I count out the rhythm of any sexual activity by resolving the dates of famous historical events into their prime factors.
So the Battle of Hastings is 14101066 which resolves to 2 x 7 x 773 x 1303.

But I'm only allowed to climax when the event has three or fewer factors. So Henry VIII took the throne on 21 April 1509 which is 19 x 269 x 419. Bingo. Moneyshot.

If there is only one factor then I allow myself to defecate while I ejaculate. Which is why I love JFK.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 15 Dec 2011, 15:31, 16 replies)

Whenever I get a hot beverage from a vending machine
I always say the name of what I'm ordering in the style of Captain Picard and pretend that the vending machine is a replicator.
( WormuIus, Sat 17 Dec 2011, 22:18, 14 replies)

A pearoast...
... I think.

Every moring, the first thing I do when I get out of be is to move the curtain back a bit, have a look outside and see what the weather is like. Every morning, my wife with then ask me "What's it like outside?" and every morning, I will reply "It's big and there's no ceiling"

This has gone on every morning for the last ten years that me and Mrs ScousersPet have lived together.
(ScousersPet, Mon 19 Dec 2011, 12:43, 2 replies)

Hmm. Wonder if this counts
Kid in our class at school used to seemingly randomly go to various girls in the class at morning registration, and just say 'Thank you' to them, and wander off. Just one each day, some days he wouldn't do it at all.

Occasionally he'd do it to the teacher.

He then rather stupidly admitted to one of his friends that in fact that was the person he had been thinking about when he had a wank the previous night. This took about a nanosecond to go round the whole school, and as of the second year of college 5 years later was pretty much still the leading topic of conversation.
(username failed moderation, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 16:47, 5 replies)

Everytime my cat farts
I have to recite poetry by Goethe, in original German, and to the tune of Erasures "Love to hate you"
(Rebooted Frazer Smoothly scrolling since, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 14:58, 7 replies)

The demented headmaster
At secondary school our headmaster was lucky enough to have a house attached to the school as a perk of the job. Which also meant that he could leave home as late as possible.

One morning he was spotted by a late arrival coming out of his house and taking a weird meandering route up the driveway to the school. The next day he was observed again taking the same route and some bright spark twigged that he was standing on every manhole cover between his house and the school entrance.

The next day a number of the 6th form went out and stood on each of the manhole covers. The headmaster came out of his house, took a few steps and looked up to see his "drains blocked", and turned on his heels and walked back into the house.

He wasnt seen again for the rest of the week.
(lordofallhesurveys How appropriate you fight like a cow, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 12:24, 1 reply)

Vogue and peanuts and falling in love
He first noticed that it wasn’t quite right when he was sat at their table in the pub, waiting for her to get off her mobile phone. He was idly flicking through the copy of ‘Vogue’ that she had left on the table in front, paying perhaps closer attention to the pictures of Kate Moss than he should have been. Nevertheless, he was still surprised to have the magazine gently removed from his hands and laid, face up, closed and perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. She hung up the phone and looked at the magazine, then at him and said ‘sorry, but you were ruining my magazine. I need to flick through each page myself while it’s fresh’. OK, he thought, that’s a bit odd. But then realised that he felt quite similarly if he wasn’t the first one to open the Sunday paper.

They talked, she ate peanuts, drank white wine. The peanuts were cupped in her hand. He looked at her, amazed at how sweet and delicate she was. Incredibly ladylike, the way she slowly picked the peanuts out of her hand one by one. It took him ages, but eventually he realised that she was always taking either one whole peanut, or two halves. The fewer peanuts she had in her hand, the slower the process became. He watched her, her face screwed up in concentration, eventually the last peanut was gone, and she slowly emptied another handful onto her palm and started again, one by one, slowly delicately. When there were just a few left, he realised that he may as well not be there for all the focus she was giving him, and he watched, silently. She seemed totally unaware that they weren’t even talking. He noticed that there were three peanut halves in her hand. She took two, put them in her mouth and let the last, solitary half salted peanut drop to the floor. He recalled a conversation he had had with a friend a few months earlier about how she had to eat everything in pairs. How odd numbers made her feel uncomfortable, how she attributed it to a mild version of Obsessive Compulsion Disorder.

