Secret Shame
There is the whole alcoholism, drug addiction tale of woe. *sigh* Debt, health problems, clinical depression, a very dodgy relationship, casual sex, alienation of friends of family. General life fuck-up-age. Nasty detox, 9 months residential rehab...etc etc. Job's a good 'un!

I still smoke, and have a wallet-bashing Blue Hawaiian habit (that's coffee, not some new-fangled narcotic)

However. My secret shame is thus.

My name is Samara Morgan and I am a slash addict.

Yep. Though I'm otherwise a pretty normal, intelligent, functioning member of society, I am addicted to reading and writing gay fanfiction.

I'm a huge fan of CSI (Vegas, not the crappy spinoffs) and about a year ago was faffing about on a CSI-related site when I stumbled across this stuff. Most of it horribly written, with excruciatingly bad characterization, poor spelling, formatting and grammar that made my eyes bleed.

Fuck this, thought I. I could do better than this shite! *gets biro and pad and starts scribbling away*

Turns out I was right. Turns out, in fact, that I am a *Fucking A* slash writer. Dubious talent...? I have a good grasp of the English language, a creative mind and a very anal attention to detail regarding character. Apparently, it's all you need.

Trouble is, almost without my permission, I've become completely involved with this stuff. I regularly turn out 30,000 word epics. I edit work for other writers. I am the most heavily reviewed writer on, um, a site that shall remain nameless.*cough* I was disturbingly pleased to be nominated for fanfic awards this year.

What started as a pointless self-challenge/temporary diversion has completely taken over my free time. When I'm not writing or reading, I'm thinking up plots (oh yeah, my stuff has plot, it's not all low-grade porn) and scribbling down bits of dialogue on anything that stays still for long enough. I think my 'oh fuck, I'm an addict' moment was at my best friend's wedding in August this year. I was at the evening do, watching everyone else get drunk when I suddenly had a stab of inspiration for the story I was in the middle of writing. In my anxiety not to forget it, I scuttled into the toilets with a napkin and a pen and spent ten minutes making notes.

For those not in the know (sane people, I suppose), reviews/comments are gold in the fanfic world, and the level of excitement I feel when checking my email inbox for review alerts absolutely sickens me. I have been known to sit there going F5 F5 F5 after posting something new. I have, on occasion, stayed up all night to finish something that is only going to be read by people I have never and will never meet.

I have tried to stop, but a day without my laptop makes me so miserable that no one can stand to be around me. Once I power up the laptop, it's like a Pavlov's dog-style conditioned response.

I literally can't stop. Simple psychology tells me that I probably have a basic need for reassurance, and that the feedback culture involved has set me on a never ending reward-loop, but the truth is...

...I really fucking love it.

Click 'i like this' if you think I need a 12-step based intervention.
(Samara Morgan is a small blue thing, like a marble or an eye, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 22:41, 10 replies)

A pica for Flapjacks
Greetings,

My current pica* is for flapjacks for the past couple of months or thereabouts.

The joyous nomnom-ness off the Flapjack was first discovered in the works vending machine one lunchtime. I had heard many a work colleague prattle on about the greatness of the oaty snack, and the fight for the best topping (the vending machine bloke took great delight in stacking them inside the vendor in a pattern of plain, chocolate, plain, yoghurt coated, plain, stawberry flavour, plain, toffee coated...you get the picture). I would often buy two just to get to the cool one, and give the plain boring one to my best work mate (he liked the plain variety).

There was one hell of a mark up in the vending machine for these things, and they were the most expensive thing in it (currently 60p in Northern prices). The local cafe on the industrial estate where I work sold Flapjacks of the above flavours for as much as £1.20 (as they were twice the size). Naturally, the cafe was quite lucrative because of being place on an industrial estate full of factories and office blocks. Especially for those who came to work from miles away and wasn't familiar with the local geography (incidentally, very confusing as where I live is renown for having shitloads of roundabouts) and taking a trek to the local Asda.

While out with my girlfriend over the weekend, we discovered the same giant size Flapjacks for a mere 39p in Home & Bargain. Needless to say, I stock up over the weekend and save a packet. I buy at least 7 of them a week so I can chomp one in work over lunch, and sometimes as many as 12. I sometimes get strange looks going to the till with an industrial quantity of Flapjacks and nothing else.

I even have a stock pile at my girlfriends house over the weekend too, just in case supplies of them should dry up. Such is the addiction to these things.

