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This is a question Things I've gone off

Spimf says: I've always enjoyed listening to Pink Floyd, but lately I've noticed if my iPod plays any of their tracks, I skip them. I'm starting to realise I've gone off them. What have you gone off lately?

(, Thu 15 Aug 2013, 12:15)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Nostalgia, it used to be great.

(, Sun 18 Aug 2013, 10:27, Reply)
What happened to them?

Any cheap, plastic instrument that blasts out a sound at 235 & 465 Hz. at several decibels higher than is safe for human ears Shirley needs to be recognised and remembered.
(, Sun 18 Aug 2013, 8:34, 2 replies)
It's astonishing that nobody has said b3ta at this point.

(, Sun 18 Aug 2013, 3:40, 2 replies)
I'll tell you something I have got
turned onto -

Months ago I railed against this idea and it's implementation. To me back then it seemed so pointless to make it a 'double blind' setup, particularly in light of the fact that all you need to do to surpass it is to simply logout.

These days. I've changed my tune. Best, most useful implementation of an ignore function on a forum EVAR!
I log out on Fri to see which of the shit-flingers got their pointless one-liners onto the popular page but apart from that it's actually made this place far more read-able.
So, if like me you're sick of the dribbly faeces flingers - stick 'em on ignore. It does actually work! Whodathunkit?
*Matter of fact, quite a few of them won't even be clever enough to logout to read this!*
(, Sun 18 Aug 2013, 1:50, 11 replies)
I went off both éclairs and coffee, for a few years,
after consuming both on a ferry and then getting seasick. Got over it, though.

The above isn't very interesting but, as it is true and neither a list nor a wall of text, I think I should win.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 22:34, 14 replies)
A Doctor Who I Have Gone Right Off Of
Lately – well, lately from my perspective, and in geological terms; to you humans, it would seem like aeons ago – I have gone right off that interfering Time Lord twunt who calls himself “The Doctor.”

You lot probably, or almost certainly, know him from the fictional representations of his adventures broadcast on the BBC for the last half-century. These take great liberties with the truth at times, but are more or less accurate. Some of you may even be fans of the programme / him. (One thing I must say: the actor they have cast to represent his twelfth incarnation is spot on).

Back on topic. As you know I am a Time Lord too or at least Gallifreyan, so I have always been aware of “the good Doctor’s” antics. As long as our paths through time space remained separate, I never minded what he got up do, but once he began to interfere with me, he really began to get on my tits.

A long time ago, during my fourth incarnation, I have to admit, I was a bit of a bastard. I’d conquered the planet Mardus and enslaved its population, setting myself up as their King and dwelling in a gigantic black castle the mere sight of which was specifically designed to make the beholder soil themselves. The Mardans were humanoid, slightly elfin creatures, rather primitive – if you’ve seen Avatar, that sort of thing, but without the blue skin. To keep the population in check every now and then I’d send my soldiers into the towns and villages to “harvest” their teenage children. These would be carted back to Kastle Skagra to serve me as I saw fit. There were three broad areas in which I would employ the Mardan teens: one, as simple slaves, cooking, cleaning, gardening, etc; two, as sex slaves, pandering to my every perverted need (I’ll spare you the details, but I was very highly sexed back then); and three, as subjects for torture.

Torture was, I’m slightly ashamed to admit, my Big Thing during that incarnation. I must have tormented to death tens of thousands of Mardan teens, boys and girls alike! I feel no guilt now, as I am literally a different person – and, who knows, my next regeneration might turn me into an even worse bastard. Anyway, over the decade or so I ruled Mardus, I assiduously and enthusiastically tortured all these little humanoids. One of my favourite methods was to lower, inch by inch, a teenage girl into a vat of acid, and pleasure myself to the sound of her shrieks of mortal agony. The boys I used to strap to an operating table and go to work on them slowly and methodically until they screamed for their mothers – and then bring out said mothers, and rape and decapitate them in front of their sobbing sons. And then rape and decapitate the sons. Another good one was to toss one – male or female – into an oubliette and forget about them for a bit, and then after a month or so “rescue” them, and then watch the hope fade from their eyes as I got out the Doginator or the flensing scalpels.

