My young lady
is a very gentle soul and also a bit naive. A few weeks ago after a Saturday night curry and cider session we were laying in bed enjoying the prospect of a few more hours lay in before another lazy Sunday of pub lunches, cider, and a bit of afternoon mucking about. As I lay there it suddenly occurred to me that I had never properly consummated our union (by this I mean I had not farted near her as mine could kill a yak at 20 paces) I'm not sure what it was but suddenly I felt the time was right and turned to her and uttered the immortal words,
"Do you know what a Dutch oven is?"
As she began to shake her head, with a blank look on her face I let out one of those warm, slightly wet farts that smell exactly like a dead tramp covered in shit on a warm day and with the speed of a puma lifted the whole duvet over her head and held her there while the horrible guff did its work. To say she was not happy would be a small understatement. Since then I have enjoyed catching her out whenever we are in bed and I feel the rumble in my guts. I expect to be single very soon but what fun while it lasts!!!
(Jonny Wishbum had bad ear sight, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:22, Reply)

True life magazines.
Take a break, That's life and my personal favourite Love it!
They're like reading Jeremy Kyle.

Some favourite quotes from love it include:

"I made him what he was today, the karaoke king of Great Yarmouth"

"Even though I was only 16, I was excited about having a baby with Michael, I imagined us putting the baby to bed together before having a romantic mircowave meal for two."
( wanderlust, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:20, 6 replies)

Wanking and eating individually-wrapped slices of shit processed cheese




....not always at the same time though
(greasedupdeafguy broke something, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:19, 1 reply)

Spreadsheets! Laziness! Fraud!
So, as I mentioned in last weeks QOTW, I'm a bit of a spreadsheet geek. If it can get translated into cells and formulae, it probably will.

Partly, this is laziness on my behalf - I don't see why i should have to work something out twice if I don't have to, or write the same list (Loved the holiday spreadsheet idea by the way PixxyPrincess (Linky) . But... what sort of laziness has you working for hours, non-stop trying to figure out that niggling little bit of VBScript that someone else originally wrote, or formatting it Just Right?

The laziness that comes from defauding your employer by spending days redesigning your diet and running tracking spreadsheets, business plans for possible new enterprises, and so on, while pretending to do do valuable, highly paid work, that's what!

Mmmm, spreadsheets...
( Fireflier La la la la, not listening on, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:18, Reply)

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.
( Nobody Likes Mortal Wombat, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:17, 4 replies)

I am currently employed by a stationary company as a travelling salesman.
Life on the road can be boring at the best of times and downright lonely at worst, so some of my guilty pleasures are...

1. Leaving until right at the last minute before moving from Lane 3 on the motorway to the sliproad, carving up 2 lanes of angry motorists in the process. If I've ever done it to you, you're right, I knew the junction was coming up, but I just have to be in front, ok?

2. Ejaculating all over the sheets in a travelodge and sticking them together. I could go out and get a woman, but I'd probably only have enough cash for a handjob, anyway.

3. Talking loudly on my mobile phone, absolutely anywhere. If I can add the words "Fuck" or "Cunt" especially when children are within earshot so much the better.

4. Bullying slower motorists out of the way. There's nothing quite like seeing their outraged faces as I speed by lauging and probably talking on my mobile phone.

5. Thinking I can 'have' any woman, despite being a gangly wraith of a human being with more grease in my hair than is in the gearbox of my company BMW 1 series.

6. Calling people I've just met "Mate", or "Bruv". I'm like a cheeky, chirpy cock-er-nee barrowboy, me.

7. At weekends, behaving like a wigger. Wearing baggy street wear which still makes me look like a sack of shit tied in the middle, and walking as though I am clasping a parsnip between my buttocks.
(Vic Flange, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:13, 4 replies)

Squeezing
Spots and blackheads. Anyone's. I swear to God I love the sound they make as they pop and release the pus. YumYum.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:12, 3 replies)

Flapjacks
They’re like coke-dusted crack biscuits.

Enjoying the aroma of a freshly burst shit-bubble

Trailer Park Boys – Can easily watch a whole series in one sitting

Reading Heat and other tittle-tattle, mainly for the pictures.

Oh and the Sky at Night if I catch it….
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:11, Reply)

The Weekly World News.
I secretly love Dear Dotti. And Ed Anger always cracks me up. And Batboy is pure win.

I feel dirty now...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:11, 3 replies)

Kind of a pearoast….

But I love drinking Bovril.

Fucking love it. Loads of it. Every day.

I use a large tablespoon per cup, as opposed to the recommended ‘wet pants’ teaspoon amount.

It gets worse.

I don’t actually even go for ‘Bovril’ brand Bovril. Oh no. After an exhaustive process of elimination, I discovered that ‘Morrisons Beefy Drink’ is the particular one that loosens my metaphorical knicker strings more than any other.