I also like the fact that they are vaguely healthy too, and are a bit less fattening than a chocolate bar of similar weight and dimensions. I can't seem to stop buying the damn things.

At least it's a safer addiction to have than alcohol or drugs, so I guess it's not too much of an issue.

(*note: the definition of pica has been used in the workplace to cover fads and addictions to foods, and is commonly used in work based vernacular. Usually, pica is an addiction to a non food substance or the ingredient in the making of a food, which is commonly seen in children and pregnant women)
(Panteneman Isn't entirely sure why he bothered on, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 19:33, 3 replies)

Sex
I'm not so much addicted to it, but I like it - there's that nice warm feeling after it (and the best sleeps post coitus too). It's nice, it's fun, it's enjoyable, it's bouncy :)

My "addiction" to it, however, has been resolved by my OH having been unwell with one thing or another for the past (cough cough) weeks.

Gah!
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 19:28, 1 reply)

Drug! Fuelled! Whimsy! Returns!
Dug addiction ended very badly for me, but there were a few laughs upon the way...

When wrecked, I developed a compulsion for outrageously silly shoplifting. My mate and I would go into the shop and see what we could get away with.

We got caught as ften as not, but on ne occasion I mastered the art of shit shoplifting.

I filled my pockets with wine (4 bottles) and chocolate, the inside of my jacket was stuffed with pornography and I was waddling and clinking as I made my way towards the fag counter. I leant forward, and everything fell out.

The shopkeeper kindly advised me to put things back and stop being a tosser, so I did, before refilling my pockets once again with the same items.

I walked home, clinking as I went, dropped the stuff off, got more wrecked, and did it again.

Addicted to shit shoplifting... Yup, it really is as banal as it sounds.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Tue 23 Dec 2008, 19:08, 1 reply)

Kinder Surprise
Since starting work in a building with it's own shop, I have become addicted to the eggs of numbing inevitability. Not to the point where I ask for them in the third person, but still.

It started innocently enough as a bit of a jape between myself and a co-worker. We bought them, and sure enough got a nasty little toy inside the horrible chocolate. We did this for a couple of days just to see what pitiful, shoddy lumps of plastic were on offer. Then it happened.

The other guy got a miniature helicopter (which can be seen at the bottom of the pic below). It was great. Simple, effective, and it really flew. We played around with it for a bit, and eventually he challenged himself to get it out of the skylight. He did. The fun was over.

I had to have a helicopter of my own. I hadn't had enough fun with it, and he'd lost his. So I bought some more. And more. Even though I got strange looks from the cashier and other customers. And then I got one. So the other guy had to have another one, as we'd discovered they could fly sideways as well. After a while the teeth on the pulley system which allows the spinner to take off wears out. I was desperate for another, and my co-worker was helping, but at a slower rate than I. He wasn't addicted. I was.

And now, even though the helicopters are no longer included as one of the prizes, I keep collecting, on the lookout for the next great lump of plastic. I'm eating endless amounts of shitty chocolate in the vain hope there might one day be something amazing in the little egg. Occasionally, there are some nifty bits, but most of the time it's cack. Stuff you have to build is generally okay, especially if it doesn't fit inside the egg it came in. You might notice there are some strange animals in there. They have interchangeable parts, and you can give a fish horse legs, and a rhino crocodile legs, etc. I keep collecting so I can have complete variation. The main collection at the moment is 'Pirates and Monsters'. I'm two figures away from a complete collection (mental analogy welcome), but I keep getting the same ones again. Still I don't stop. At 55p a throw, the collection now stands at around £40 worth. It's ridiculous. It gains me nothing. The chocolate is crap, and the plastic is poorly painted. Some of it is just useless (flick books, jigsaws, etc). But as this picture shows, I am addicted:



P.S. And this is without going into how to choose the egg from the display, whether to eat or open first, the savouring of unwrapping the foil or the dedication in applying stickers. All have procedures which I must strictly adhere to.
( Awesome Welles petitioning for foetuses to be rebranded 'wombles', Tue 23 Dec 2008, 19:05, 7 replies)

Pokies
Any b3tans who live in or have been to Australia will vouch for the ubiquitousness of this cancer on drinking and recreational establishments.

For the uninitiated UK denizens, think rooms full of fruit machines crossed with video games that can swallow $50 notes in about two minutes.

For the septics, think mini Vegas slot rooms attached to every local boozer.