He pictured the bathroom, where her stuff had gradually been accumulating recently. The bottles of girls potions lined up on the shelf, in descending size order from left to right. He pictured the rectangular bathmat that he had laid next to the bath haphazardly that had move to fit snugly in the corner between the bath and wall, he pictured the perfectly folded towels, the socks laid in pairs, flat over the end of his bed that she had spent what felt like hours sorting out that morning. I guess that’s two people I know with it then, he thought while absent-mindedly, barely even aware was doing it doing it, pushing the quick of his left thumbnail down with his left forefinger, then the quick of his forefinger with the same thumb, then the middle finger, the ring finger and finally his left pinkie. Then he became aware of a strange discomfort in his right hand and he repeated the process on that side, finally feeling relaxed as his right thumbnail pushed against the skin of the last finger. He touched his right ear, then his left, then he polished his glasses on his shirt tails, vaguely aware that he had only just done this, so they couldn’t possibly need cleaning.

She finished the peanuts and again, a solitary peanut half dropped to the floor and she laid the empty packet on the table. Instantly he picked it up and folded it in half length ways, rubbed it across the edge of the table, forcing the air out. He folded it again, rubbed it across the table again and started folding it at right angles, over, under, until he was left with about half an inch that he tucked delicately into the folds, leaving a perfect right angle triangle of the peanut pack. He laid it carefully on the table, and looked at her again as she tapped each finger on the table edge, one by one. She then picked up the peanut wrapper, looked at it, looked at him inquisitively. Defensive, that was the word for how he felt under that gaze. ‘It’s just something I do’ he spluttered. ‘It looks…neater…’ She dropped it in the ashtray. He tried to resist, he really did, but he knew it was there, sitting in the ash and he had to pick it up, dust it off and lay it on the table. ‘Sorry’ he said ‘I don’t like other things in ashtrays. I can’t help feeling that they are going to catch light’. But she didn’t really hear him, she was too busy lining up the two empty wine glasses in front of her.

‘Shall we go?’ he asked, she nodded in agreement and moved away from the table. He went to pick up her magazine for her. ‘Leave it be, please, I can’t read it now’ They walked home, he was still pondering her behaviour when she slipped her arm around his waist, kissed him on the cheek, looked up at him and said ‘I was watching you tonight. I think you have OCD’.

That was Seven years ago. That was the moment he fell in love. And now he can’t imagine life without her.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 15 Dec 2011, 15:45, 11 replies)

Only remembered this today..
Whenever I'm driving with Mrs Abitsick and/or the kids, I always quote Eric Morecambe when an ambulance with sirens passes.

"He'll never sell any ice creams going that fast"

To the extent now that my 7 year old pre-empts me on seeing/hearing an ambulance by facepalming and telling me to "Go on then!"
( DanGleeballs Moist people don't notice spelling errors..., Tue 20 Dec 2011, 16:03, 1 reply)

I have COD.
If the items on my desk aren't in exactly the right plaice it makes me flounder.
( .Yeti., Sat 17 Dec 2011, 1:32, 7 replies)

When eating a banana.
I have to open it then, holding it in my right hand push my mouth down onto it by pushing my left hand onto the back of my head. I think I must have learned it from Uncle Ian because I always think of him when I do it.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 19:36, Reply)

I'm an OCD sufferer
and Cthulhu cultist. Everything on my desk has to be at an impossible angle.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 1:54, 1 reply)

The curry plate
I have a special plate that I only use for eating indian curries.

It has a deeper dish to it than my "standard" plates.

If I accidentally use it during the week I wash it and put it to the bottom of the stack so statistically I won't use it before my usual weekly curry take away.

When getting the plate out to pre-heat in the oven I sing/chant "mm curry plate, curry plate, you are my only curry plate."

When I place the order at the indian take away it goes like this:

"ring ring"

"Hello"

"Can I have my usual"

"20 mins"

No name, no drill pack. I think they know I have my curry plate ready.
( Signify, Tue 20 Dec 2011, 18:54, 15 replies)

I have this weird ritual...
Every night before I go to bed, I ask my invisible friend to bring me joy, or money, or a car.

Then, on Sunday, I go to a big building with all my friends and we ask our invisible friend (on his day off) for more stuff and other stupid things.