Oh those were brilliant days! And I’m feeling a bit of that bloodlust coming back now, better have a quick wank.

That’s better. Eventually – and you’ve probably guessed what happened – the Doctor heard about my “atrocities” and intervened, kicking me off the planet and freeing Mardus from my reign of terror. Now, everyone thinks the cunt is clever and outwits his enemies, but that’s a big fucking lie, he just zapped me with his sonic screwdriver and when I came to I was hundreds of light years away imprisoned in a glacier on the planet Karthippus. He’s no better than Buck Rogers or Captain Kirk with their ray guns!

Our paths crossed again several times after that, the last time being a real pisser, and it’s the one everyone knows about, despite the BBC strike I engineered (the fictional representation since found its way into other media the most recent being the book by Gareth Roberts). I had this mint scheme to take over the universe by imprinting my mind on every sentient being in the cosmos, and it almost worked, too, were it not for that meddling Doctor. By then I was in one of my favourite incarnations, my eighth, I had this really cool scar and a fantastic white costume with a silver cape and the campest hat you have ever seen! But no, the Doctor had to interfere, the bastard. He was in his fourth incarnation then and he was a really irritating, irreverent git, always arsing about, and that got right on my nerves cos back then I didn’t have much of a sense of humour (and indeed still struggle with that now). He also had this gorgeous Time Lady assistant who I tried to get off with but she was having none of it, the bitch, she was probably already taking the Doctor’s cock from behind as she bent over his TARDIS console.

I digress.

I haven’t run into the time travelling tosspot for centuries now, but next time I do, I’m going to kill him. We Time Lords can regenerate, sure, but there are some things that there’s no coming back from. Inspired by that film Fargo, I’m gonna shove him into a woodchipper, then pipe the contents into a lead-lined casket which I will then fire into a black hole. Let’s see you get out of that one, Doctor!

Oh and his name? That he makes such a big fuss about? His secret real name that he dare not tell anyone? Well, I know it, and I’m going to tell you it now: Betty Swollocks.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 19:56, 4 replies)
I have started to go off ennui.
But nothing else seems to fill the gap.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 16:24, 4 replies)
my home
7 years ago, i moved out of an almost derelict rat-trap of a high-rise block into a smaller, but very nice, ground-floor flat in what is commonly termed "granny flats". yes it was smaller, but i now had a front yard and a huge communal back garden, which i enjoyed sharing with my neighbours, who were a friendly, welcoming and quiet lot. i even started painting again, something i very rarely do. i was happy.
4 years ago, all that began to change. the elderly husband of my upstairs neighbour finally succumbed to the cancer that had been torturing him for over 2 years. after this, his 3 daughters would come to visit his widow several times a day, bringing their children and vast collection of jack russels. the walls are paper thin, so i can hear every bark, every footstep, every drum solo on the radiators on a sunday morning(odd child, that one). i would never complain to her, she's an old lady and needs her family around her. i mention it only as a starting point.
within 6 months of the old man's death. 2 new neighbours had moved into the block. one has a very large dog, which he lets out at about 6.30 in the morning to do its business in the communal back garden. it shits right outside my window. every time. without fail. he then plants his shitty paws all over my bedroom window and barks like a maniac, trying to get at the dogs upstaits. sleep-ins are a thing of the past.
so, i'm awake now. i go into the living room and open the blinds. if it's a nice sunny day, i'm greeted by the sight of the second new arrival and his friends, sitting at the picnic table 5 feet away, enjoying their morning stella. i don't open the window on these occasions, as their conversations are quite loud and profane. again, it's a communal garden, so i really can't complain.
around the same time, a gang of local boys was coming up to "annoying fuckwit teenager" age. they quickly decided that, as i live in the end flat and there's a handy fence for them to hide behind, i was the perfect target for countless games of knock and run(or ding dong ditch, i believe it's called over the pond). just boys being boys, i thought. ignore them, they'll soon get tired and stop it.
they didn't stop. it soon escalated into spitting at me as i walked past, trying to break my door down and throwing stones at me if i dared to open my door. eventually, i had no choice but to call the police. i was a nervous wreck by this point and felt pretty much at the end of my rope. fortunately, there were large bootprints all over my front door when the police arrived, so they actually took my complaint seriously. since their intervention, the boys' behaviour toned down to just yelling profanities at me. i've been called a lot worse by a lot better.
2 months ago, one of these boys was thrown out by parents who can no longer cope with him. as he's an asbo case and classed as a "vulnerable teen", he's been given his own flat. 3 doors away from me. the garden is full of his mates every night, drinking, taking drugs and playing very loud music. one neighbour made the mistake of asking them to turn it down a bit as it was after 11p.m and he was going to bed. there followed 4 hours of full-blast eminem. garden furniture is routinely thrown about, i've had 2 fighting idiots crashing into my windows, there have been impromptu barbecues fed by ripping apart the bushes and fence planking. police will do nothing to help and we've given up asking. due to the bedroom tax, i'm now very limited as to where i could go. even if i took a smaller flat in a badly rundown area, i'd be waiting about 3 years. my nerves are taking a serious beating.
tl;dr: my neighbours are cunts. i am unhappy.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 15:57, 68 replies)
The Simpsons
Used to be funny. Compared to Family Guy, though, the Simpsons are as bland and predictable as Peanuts.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 15:20, 2 replies)
The fucking press.
They don't pay like they used to.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 13:31, Reply)
Breaking Bad
Not the actual telly show, I've never watched it, but people telling me how great it is. If I ever get round to watching it there's not a chance it can live up to all the hype.