Anyway, my poor ol mum has a bit of a problem. She's been "enslaved by the evil lord Gamblor" to quote a fine Simpsons episode. I thought she had got it under control in recent years, just dabbling every now and again. But as I now live on the other side of the world, it's hard to keep track.

I called my brother for his birthday last week, and it seems that the problem has re-emerged. She's been feeding plastic notes into the bastards at a frenzied rate, chasing that next win to recover her losses and trying all sorts of things to cover her tracks (typical gambling addict behaviour).

My bro and sis had to have an intervention, eventually getting past some atrocious bare-faced lying to get her to admit to the extent of her problem, and also taking my well-meaning but too-willing-to-turn-a-blind-eye father to task for not keeping tabs.

I'm going back for a visit in the new year, and am thinking about advising her to get some proper professional help, as difficult as that might be.

Sorry for non-funnies. I just wanted to rant about how much I hate poker machines. What's event worse is that most of them don't even have anything to do with that fine card game.

Also, I know the question was supposed to be about my addiction(s). So, to varying degrees over the years: double espressos, b3ta and general web procrastination, online procrasturbation, red wine, weed and speed. Must try to recall some amusing anecdotes about any of these...
(cheez is feeling ergophobic, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 16:32, 3 replies)

Bees
There is a story in today's Guardian that scientists have been getting bees high on cocaine and watching them dance.

www.guardian.co.uk/science/2008/dec/23/cocaine-bees-australia-drug-research

Apparantly the bees get a massive buzz off it.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 15:20, 7 replies)

Shirt collars
Specifically, 'stiff' collars, with the bits in at the end where they go all pointy. I play with them endlessly. I ruin every single shirt this way. I have to use the point on the bit where my fingernail joins my nail. I do this all day every day.

There are variations. You can roll up some of the fabric on a thin shirt/duvet/anything into a fine point and play with the end of that.

In 35 years I have met exactly one person with the same addiction. Please tell me there are more. If so, I'm setting up group or something. Its not right that there are more people in this world who are turned on by having hamsters inserted in their japs eye than are addicted to shirt collars.

Hopefully.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 15:13, 7 replies)

It Sucks
Sometime between when I was the age of nought and one, my mother got so sick of me crying she stuck my thumb in my mouth.

From that moment there was no turning back, and in my thirties I still suck my thumb privately.

I have never told a soul and no one has ever seen me, not even girlfriends past or present. I simply have to catch time alone to do it, or position myself out of people's view when watchina movie or whatever. But the thought of doing it absent-mindedly in public or at work is mortifying.

To be honest, I've never really tried to stop. It's always there see so what's the point?

I'm surprised that no one else has coughed up to this one. Or is it really just me?
(mrbenn, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 13:23, 9 replies)

Tesco Value Midget Gems
The addiction has brought me to my knees.

Mainly because I am 6’ 5” and Tesco insist on putting these crack like, glistening jewels of ‘E’ number filled reconstituted animal bone on the very bottom shelf.
(Mr_Wendel, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 12:54, 5 replies)

BBC iPlayer
I never watched much television. Having three younger sisters and a football-mad mum, I've spent my life accepting that television was for cartoons, football, or videogames. I've never minded. I spent my time on other pursuits, usually reading or videogames, and then, when broadband arrived, the Internet.

But then, 4oD came along. I downloaded it, and started to watch some of the things I'd heard people talking about. Fonejacker, Wife Swap, Dispatches- I watched them all. And I liked them.

Shortly after, the BBC presented us with a shiny new iPlayer. And there was so much goodness there. I could finally watch BBC Four programmes without having to explain to other people what BBC Four was. No longer did I need to get to my radio for 1830 to hear The Now Show; I could listen to it at any time. I could watch Sunday night's Top Gear on Wednesday afternoon. Never again would I miss From Our Own Correspondent.

Eventually, it possibly got out of hand. It might very well have been 2am, but I was going to finish watching this BBC Two documentary, before listening to FOOC. While watching, I'll just download last night's Cutting Edge on 4oD, to watch tomorrow.

I now appreciate that TV can be good. Perhaps, sometimes, too good. And I really can't fathom the idea of sitting down, at a time decided by someone else, to watch a programme.

I am slowly watching less and less, or at least watching at more appropriate times, for appropriate lengths of time. I still read, still play videogames, still work and still see my friends.