The stuff goes through my innards like turbo-charged gloopy brown napalm and regularly has disasterous consequences on the trigger of my shit-chute.

Yet I continue. I eat that ‘Actimel’ yogurt stuff to try and sort out my digestion and combat the Bovril effect. It’s like 'War Of The Worlds' in my crap factory, let me tell you.

I also have a kidney disease that means the huge quantity of salt your average cup of Bovril contains is seriously bad for my health...

But I don’t learn.

And another thing...I eat Pickled onions by the Jar. It's possible I was ‘Olive’ from ‘On The Buses’ in a past life.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:10, 9 replies)

Love it!
The current highlight of my week is when Love It! magazine gets delivered to the office on Wednesday morning. (I should point out that I work for a media agency so we get all manner of mags sent for free for 'research' purposes).

For those not in the know it has featured such marvellous journalistic works of genius as:


'I became a prostitute to pay for my wedding'

'My BIG dream to be a topless dwalf'


And my all time favourite

'Forced to wear Y-fronts so I wouldn't cheat'.



It also features a psychic agony aunt.


Coworkers know not to disturb me when they spot me heading to the john with Love It! tucked under my arm. Best 20 mins of the week by far.
(Milo Minderbinder, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:06, 2 replies)

I watch
Xena Warrior Princess..

strictly for the storylines obviously...
(thatguythere is wondering where he is, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:05, Reply)

Music guilt
When it comes to music, I suppose I could be described as a bit of a snob. You know, I'm a bit sniffy about who I like, which bands I deem "cool" enough to be worthy of my attention etc. (I know, pretentious and anal- whatevs, sue me).
However, amongst all the artsy crap I pretend to like by bands nobody's heard of, I often (usually on the bus) indulge my guilty musical pleasures. Death metal and the worst kind of trashy, hands-in-the-air Euro house.

I'll be sitting on the bus, silently mocking all and sundry for listening to their shitty RnB or chart rock, while I'm listening to Cannibal Corpse or Lasgo ("Alone" is a particularly good one "Hold me in your arms... never let me go... etc"). If only they knew- in my mind I'm rocking out with cartoon heavy metal muppets, or raving away in Ibiza.

My brother also likes to eat Farley's rusks. With milk and everything, baby-style. He's 28.
(Crayola Oblongata Is it Monday?, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:03, 3 replies)

God TV
Virgin 279 for the uninitiated. Oh, how I'd love to meet that fat saffer and his utterly, utterly mental wife.
(sinbad, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:03, 1 reply)

Ironing
DVD playing in the background, clouds of steam, a hint of spray starch and I'm as happy as a piggy in poo.

Shirts, t-shirts, boxers (if cotton), trousers, bed linen, tablecloths, teatowels for Bob's sake, all is fodder for my steaming weapon of flatness. If it's made out of cotton, it's mine.

A light press to remove crumples or a full on razor creased cotton shirt? Nae problemo.

Mrs Osok has thwarted my plans of universal ironed-ness by buying 'non-iron' shirts in the past. Hah! I sneer at such labour-saving inventiveness and reach furtively for the starch. I have been banned from No 1 son's school uniforms on the grounds of being a 'fucking idiot' so I have to make do with polishing his shoes.

Infuriatingly, it takes me a good hour to drive to work with a seatbelt *crumpling* me. And when I get there it's so cold I'm wearing a fleece. Grrrrrrrr.

I don't do socks. That would be silly.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 13:03, 4 replies)

Farting at work
but not your average *pfft* and wander off,

mine are evil and have been known on occasion to clear entire offices. Well theres a couple of people at work i really dont like, and they always leave their big woolen cardigans hanging on the back of their chairs when they go home and as i'm the first one in the office everyday i make a point of pushing my arse as far into the neckline of said cardigans as possible and squeezing out the foulest guff i can muster and then carefully replacing the chairs before diffusion kicks in and removes my hard work then all i have to do is sit and wait :D

one of them came into work recently and the first thing she said was that she could smell the egg mayonnaise sandwiches she had bought for lunch! i couldn't help but laugh maniacally and told her someone sent me a funny email.


Length? well i dropped one on the way into the office at 8am one morning and at 11:30 my colleagues were checking the bins for the food that had gone off.
(The Reverend annoying the regulars since, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:57, 3 replies)

im so guilty...
I ate a spoonful of yogurt during the week.

I'm supposed to be anorexic.
(Ceraby, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:56, Reply)

Everybody loves a story about poo...
I like nothing better than to unfurl a large, and offensive smelling cable, usually on company time as my feckless, shite-hawk of an employer gives me little else to haul myself out of bed for and drive 40 miles every morning.