Peperamis too (Or is Peperami plural? I don't know) used to love them, now I hate them. They also claim on the packet that they're 145% pork. Lying bastards.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 13:09, 8 replies)
Motor cars and politicians, Ginger Spice and Eurostar,
football shirts and Damien Hirst, empty lager cans and wonder bras,
Tony Blair and endless skinny women.
I've had enough of them all, I've had enough of them all, I've had enough of them all, I've had enough.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 12:58, 1 reply)
Right, let's think...
Billy Connolly
Merchant Ivory
Smoking hash
Q magazine
White wine
Heavy metal
The Labour party
Stephen Fry
The Times
James Kelman
Cypress Hill
Red Dwarf
Ricky Gervais
Football Manager
Carol Voderman
CK One
Magic mushrooms
Ian Jackson & Steve Livingstone's Fighting Fantasy books
Soft porn
Miles Davis' "jazz rock" fusion
Richard Dawkins
Stephen King
Peter Jackson's Tolkien adaptations
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 12:36, 10 replies)
the little 1p aniseed chews

OMG I once bought a whole box of them from a newsagents (500 for £5!)

it was enough for forever
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 11:18, 3 replies)
Is today's stuff just too strong, or I am too old?
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 0:48, 16 replies)
The Fall
After Extricate they've just been going through the motions.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 0:47, 3 replies)
Formerly a potential treasure trove of brilliance, now a perpetual advert for mediocrity.
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 0:44, 4 replies)
Driven to distr.....
Cheers to Airman Gabber for providing the impetus.

Remember the thrill of getting your licence? Borrowing the parents car and hooning around the 'burbs with your mates? Parking up somewhere dark and secluded & "christening" the back seat with that special person in your life at that time?

Then remember getting your own wheels - even tho it had 15 different coloured body panels all held together with gaffa tape and bog it still went like a shower of shit. When you could get it started. Those nights of taking it for a pootle just to celebrate the freedom of having a car?

Then as you got better jobs you could trade in the shitheap for something a bit more refined. Or at least something that started every time you turned the key in the ignition. The car was mainly to get you to-and-from work but it was still nice to take for a spin on a Sunday to get to a nice jazz festival in the countryside with the latest girly.
Occasionally one of your mates would stump for a broom-broom with a nice big V8 donk in it and for a few minutes on weekends you could revert to your yoof whilst doing circle work in a secluded gravel carpark somewhere. Provided the cops weren't too close - nothing smells like cop-bait more than a nice dropped Commodore HSV-SS 8 Pack with Holley's and a couple of nice phat Flowmasters.