However.. I've not yet started watching any of the serial dramas, such as Merlin, Heroes, Spooks, or those others that I've been told to watch. I hope, for my own sake, that I don't begin, otherwise things could, possibly, go downhill again.
( Thinker, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 11:49, 3 replies)

It'll kill you in the end
My ex father in law was a hopeless alcoholic, kept in check only by his missus. Every night he would go the pub for an hour after work, have a couple of pints (chased with a couple of whiskeys), then come home and be allowed to have a couple of cans of beer. Sometimes he would overstep the mark and have more than a couple of whiskeys in the pub, but she could always tell and would read the riot act. But generally, he was kept on a fairly short leash.

When she died, his immediate reaction was to go and get completely hammered and get himself arrested that afternoon for being drunk in charge of a vehicle. He wasn't nicked for drink driving, as he wasn't in the car at the time, but was in the process of having an arguement with another driver who he reckoned had parked so close to him that he couldn't get out. A copper spotted the affray and went over to break it up, smelled the alcohol on his breath and tried to confiscate his keys. At which point he told the officer to fuck off, which didn't go down too well. Result; a few hours in the cells to sober up and a 9 month ban.

For the next three years he spent most of his time drinking heavily. A bottle of vodka before work, with another stash to help him through the day, then the pub at night. After a couple of months he was sacked after his boss had given him several chances to straighten out. Freed from his work constraints, his whole day was spent hitting the bottle and watching the racing.

One evening as I was passing the house I noticed a shape lying in the back lane. It was pitch black, but as I got closer I knew exactly who it was, so I hauled him up and walked him to the house. He was in a right state. After spending an hour with him I realised that anything I was saying wasn't going in, so I left him (ironically, to go to the pub myself).

One morning his neighbour walked past the window and saw him, up and dressed, sat in his favourite chair, whiskey tumbler in hand and bottle beside the chair. Half an hour later, the same neighbour walked past again and saw him sat in exactly the same position. She knocked, but there was no movement or response, so she rang his daughter (my ex).

He was dead, killed by a massive alcohol-induced heart attack. He was barely 60.

Apologies for lack of funny, but Merry Christmas anyway.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 23 Dec 2008, 11:41, 5 replies)

I'm addicted to something, but I'm not sure what.
I've narrowed it down to women in police uniforms, or fouling public footpaths.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 11:09, 3 replies)

Here ya go...


fairly interesting i reckon....
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 10:03, 36 replies)

Annoying stupid people.
It's easy! (early apologies for length)

SD can't take it seriously any more. Not fit to lace your boots? Big words from a cokehead iceland employee! 12:57am - 28 Comments


TWAT at 3:21am December 23
Lol. Wots wrong wiv drinkin 2 much coca cola thn? I hear u find it funny arguin wiv ppl ova petty lil things lol. All i got 2 say if u think u can out smart me wiv ur arguin, bring it on missy.


SD at 3:34am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
oh dear... *shakes head*


TWAT at 3:36am December 23
Ouch dats got me rite where it hurts lol. U'll av 2 do a bit betta than dat meode lol


SD at 3:38am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
why bother? You could've at least gotten the grammar right. Fuck, you've actually given me a headache!


TWAT at 3:40am December 23
Fuck da grammar, wudn't waste da effort on u lol. U mean i've only jus gave u an headahe? U gave me 1 along time ago.


SD at 3:44am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
*sigh* bored now.


TWAT at 3:47am December 23
Ur bored lol. I'm only jus gettin in 2 da groove lol. Ur not very gd at avin an argument dat u supposedly wanted lol. U wudn't lace my boots lol


SD at 3:52am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
.diputs er'uoy (thanks pidgeoncow)


TWAT at 3:57am December 23
Wtf is dat lol. Giv me sumat in english lol


SD at 4:06am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
lol toidi na era yllaer uoy, wow


TWAT at 4:10am December 23
Lol. took u a while 2 write dat lol, u get it off da tinternet lol. I c u've ad 2 resort 2 anotha language coz u cnt say wot u got 2 say in english. Dat is really clever of u, y dint i think of dat lol. Well done shaun, gd boy.


TWAT at 4:14am December 23
Wots dis i hear bout u sayin we're happy wiv r borin lives and happy wiv r shit jobs lol. Well my job not 2 bad, an electrical engineer, bit betta than a security guard i think lol. I'm quite happy wiv my life 2 Got gd job, Nice new 57 plate st, da best m8s and an awesome gal, wot u got thn shaun, fuck all lol.