Timing is everything. Its important to ensure that you are suitably advanced in the 'needing to do a number 2' phase that actually passing the stool will not be an arduous, difficult experience involving straining and contraction of the sphinctus muscle so tightly that you almost have a stroke.. but also not so far advanced that you deposit warm caramel angel delight in your undergarments before actually reaching the facilities.

Selecting the right trap is crucial. I normally choose the disabled toilet as it is a single room on its own, rather than being in the feculant air of the general stalls. I do this for 2 reasons.. firstly I can make as much vocal accompaniment as I need to and secondly, I dont have to share my primeval fug with any of the other scrotes in the building.

Then I wipe the loo seat with a generous handful of toilet paper, to remove any splashback or pubic wire from the previous patron.

I lower my trousers and shreddies and present my posterior to the seat. At this point I normally have some reading matter to hand, be it 'House and Garden" or "Bill Bryson's Notes from a small island" and relax to enjoy this literary feast.

Presently the pace car will detach itself from the head of the flow like a moraine on a glacier and drop lazily into the waters below.

Then the involuntary contraction of my anus will bring forth anything from 2 to 5 large torpedoes of faecal matter which will dive into the bowl like lemmings from a cliff.

The secret then is not to immediately wipe, flush, wash and leave, but to savour the moment, the slightly putrid aura and the sated feeling one gets after passing a particularly large and ungainly stool.

I can normally draw this out to an hour, although in some less than interesting jobs, I have been known to spend all afternoon engaged in my bathroom rituals.

After all, it's the small pleasures that give us the largest return, right?
(Vic Flange, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:55, 10 replies)

I read teletext
In the dead of night when everyone else has gone to bed. Sometimes.

But not the serious pages, like news and shit. Not me. No, I read the TV comments pages, and sit in slack-jawed wonderment at the sheer banality of some of the messages the screen delights in throwing up.

I'm still waiting, though, for someone to write in and say that they watch Strictly Come Dancing because they like to sit there in their underkeks cracking one off over the female professional dancer's arse / tits (delete as appropriate).
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:54, 3 replies)

Hollyoaks
Hate the show, hate the people. Annoying trendy, Ugg boot wearing, Big Brother watching, anal polyps of society.

But when I catch it on TV I feel better about myself. At least I'm nae them!!!
(Krizla6.9, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:51, 2 replies)

Plane speaking
My mum once admitted she loved flying just because of take-off.

"Don't tell anyone I said this, but it's like an orgasm!" she exclaimed breathily.

Don't worry mum, I won't say a wor-
Oh, shit.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:50, 5 replies)

Following on
from Frankspencers dictionary fetish my main guilty pleasure is learning a word for the day from mine.
( Trollman, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:48, 9 replies)

America's next top model
I like to watch the bitching, Tyra Banks loves to make girls cry.
The makeover episodes are always the best.
( wanderlust, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:47, Reply)

I'm currently on my lunch hour
alone in my office, being self-indulgent by listening to some less-than-mainstream jazz, using my iPod hooked up to my computer speakers. This album to be precise.

Makes a change from having a kip.

Or a lunchtime shit (ref BobFossil down this page a bit)
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:47, 2 replies)

I'll be showing my age with this, but...
I used to love watching "Wonder Woman" in the 70s. Lynda Carter had the most amazing boobs, and I used to watch it just to see her run. (Much better than "Charlie's Angels"- those three had less boobage than the average ten year old boy. Never understood the fuss over that show.)

But by the time "Baywatch" came along I was past that, sadly...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:45, 5 replies)

I just had a guilty pleasure moment....
I reorganised a couple of bookshelves. The thrill is still with me.


I've got last week's qotw to thank for that one.

*EDIT* This is the really guilty bit....



I've now got all my new books lined up ready to read.


There are 31 of them.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:44, 3 replies)

please don't tell anyone that I like to
iron my pillowcases.

I never iron my clothes, or indeed anything else, but I love a nice flat pillowcase.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:43, Reply)

My guilty pleasures
OK, I admit, this one ain't too good. I'll think up others.

My guilty pleasure, apart from drinking to coma stage, is torturing/playing/insert appropriate with the laser pointer/water pistol.
(Grey_Ghost has yet to decide on a sig on, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:42, Reply)

dictionaries
I won't let anyone else touch my dictionary (Chambers 9th Edition). Whenever I have to use it, which is daily, I hold it so carefully and make sure my hands aren't greasy. The pleasure of looking up a word (usually for exact meaning rather than spelling) is something that I take time over - reading other entries that catch my fancy, and always checking out the etymology. I am thinking about forking out £800 for the Oxford English Dictionary.
(frankspencer, Thu 13 Mar 2008, 12:39, 2 replies)