hmm...too many to mention.
I like to fantasise about nearly all human life being wiped out, and how I could be a Mad Max type drifter in a post-apocalyptic desert world. Of course this is likely to happen in Wales.

Similarly being stranded on a desert Island or similar. I like to think I could survive because I once read a Dorling Kindersley survival book when I was a teenager. I would build a magnificent tree palace with a water wheel and all manner of retro bamboo gadgets and booby traps.

*EDIT* Also, I love Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds musical and sing Forever Autumn really loud when I drive on my own.
( BlueHaze Chutney. All good., Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:59, 4 replies)

I am rather fond of..
A small tie I got given to me as a child by my late uncle. (he's dead, not known as late uncle cause he never shows on time)

I digress

Its made from the carcass of a seagull and I like my partner to wear it when we make love.

Yes you got it!!

It's my Gull-Tie Pleasure
(never-right -getting it wrong since '78, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:53, 3 replies)

rereading Anne of Green Gables
I'm 29.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:53, 6 replies)

Cat snacks
We've got two cats. Once is ace, has studied hard and read all the cat rules diligently, doesn't mither us, is not *too* mercenary (for a cat!) etc.

The other, his brother, is a candy flipper. Tripping and freaked out at the slightest noise once minute, loved up and soft as shite the next.

This makes him utterly fucked up. He spends most of the time cowering under a bush in the garden, whilst his more sensible brother luxuriates on a beanbag by the fire.

Said cat is very needy, and though he had the same upbringing as his brother he's one of those cats that likes to lick skin and kneed with his claws (can you see where this is going yet?)

Once the house is quiet and dark, he'll often creep up stairs and find various exposed bits of salty flesh to slather on, simultaneously kneading gently with his claws.

There are few worse feelings than waking up with a hard on and a cat affixed to your nipple. A conflict of interests doesn't come close.

The guilty bit? Knowing his peccadiloes, I still sleep "au naturelle".
(Countryslicker, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:50, Reply)

I invented
the "Bill Game", and later the "Brookside Game".
You can still play the Bill game but to be honest, its shit now. It worked though and was a surprising pleasure to partake in.

It goes a little something like this.

Whenever a character (in either programme) finished a statement or sentence, you add the words:

(The Bill). Add "You schlaaaagg!" in your best growly, Mike Reid/Grarrrnt Mitchell, gravelly cockney tones.

(Brookside). Add "err yer wha?" in your best high pitched, Jennifer Ellison, scouse voice. The three words should be said in the space of 1/3 second for maximum effect.

It works in almost any context.

"I'm just off out Sarge!" ... "you schllaaaaag"
"Oi! Youre nicked!" .. you schlaaaaaag"
"Are you coming for a coffee?... "you schlaaaaaaaaaag"

"Eh, yous cummin down pub forra bevvy like?" ... "ehh yer wha?"

etc. Every time.

Also, if youre not a cockney, or Jamie Oliver, you can do a passable accent by simply pronouncing the word "treacle" as "ter-reekle", so "Alright Treacle" comes out nicely as "awrite ter-reekle". I like saying that a lot.

oh and lisping the word "super" as "thuper" always makes me a little happier.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:50, 1 reply)

The Pretenders - Brass in Pocket
Ok, fine, so it's a passable song. However, my guilty pleasure is this:

When singing along to The Pretenders' "Brass in Pocket", whenever it is played on the radio or in public, you are obliged to belm the word 'special' in the song's chorus.

To whit: "I'm special (special), so special (special) / something somethingty something / give it to meeeeee"

I did this on Saturday in the Weymouth branch of Woolworths, earning myself a scowl and a nudge in the ribs from me lovely wife.

I'm not proud.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:15, 4 replies)

I pretend I meet celebrities.
Just in my head mind you. I don't lie to my mates about it. I think up these scenarios where I bump into Brad Pitt or Sean Connery or someone similarly cool & we end up chatting and get along really well & they think I'm like the most amazing person ever. The weird thing is I hate the whole celebrity culture and wish we could send the entire cast of celebrity Big Brother to live on a mindfield in Angola.

Gaaahhh!! What is wrong with me!
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:11, Reply)

Shakespearean education
Lots of b3tans would appear to have literary, semi-literary of filmic internal narrators. My take on the same theme is that my internal narrator tries to explain things like computers, radios, medicine, thuderstorms, post-Kantian German philosophy and electric trains...


... to William Shakespeare.


In my world, Shakespeare just happens to have stepped out of a wormhole right in front of me. Naturally, there's no way I can get him back to 1604, and so I have to habituate him to 2008.

As well as explaining the broad sweep of European history to him, I also have to do things like figure out how to get him an NI number, bank account, education and job. It's quite a task, as you'd imagine. But it's one to which, like the bastard offspring of Nietzsche and Sisyphus, I return eternally.