SD at 4:28am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
Ok now this deserves a response. People forget I'm also part of HM forces. Soon to be 100% HM forces and it's very possible I earn more than you. Also, hope she reads this. in regard to your last comment about time... do you know how hard it is to type backwards using a phone?! You sir, have truly made yourself an ass of yourself. You should be proud.


SD at 4:41am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
I also know a few 'engineers' it's nothing to brag about.


TWAT at 4:47am December 23
Nah nowt 2 brag bout but beats wot u do and is far frm borin which is wot u've sed lol. Well done wiv da previous comments which u spelled backwards lol, gd wrk there, u got me gd lol. Giv urself a pat on da bk lol. 2 think i've been out smarted by u, i must b tired lol.


SD at 4:59am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
Does it? I get paid close to £20,000pa for doing fuck all and my second job is the Territorial Army. Thanks. Shame you deleted that last comment. The one where you still didn't get it. Guess the cogs finally turned? Get some sleep.


TWAT at 5:05am December 23
Ye i get jus ova £20,500pa son. Ye no wunda ur a fat idiot, doin fuck all lol. Lol thought u mite av sumat 2 say bout dat lol. Da machine ad a minor technical glitch lol. Ye i've re-oiled da machine and ready and willin 2 go again lol. Steady as a fuckin rock now i've re-oiled, mite aswell carry on coz i'm quite enjoyin it lol.


SD at 5:08am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
lol awesome...so I do get paid more than you! (The TA pays too)


TWAT at 5:10am December 23
Damn lol, so u get paid mre than me lol. My point woz dat i dnt av a borin or shit job lol


SD at 5:25am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
Yes you do.


TWAT at 5:28am December 23
Av a day off shaun lol. Lets do a job swap 1 day lol. Thn c who's job is borin an shit lol. Wen u joinin da army anyways? U based in Cyprus?


SD at 5:49am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
Why would I want to do that? I've already applied. Don't know, I actually have to finish training first before I'm posted. The Regiment i've applied for (Royal Anglians) are currently based in Germany, but are apparently moving to Cyprus.


TWAT at 6:00am December 23
Gd. Hope u get in so won't av 2 put up wiv ur bitchin lol. Cyprus 2 close 4 my likin lol


SD at 6:08am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
Thanks, I hope I get in too.

*DELETED* (why?) TWAT
Anyways bitchin aside, i hope it wrx out 4 u coz i kno its wot u wan2 do. Gd luck wiv it.


SD at 6:21am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
Thanks.

*DELETED* TWAT
Its bin gd entertainment 2nite lol. Bin a gd laugh lol

*DELETED* TWAT
or shud i say dis mornin lol


SD at 6:25am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
I agree, making you look stupid is fun :)

*DELETED* TWAT
lol i made u look jus as stupid lol


SD at 6:37am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
revetahw...


SD at 6:44am December 23 via Facebook Mobile
Yea...somehow knew you'd start deleting comments.

That's it. Had to bitch, this was the most fun I've had in an argument ever.
(suicidalducky has too much time on his hands, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 8:47, 24 replies)

My experience of alcoholism.
As a young woman, up to my early 20s, I tended to see my friends in pubs and so saw a lot of drunkenness.

Certain young drinkers were jokingly called alcoholics, as in 'That Bill, he's a right laugh! Always pissed up! He's an alcoholic, he is!'

About 20-25 years later, working in healthcare, I was meeting those jolly chaps and chapesses again, this time in hospitals where they were dying of the various effects of, yes, longterm alcoholism.
Most were in their 50s or even 40s.

I'd say hey, remember the pub across from the station? Had some great nights there! With Harry and Helen, and Tony with the wooden leg, and Jess and Paul and the twins, and that girl with the funny hand, but she couldn't half play pool...

They'd stare blankly because not only could they not recognise me, they couldn't remember anything, not even where they were. Everything before that was a blur of drunkenness - years and years of it.

I'd hear of their deaths within the year, or they'd die right there on the ward, and nobody seemed very bothered. Presumably they'd long since driven away their families and non-drinking friends.

As has been pointed out here, drink can be more dangerous than drugs, if only because it's more freely available.

Some stories on here remind me of the 'Bills' of my youth. Makes me sad to think that in 20 or so years, they could end up the same way.

It's up to them - doesn't have to be that way.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 8:25, 12 replies)

*breathes*
Okay. I'll admit it.

