @ large organized mega rave.. I found a few on Youtube and used a program to rip them to MP3 then to my iPod and eagerly listened to them on my way to work.

What a pile of shit. The MC's!!!!!11eleven!! how the shuddering fuck did I put up with them. As soon as it started part of my brain remembered every but of inane gibbering bollocks the arrogant wankers spouted. Even the tunes weren't all that ....a crushing disappointment.

Still the techno after the early rave is still fucking awesome. The Reactive series ...yes please
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 15:21, 28 replies)

(Eukanuba, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 14:56, 2 replies)

Never Go Back
Revisiting old TV programs, computer games and other pastimes of our youth can be a fun but frivolous waste of adult time. With the advent of youtube etc, these distractions are now just a click away. But you should be careful when seeking out other areas of a misspent youth...

Way back in the day there was a video. A VHS cassette to be precise. It was owned by a certain Rob Bluett, who for a short period of time became the single most popular boy in our school. For he had come by a genuine porno flick and was the sole proprietor and fabulously wealthy owner (for a 13yr old in 1987) of a video rental business that stocked only one movie, with a waiting list to rent it of over 10 weeks.

How he obtained his poorly copied, exceptionally fuzzy version of the 1978 production, 'Inside Marilyn', was the stuff of school legend. Some say he somehow managed to get served in a Soho fleapit. Others say he grabbed it on a family holiday to the Netherlands. Whilst further opinion suggested he found it unexpectedly in a Ghostbusters box from the local Showtime Video. Whatever its origins were, he certainly made hay whilst the sun shined.

For £10 a weekend or £5 a night, Master Bluett rented his movie out to the whole school. An exceptionally organised entrepreneur, Rob kept a neat diary of who had the film, who had requested it and forward planned whole terms of advanced bookings - all detailed meticulously in a bright blue notebook. There were even rumours that some of the richer boys had paid fortunes to take Miss Marilyn home for the holidays. The school divided itself into two groups - the 'seen its' and the 'hadn't seen its'. I was desperate to ingratiate myself into the former.

And then it was my turn. I paid my £10, grabbed the cassette and hid it carefully, counting down the hours till school was out. I hit a problem immediately. The only VCR in our house was planted firmly in my parent's bedroom. The bastards would only bring it down to the TV room once a week for the supervised rental and viewing of a PG movie. So it was not until Sunday afternoon, when they finally buggered off, that I had the chance to see what all the fuss was about.

Wow. My young mind was blown. Raised on a diet of 3rd hand Playboys and the awful European films that Channel 4 used to show, hardcore pornography was an incredible, epoch-defining discovery. What a movie! It was in wonderful un-dubbed German, replete with snazzy 70's pure porno muzak. I must have watched it 10 times straight that day. But then it was Monday. And then I had to return it. But I didn't want to. No fucking way. So I created 'The Lie'.

Bluett met me at the gates, already surround by a gaggle of desperate renters, I was plied with questions: 'What was it like?' 'How many times did you do it?' 'Is it true he comes all over her face and then she swallows?' 'Will it work on Betamax?'

Bluett simply stood there, pen and notepad at the ready. 'Hand it over Marshmallow, I'll be late for double maths.'

'Um. I don't have it.'

'What? You better bring it back in tomorrow AND pay another fiver AND a fiver late fee.'

'No, you don't understand. I don't have it. No one has it. You see my dad caught me watching it. He went mental! He grabbed it, demanded I tell him where I got it and when I refused he destroyed it. He pulled out all the tape and attacked it with scissors. Its gone. Marilyn's gone.'

I'd expected what followed. A flurry of punches, kicks and even phlegm, which continued every morning for a good few days, until the mob's anger finally subsided. But I bore every bruise without pain, without fear and without anger, for she was worth it, Marilyn was worth it.

For a year I watched that movie. Soon we purchased another VCR and from 1am, when the house slept, I watched. And I watched. And I watched. My non-school friends would rush over at weekends. We'd play marathon sessions of table tennis and Monopoly, with the victor winning five long minutes alone with Marilyn.

I knew every scene. My German was excellent. I'd absorbed the names of every actor, producer and cameraman. Still to this day, there is not a movie I have seen more. But then the inevitable happened. She broke. There was a cry from the video as tape slipped off the mechanism and found its way into the machine. A horrible wrenching sound as the motor ground to a halt, stopped in its tracks by yards of precious tape. I tried but there was nothing I could do to save her. The tape had split, crunched and torn itself into multiple pieces. She was dead.

There was no burial. Just weeks of mourning. I missed her. But time is a great healer and soon I forgot her. The world was moving on. Other tapes began to circulate. Real girls were being discovered. School ended, life began and Marilyn disappeared into a dusty, dark corner of my mind.

So there I was, 25 years later, poring over accounts at 3am, when something - I have no idea what it was - brought to mind that day at the school gates and Marilyn, and the memories of the time we spent together. But this was 2013, not 1987. Memories are now preserved electronically, they can be summoned in an instant. So I searched for her.

Did I know the film name? Inside Marilyn. Did I know the star? Of course, Olinka Hardiman. Did I know the director? None other than Walter Molitor. In under three seconds I'd found her. In less than a minute I watching her again. Within five minutes, I'd died a little.

You see it just wasn't the same. Sure, it was the same film, the same scenes, the same German dialogue that I knew off by heart - but something was missing. In an instant I was whisked back to the heady days of 1987. I was 13 again in the most powerful way imaginable. All the weirdness, the awkwardness the loneliness of a teenage boy came flooding back. Anxiety over my appearance, my (then) pure hatred of my parents and younger sibling all washed over me with a dark, irremovable sickness. It shook me to the core and I lay shaking as if a time-traveling version of my younger self had appeared to mock me. All the accoutrements of my successful adult life seemed to fade and wobble. I rushed to turn it off. And slowly, thank God, the present came back into focus.

Some things are best left behind. Permanently.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 13:49, 76 replies)

daisy dukes was not as fit as you remember

(alright alright, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 12:56, 16 replies)

IT SEEMS THAT " SHITPANTS " NUGENT'S WIFE IS AS SMART AS " SHITPANTS " HIMSELF.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 12:29, 3 replies)

Plimsolls in a corduroy drawstring bag, and being made to do PE in our vests and pants.
Looking back on it now I reckon every single one of our teachers must have been a nonce.
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 12:23, 7 replies)

Tesco trainers that looked like Green Flash
..but had soles made of some rubber/lead compound that actually made you even worse at sport.
(Shizzling, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 12:19, 3 replies)

"Rewind to start of Side 2 and press play"
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
(McChinaman banned, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 11:28, 4 replies)

Backhanded compliment
I was described by a girl in her 20s as an "Attractive older man" the other day.

This never happened in my youth.

Doesn't answer the question? What?
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 10:45, 5 replies)

At work not so long back in the canteen
And talking to younger colleague. Looking out the window I saw a mid-80s Renault 5 park up.
"Ooh, an old Renault. Not seen one of those in years" said I. "What's yours called?"
"What?" she replied
"The advert from the 80s, the tagline was 'the new Renault 5, what's yours called?'."
"What's a Renault 5?"
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 4 Sep 2013, 10:10, 5 replies)