I ought to get out more.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:11, 17 replies)

I actually agree...
With Legless.... jumping in puddles has got to be the most satisfying feeling.
I like to put a bit of the jam on the old ipod and dance in the puddles Billy Elliot style :).
(minsh, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:03, 1 reply)

I stealz lots of pictures off B3ta
..and send them to nuts & Zoo and pretend they are mine...

(not)
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 11:00, 2 replies)

i'm surprised
no one has mentioned peeing in the shower.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Tue 18 Mar 2008, 10:58, 5 replies)

I was walking down the road...
... and next to me was a wall. It looked very enticing. So i climbed up and walked along that instead...

... Im 28.
(Miggyman, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 10:48, 2 replies)

I bottle farts
A few years ago, an uncle of mine died. He'd been a scientist of sorts and left a large array of laboratory glassware in his garage. My attention was drawn to some hermetically sealing gas containers and I set about my pet project of collecting my own anal breezes.

First, I established some rules. I would only store those farts that were truly historic - the kind that burn your ring as they seep out; the kind that pollute a room for hours and make the cat submerge its head in the u-bend. I would catalogue them, label them and store them in a purpose-made rack to present to my children on their 18th birthday.

Most are colourless gases. To look at the tube, you'd think it was empty. But a quick glance at the label provides a tantalising insight into what resides within: "Lamb Biryani and Guinness, Feb 2004"; "Pickled gherkins and egg salad, December 2000"; "Bilharzia and irritable bowel syndrome, October 1997"; "Gastroenteritis, family bag of nacho cheese Doritos and three bottles of cheap cider, Feb 1990".

I've had to apply for a council licence to store hazardous substances, and have to use a ventilator in case one of the tubes falls and breaks. There was a nasty incident last year when a neighbour's child opened a tube containing a ten-year-old scent of "pickled onion and garlic supper with can of stout" and went into an immediate vegetative state. That part of the town was evacuated, but the child eventually recovered. Albeit with permanently crossed eyes and a limp.

It's my way of commemorating my favourite meals.
(frankspencer, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 10:47, 5 replies)

I'm 21 and I love chasing pigeons.
Often this is in the form of walking quickly at a solitary pigeon, dogging it relentlessly until it flies off.

My favourite way of pigeon-chasing, though, is if there's a gaggle of pigeons pecking at the ground -- I charge right at them and make them scatter, and then turn around and run right back at them once they've regrouped.

I love doing this. It makes me laugh like a tard, and there's not much better for stress-relief than running all over the place gasping for breath through laughter. Exercise and laughter induce endorphin release, so pigeon-chasing gives me a double rush.

London is the best place to do this, particularly Russell Square. London pigeons are bolder than other pigeons, so they regroup quicker. Plus, they don't move out of the way until the last moment, so there's always a frantic moment of 'shit, what if I actually tread on one this time?' I never will, because pigeons can take off pretty much vertically and birds have excellent vision, but there's always that brief pang that I've gone too far this time.

When I worked in Woking there was a good cluster that gathered between the station and the office, and I'd always charge at them, laughing like a mong and being looked at oddly by besuited men with briefcases. I bet they secretly wanted to do it too.

I sometimes go to the park and scatter seed just to make the pigeons gather so I can chase them.

I suppose it's a guilty pleasure because it worries me a little that I'm being cruel to them. But I'm not actually hurting them; just annoying them, and if they were feeling really harassed they could fly out of my reach.
( Bob Todd whee, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 10:45, 4 replies)

First Time Poster - Please Be Gentle
Forgive me b3ta, for I have sinned...

My guilty pleasure is taking off for the weekend and going clmibing - a bit bland but I'm a bit of a night-time climber. I love to get to the mountains and, to ensure that I get the mountain to myself, I climb it in the dark.

That's not the guilty bit.

If it's warm enough when I get to the top I'll strip off to my shorts, t-shirt and boots and have a wander round exploring the summit before getting dressed again and walking down.

Even that's *not* the guilty bit.

The guilty bit is that, when I get down, if I'm next to a bit of sea to refresh myself (and normally when the sun's just coming up) I'll strip naked and have a swim.
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 10:38, 7 replies)

Many to name
I love my vampire status on facebook and the fact i keep adding friends to make my profile look popular, tripping up annoying kids in supermarkets, watching old films
with Alastair Sim or Alec Guinness in while on my own, smoking while wearing a nicotine patch, the cuddly polar bear that i keep on my bed and cuddle when on my own but tell any ladies i bring back that it was an ex's (and he's known as mr snuggle.)

These are a few of my favorite things.
( Trollman, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 10:31, Reply)

Theres a homeless guy
in central Edinburgh who looks IDENTICAL to Kevin Costner from Waterworld. Except he used to wear NOTHING but a t-shirt. The guy even had the fishy mutation behind his ears, just like our man Costner.