I am a lump-lovin', skin-examining, pustule-popping ZIT ADDICT.

I have, many a moon ago, caught myself picking at my ex's spots in broad daylight at the train station.

Another ex asked me what I would do if he stopped getting them- I told him I'd surreptitiously rub Big Macs in his face as he slept.

I have all sorts of techniques for dealing with all but the very worst spots- ranging on the horror-scale from 'wiggling' to 'knuckling' to the dreaded 'needling'. Sometimes I'm too excited (or drunk ) to bother sterilising the needle (gee, I wonder why I'm single?).

People are impressed that I can reach one arm over my shoulder and the other over my back and hold my hands. I can do this left-over-shoulder and right-over-shoulder. They wouldn't be so impressed if they knew it was a developmental response to the frustration of back pimples I couldn't reach previously.

One of the highlights of getting my tattoo was squeezing the blackest of all blackheads out of it a week later (and I once dated a guy with technicolour bacne cos of all his varied tatts- and still think about those happy little pus-bombs).

Sometimes I see the word 'pussy' and my first thought is that it means 'pus-filled'- hang on....ewww. WORST ENTENDRE EVER!

The kinds of pimples have different names- and some repeat offenders (of the genus 'phoenix') even get their own names which are hilarious and sweary. I trash talk them as I kill them. Out loud.

I get trigger fingers around people with really obvious pus-pin~atas (sorry don't know the key for the squiggle*). I don't know if I've ever been caught but I dread the day. I'll be working out exactly how I'd go at it, and I'm experienced enough to reasonably predict volume, type, and shooting-pressure of pus. So much so that if the friend who lets me do his is sick of it and tells me I can only do one, I'll pore (whoops, a pun!) over his face like a kid at a lolly-shop window clutching a lone coin, choosing the biggest and best. And usually try to sneak a few more before he yells at me.

I have even *shame* taken photos of really awesome ones so that I can admire them later. You can't keep them you see, they dry out and shrink (probably good for me though, otherwise I'd probably have grotty jars-ful- actually, that's turned even my stomach, so probably not).

I squeeze my own zits in the mirror at least three times a day. I've even started doing the obvious ones that spring up during the day at work while I poop, with my compact mirror set up on the toilet-paper dispenser. If I find a really bad one in bed at night with my fingers, and don't want to get up, I'll do it by feel with ridiculous accuracy. And sometimes be disappointed if it is an awesome one because I would have loved to see it come out.

I did, however, once stumble across a vid on youtube that put me off for literally days (and no, I wasn't searching for pimple porn- I saw the link somewhere else). I figured it'd be lik e on Jackass when that one guy squeezed a blackhead at the camera. Oh no...

It was a giant infected sebaceous gland (okay, well they all are, but this was rank), the size of my fist in the middle of a guy's back. It was being tended to by some freakin backwards witch doctor or something, surrounded by onlookers. He burst the monster with some kind of instrument (couldn't see what). Rivers of pus spewed down the guys back, and the core itself was like a giant squiggly blackhead, about the size, volume and consistency of toothpaste. Come to think of it, the vid may well have put me off brushing my teeth too.

I didn't even make it to the end. I managed not to throw up and ventured off to warn the interweb in another forum I frequent. Some among us were nurses and very strong of stomach (as am I, usually). They made it to the end and told me that the infection was finally evacuated completely by a swish-around of the witch-doctor's bare fingers in the now gaping wound.

So I'm not the worst in the world- result!

Length, etc. But I got it out in one unbroken, squiggly piece, so by gum it was worth it!

*and if you are similarly disadvantaged, do not ever wish someone happy birthday in Spanish by typing it up. "Cumpleanos feliz" without the squiggle means "Happy anus". Word to the wise!
(Angie the Redneck Wonder, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 8:13, 8 replies)

This
I'm addicted to posting rather late on the qotw with a frankly lame anecdote that I dredged up because I couldn't remember a more interesting story, and because I felt like contributing anyway.
(Rem Sir, why are you thrashing about on the floor?, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 7:48, Reply)

Literally just walked in the door from a rave in vauxhall
i'm totally addicted to bass, a-woah-woah-a

sorry
but the title is true, Chase and Status played as did Caspa and Rusko, for anyone into that sort of music
(Bludfoot rushing out since, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 7:20, 5 replies)

Fishing.
I took up fishing 2 years ago, and now go pretty much every weekend.

I pass a lake, I wonder if it's fishable.
I pass a river, I look to see if there are fish in there.