Now; driving entails dropping off or picking up children from various activities. Lugging green polyethylene bags full of groceries home from the shops or crawling slowly with hundreds of other people to or from your workplace, twice a day. EDIT: For me it includes having to lug 30 odd kg. of tools into the house each night due to some thieving cunts round here! Don't get me started on the fucking inordinately large sums of money you have to hand over each year just to protect yourself from someone making a small ding on your fender!
You could of course take public transport - the planet will thank you by raining on you while you wait for the bus to arrive. Your pride and smugness in saving some money on fuel and parking will be greatly reinforced as you repeatedly get jostled into someone's armpit on the overcrowded train.

Eventually as a bloke you'll suddenly one day realise that "Fuck owning a family sedan/station wagon. Or even having the work ute!" and you'll blow all of your savings on a vehicle with "Ghia", "GT" or some obscure combination of letters and numbers with a dash in the middle in the model name. This often coincides with a marriage breakdown so having a two-seater car is perfectly practical thank you very much!

Finally in about 30-40 years from now your kids will collude with the government and decide that you're no longer even fit to drive and take away your licence. So the car gets sold (along with all of your other possessions) just so your kids can afford to chuck you into a home.
Mind you, aside from childhood this is the only time in your life when you get chauffeured around. So there is that!
(, Sat 17 Aug 2013, 0:25, 1 reply)
I first got into music in about 84. A school friend taped me Iron Maidens "Number of the Beast" and it blew me away. Previous I'd not been into music; I played the Organ so had a decent knowledge of The Beatles, show tunes etc. But this really resonated with me. I was hooked. First gig was Maiden on their "World Slavery Tour", next was Saxon's "Crusader". Since then I've aquired a large collection of Rock and Metal. I've been to loads of gigs in Brum and Wolverhampton. And about a year ago I thought "this is just boring". I'd much rather listen o the Charts. There's still some stuff I like, but generally I just think its immature and tedious. I dont want to hear you scream. i dont really care how many notes you can play. I REALLY dont care if you burnt a church. your singers a witch? whoop dee fukin' doo. And why can't you even hear the words these days?
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 21:48, 1 reply)
That milkshake of Kelis's.
There was a time a few years ago when it would make you want to go to the yard. And then, after a while, there were these new boys, and they were all like that's not how you go to the yard, and we were all going to the yard and they were all blah blah I'm australian and I go into too much detail and then nothing happens and we were all like whatever we're going to the yard and then other boys said you've been to the yard ten thousand times and now nobody goes to the yard and you're doing it wrong.
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 20:43, 4 replies)

(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 20:33, Reply)
I went off living,
then again, I'm dead.
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 20:28, Reply)
I have gone off Woman's Hour on BBC Radio 4. I mean,
how many times can vulva or clitoris be mentioned in front of my maiden Aunt. Also, the Infinite Monkey Cage in the most recent series was populist rubbish.

And if you really want to hear the most pretentious ego wank of a radio programme then do try to catch this, www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0381fzl - hopefully The Forum, episode Silence may live on the 99 year license and therefore generations will have the ability to despise the man who did not speak for 17 years or the woman who communed with a Polar Bear and . . . Well now you will have to listen
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 19:38, 1 reply)
Tedious strikethroughs, especially those that need a bit of thought.
Alt: CA
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 19:08, Reply)
wife/girlfriend/husband/partner/significant other/you fucking choose.
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 18:36, 2 replies)
I used to love it, but I turned veggie for about 7 years. I've recently returned to eating meat, but I find the smell of bacon is now a little rancid and completely puts me off eating it.
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 16:10, 14 replies)
Bread sticks
After a particularly nasty bout of Gastroenteritis (I'm sure there's unlikely to be a nice variety), about the only thing I could manage to eat eventually were bread sticks. Bread sticks for a week though will put off even the most ardent fan.
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 15:58, Reply)
Pork scratchings.
I used to love opening a bag of Mr Porkys and necking the lovely fatty, salty, crispy, crunchy goodness. Or if you were lucky, a soft one.

On a really good day you would find some US pork rinds with the really hot pepper on them.

Now, I see the little hairs on them and it makes me want to puke.
(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 15:48, 20 replies)
My wife.

(, Fri 16 Aug 2013, 15:42, 11 replies)

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