Anyway everyday without fail I'd come out of Greggs at lunchtime with my 2 x Sausage Rolls (amazing by the way) and there was one thing for CERTAIN - this guy would be pleading with me for a bite of my sausage roll. Begging and pleading - guaranteed.

He was a gill-tee plea-sure
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 9:56, 8 replies)

Apocalypse Games
After reading some of these 'lets play pretend' stories I remembered something I would do nearly every day on my way back from uni.

The campus was in a city centre (nottingham trent if anyone knows it) and i was living just outside the city (Westy B). On my 30 min walk through the town and a couple of estates I would often get bored and imagine there was an invasion of aliens (the sigourney weaver type) or a zombie apocalypse (worked very well when i walked past the old peoples home).

I would run across roads, sneak round corners and watch for every person /potential enemy nearby.
(this would often have to stop when I went through the Meadows. news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/nottinghamshire/6988048.stm)

I have a job now and have to drive to work so I can't play the game anymore, but I still think i'll be better prepared if there is an alien invasion or zombie apocalypse...

I hope none of my friends figure out who I am.
(greasedupdeafguy broke something, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 9:55, Reply)

Glee
My guilty pleasure is the little moment of "Yes!!!" When I hear of something unfortunate happening to someone of my age. It obviously means the demographic is skewing in my favour. Then I feel like shit for even thinking it.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Tue 18 Mar 2008, 9:46, Reply)

Robot Games
Sometimes I like to walk about the house and refer to objects/people in the manner of an alien robot unfamiliar with its surroundings ...

Canine-Based Lifeform
Miscellaneous Family Member

Sometime it's fun to throw in a joke one every now and again - my current favourite is refering to milk as Bovine Boob-Juice
(PickledEgg, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 7:53, 4 replies)

Gah!
I'm sat here with a glass of wine and listening to my all time favourite band ever.
The Carpenters.

Yes, that's right. Karen and Richard. I'm only thirty fucking three, for fucks sake. But I like nothing better than to listen to them on a warm spring evening flitting between the patio and the computer.

Bonus points for anyone who can name the last song they ever recorded without googling it :D
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 5:43, 4 replies)

Frightening my boyfriend
Me: "I can't wait til we get a baby..."
Mr Chicken: "Aaaaaaaaarghh!!!"
Me: "...cat."
(TheChicken Five hundred thousand points from Gryffindor, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 3:13, Reply)

Confession
.
It's something I just can't help and I've done it since I was a kid. There's something irresistible about puddles, especially big deep one's. They all have to be dealt with in the same way.

Hands in pockets, knees touching, then big jump and land *SPLASH* feet together right in the middle of the puddle. Bonus points if you manage to splash a passer-by.

Doesn't matter what I'm wearing, casual clothes, scruffs, or suits for work, they all get the puddle treatment.

I'm 47.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 3:12, 2 replies)

Other of my guilty pleasures have been mentioned.
Here's a new one.
Doing household chores in the buff.
Right now (as I type this) I'm in the middle of packing to move, wearing nothing but a pair of shoes.
(Windy Shrimp "wuz heah", Tue 18 Mar 2008, 1:53, Reply)

Futuristic
In bed I pretend that I've fast-forwarded 10-15 years into the future and am trying to comprehend everything around me. Who's that I'm sleeping with? Who's kids are they? Who's house is this??

Sometimes I like to think I'm being 'filmed', too. Or being interviewed by Parky.

.
( Ultimate Cakes & Sweets Why,what are you planning to do - photosynthesize?, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 1:41, 1 reply)

Streets paved with gold
Sitting by the window of a pub with a nice drinkie in my hand, on a sunny afternoon, watching passers-by as they clock the £1.00 coin I have Superglued to the pavement outside, and then as they casually try to kick it to one side and pocket it.

Some of them simply will NOT give up and stubbornly keep kicking away at it, but the best ones are the ones that have a quick go, then walk on, before turning round and strolling past for another crack. And another. And another. Dead casual-like. All the while looking round to see if anyone's watching them, unable to see me in hysterics inside the darker pub.

OK, so some of them do win the £1, it obviously means a great deal to them to score a whole pound but they're welcome to it for making my sides ache during an afternoon drinking session.
(Rsoles, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 1:09, 4 replies)

Clink!
About a year ago I made the great transatlantic flight to London and found myself standing in front of the Clink Museum. I paid a few pounds and silently cursed as I multiplied the amount by two to keep tabs of my measly American dollars.

I walked through the exhibits, posed for pictures on a few torture devices, and read all about boiling bodies.

At the end of the museum they had a chopping block with a sample of an executioner’s handbook, complete with a formula to figure out how hard an axe would have to fall to behead someone. I calculated in my height, body type, and neck size and found out how much weight would have to be exhorted to successfully decapitate me.

That’s right, I found my guillotine pressure!

Length? It was all in metric. I haven’t the faintest.
(StupidAmericanTourist, Tue 18 Mar 2008, 1:04, 2 replies)