I am moving into a new place on Saturday, that has a creek running around the apartment complex. I know they have fishes in there. But you can't fish the creek. But I sooooo soooooooo want to. I'm wondering if I can ninja fish on a night and just do catch and release. But I know it's wrong. But I still wonder.......

Mmm........fishing
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 7:06, 4 replies)

Well...
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present (to the tune of “All things bright and beautiful”):

The Addict’s song.



Refrain:
Every type of alcohol
All bottles great and small
The Vodka and Sambuca
I have to drink them all

Verse 1:
I have sex with prostitutes
No matter what they charge
Four pounds or four thousand
And always up the arse

Refrain

Verse 2:
Cannabis and Ecstasy
I find them both too weak
Now I’m snorting Arsenic
I think it’s fucked my brain

Refrain

Verse 3:
I’m always down the dog track
With money or with none
And if my dog then loses
I have to rent my bum

Refrain

Verse 4:
One day at the train station
I saw a bag to steal
I found out it was a bomb
When it blew off my ears

Refrain


.
( MatJ LOOK, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 3:20, 1 reply)

Cadbury's Creme Eggs
It's not really fair calling this an addiction, because I am obliged to go cold turkey when Mr Cadbury turns off his egg factory in April, but by god are these things fine.

Absolutely everything about creme eggs is finely honed perfection. Everything. The purple and scarlet foil wrapper gives the egg a regal air, cladding it in colours fit for a Roman emperor. The delicate aroma of cocoa as the foil tantalisingly reveals the first glimpse of the egg's essential surface is an intoxicating scent, rather like what I image the first, bracing smell of heaven would be like. The chocolate is the perfect thickness to offer just enough resistance to teeth, before descending orgiastically into the fondant below. And the fondant... my god, is this what bees feel when they consume royal jelly? By now quivers of pleasure run through my body, and I'm already considering my next egg.

At college I was a fairly healthy lad, eating five fruit and veg a day, going for runs, rowing etc, but for some odd reason was a spot lethargic. More often than not I would doze off in lectures. However, one night my friends dared me to eat ten creme eggs in one minute. Alas, I failed miserably (four minutes fifty), but, well, ten eggs is ten eggs. Within minutes I felt the effect on my body.

That night, when going to sleep, I was tossing and turning for about an hour. If you have watched the Spiderman movie, imagine the scene where Tobey Maguire spends a restless night while developing superpowers and you will have a fair idea of what I was going through. The next thing I remember is waking up at 6:30 feeling like some kind of Olympian god. I immediately leapt out of bed and went for a refreshing sprint around the city, then woke up one of my friends for a game of squash. Soundly thrashed him. Got to my 9am lecture and took the best damn notes I have ever produced. Went for another run instead of eating lunch. Spent the afternoon in the lab, getting far purer crystals of whatever it was we were synthesising than anyone else. Played squash instead of dinner, and then went for a bit of a dance.

Come midnight I had not eaten a thing all day, so simply had a kebab. Funnily enough, the next day was rather similar.

I am now convinced that a healthy lifestyle does nothing for one's quality of life. Creme eggs are the catalyst for unlocking humankind's potential. If only they were available all year round.
(I grew it myself, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 2:14, 3 replies)

When...
1) the only choice of drinks in your house are cider or tap water.

2) 'once you pop, you just can't stop' becomes true...
That might be an innuendo for you girls out there i don't know.

3) your greatest fear is being facebook-raped.

4) you have read every single front page of the QOTW for the last year.

5) you just can't stop thinking about 'her'...
or facebook stalking her.

6) your family gets you cider and biscuits for your birthday...
and that is all.

7) Every facebook picture you are in involves you either drunk or getting drunk...
Even the ones at 10am.

8) You judge people who don't know what happened in last week's episode...
and then find it difficult to make conversation with these 'weirdos'

9) you add everyone you meet, however briefly on facebook....
you then look through their profile to see if you think that you will actually get on with them.

10) you know which 'flash' games to recommend to friends when they're bored.

11) you wait for the new QOTW to come up...
and then are pleased for the rest of the day when your post gets on the first page no matter how irrelevant...
and are then devestated when your post doesn't make it onto the front page.

12) you spend more on alcohol each week than food.

13) most of your anecdotes come from b3ta.

14) you measure how good a drink is by it's alcohol:price ratio. The higher the better...
taste is irrelevant.

15) you are proud to be called a b3tard or b3tan.

16) 7p ASDA smart price noodles becomes an option if it means you can get another pint tomorrow night.

17) you compile this list at 2am because you're bored.

18) everything in life can be related to something that you saw in the simpsons, south park, family guy or scrubs.

19) you keep going back for more with the girl that clearly doesn't feel the same about you...
but until she makes it abundantly clear that she doesn't you will go back again.

20) the first thing you did on the day the 7th book came out was go and get it...
you were very happy when Mrs Weasley shouted "NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!" in the last book...
and have joined facebook groups with other people that agree.

21) you will do almost anything for a free drink.

22) you are a 16-22 year old male and 'it' is all you ever think about.

23) you think that Russell Brand is a pretentious twat but still envy him.

24) you collect different kinds of cider cans and bottles.

25) watching Anne Widdecombe present 'Have I Got News for You' is better than sleep.

26) a 'mixer' just takes up vital room.

27) Arnold Schwarzenegger in 'Jingle all the way' becomes vital watching.

28) strongbow is drinkable...
otherwise you wouldn't be able to afford to drink as much as you want to.

29) you write or read fanfiction of any kind.

30) you need BBCi player to survive.

31) you cried when a fictional character died.

32) super strongbow (7.5%, 3.8 units a can) is THE BEST THING EVER.

33) You put way too much thought into your posts which it is likely that no-one will ever read or really care about.

or is this just students?

EDIT:
34) you come back to your post and make several additions and alterations.
(Ginger_Whinger got in the newsletter!! =D, Tue 23 Dec 2008, 2:13, 6 replies)

CSI'm addicted
Haven't got some amazing tale of woes and pain like some other posters, but over the past 6 months I've become addicted to CSI.
I figured out that in November I was watching a minimum of 10 hours a week, but during study leave it was nearer 24 hours during a one week period. Not to mad on CSI:Miami (just dont really like the characters), but there is just something about CSI and CSI:NY it that means I HAD to watch it every night. Even went through a couple of days when I missed it and I literally couldn't get to sleep.
I think I enjoy trying to solve the crime, but it sort of surprises me as on TV, the only other crime drama of this sort I watch is NCIS; I cant stand the Bill or any of the murder mystery bunch.
(violent pacifist ;now with 20% more paradox...., Tue 23 Dec 2008, 1:14, 4 replies)

im going to be lynched for this...
facebook. Can't get enough of it, especially the mobwars application.
I need to get a life...
(VodkaMargarine When there is no Brandy Butter..., Tue 23 Dec 2008, 0:07, Reply)

As a compulsive masturbator
I've tried various things to enhance the experience - vaseline, baby shampoo, woolen blankets and so on. However I might as well face it; I'm addicted to glove.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 22 Dec 2008, 23:10, 5 replies)

women.
Can't get enough.

Can't get any in fact.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 22 Dec 2008, 23:07, 7 replies)

As many British readers are probably aware, the mining industry in this country collapsed in the early 1980s.
As a direct result, large parts of the Midlands and south Yorkshire were bereaved of their primary industry - and the vast majority of my family suddenly found themselves out of work. Given that unemployment had risen to nearly 50%, poverty was approaching Third World levels, and most of them had never had any other jobs, they were destined to be in that state for a long time.

So given the history of mental illness and criminality in my family, it's inevitable that at least a few of them turned to alcoholism and later heroin addiction. The latter was the cause behind two of my uncles dying of cardiovascular failure before the age of 35, and the motivation behind some of my less reputable cousins' crime sprees, which led to misery for their families when they were inevitably jailed.

Although I am a prolific drinker, I am by no means an alcoholic. Having seen the results of real, severe, sometimes crippling substance addiction, sometimes first-hand, I know where the edge of the cliff is, and I stay well away from it. It also makes all the "rofl I'm addicted to gravy and Star Wars figures!!!!11!onehundredandeleven" posts on here seem just a little bit hollow in comparison.
(WANKERTRON you say "prick", I say "wanker", Mon 22 Dec 2008, 22:15, 20 replies)

Massage Videos
Try watching a video of someone being massaged on YouTube. Its addictively relaxing!

Apparently its because the empathetic bits of our brains makes us feel all really relaxed when watching other people being all really relaxed, or something.

A cool NATURAL high! (unless your autistic, or have aspergers sorry.)
( Brims Spurts., Mon 22 Dec 2008, 22:07, 1 reply)