It doesn't really work, though. I think it's because he's too busy giving people cancer and starving black people.
( RarelyEvil, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 23:33, 9 replies)

The toilet roll
or "bathroom tissue" as they so delicately call it here in Canada. Heaven forfend that we should associate this paper with the act of making toilet. Anyway, the paper must be attached to the holder so that paper arrives from the top of the roll towards oneself and not the back or underside. I try to resist correcting the paper in other people's houses but it pains me to see. It is a travesty and an abomination that otherwise good people place their paper in such a way, the bastards.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Thu 15 Dec 2011, 20:58, 11 replies)

It's not so much an actual ritual but
I enjoy the streets of the city, and will take most opportunities to walk somewhere instead of taking public transport or a cab.

As such, my favourite time to do this is on a wet autumnal evening, or wet spring afternoon, when the rain is hammering down, and everything looks romantic and like it's the backdrop of a cool film noir picture.

Thus I like to pop the collar of my good leather jacket, screw my trilby tight to my head, and line up suitable tunes to walk to - stuff with a good rhythm, a dark, brooding sound, and interesting incidentals - Ultravox I find good, White Lies, some New Model Army, perhaps a little Cure, and some harder-edged digidub.

Now that I've given up smoking there's no longer a permanent fag set in my paw, but it enables me to push my hands deep into my coat pockets and pull it tight around me, as I head through the people and on to my destination, invariably composing bad poetry in my head, about love lost, and opression beneath the grey skies of England.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 21 Dec 2011, 10:20, 23 replies)

I have OMC
How bizzare
(The man they couldn't spang Got spanged on, Tue 20 Dec 2011, 18:56, 6 replies)

Forgotten about this
If ever I drive past a close named after a person (councils name them after incredibly unmemorable people, ie Tom Smith Close) I am compelled to say "Where? Where?" and look round wildly.

I used to live near an address named ALan DRive and if ever we drove past another similarly named, I would say to my wife"Wonder if he knows alan drive?" She hated this and it was probably a contributory factor in our subsequent divorce.

Now I've written it down I can see why.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Mon 19 Dec 2011, 16:45, 2 replies)

M,S,M!
I have this wierd ritual (well I think it must be weird cos virtually no one else seems to do it).

When driving, I check my mirror to see if there is space for me to move out into, if there is ONLY THEN do I indicate what I'm going to do, and ONLY THEN do I actually do it....bizarre I know.
( repooc, Mon 19 Dec 2011, 12:32, 9 replies)

Butt Lane
From time to time Mrs Airman Gabber and I drive through a small town called Butt Lane. Each time we pass the sign I have to say,"Huh huh huh. That says Butt." In my best Butt-head voice and as we drive past a side-road called Old Butt she retorts,"Huh huh. That says Old Butt." and I counter with,"Smelly old butt."

Been doing this for 12 years or so now.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Mon 19 Dec 2011, 11:01, 6 replies)

A conversation on the bus
Gladys: "Of course I suppose you've heard about Harold's son celebrating Black Masses in the village hall they use down their way."

Margaret: "Lydia told me at bridge this week and at first I couldn't believe what I was hearing. You'd never have seen that sort of thing back in the day."

Gladys: "Well, you know what they say about freedom of religion these days, dear. As long as you aren't frightening the horses, so they say, you can do what you like behind closed doors. But what about the fabric of society, that's what I'd like to know. Sooner or later they'll be setting up their own communities and everything!"

Margaret: "Well, exactly! What's wrong with worshipping the good old-fashioned way, anyway? Why do we have to keep on having all these Black Masses all over the place?"

Gladys: "Ah well...at least it keeps the Coloured folk out of regular Mass, dear."

Margaret: "Mmmmh. Is this our stop?"
( .Yeti., Sun 18 Dec 2011, 0:03, 3 replies)

I have DCO
It's like OCD except the letters are correctly arranged in ascending order of the number of 1s in their ASCII binary representation.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Sat 17 Dec 2011, 14:09, Reply)

my wife folds plastic bags.
like, after packing away the shopping, she will spend a good 30 minutes folding the plastic bags up - precisely - after which she arranges them in order of size.

am i allowed a photo? here it is: www.b3tards.com/u/9b4614c3a6d629487e93/foldedbags.jpg

please don't tell her i took this photo. She will have to unfold every single bag and then start again, just in case i have disrupted the order.
(softporn 70's sink fixer, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 7:48, 3 replies)

Everytime I have a shit
I wipe my arse afterwards
( Regger, Thu 15 Dec 2011, 15:40, 12 replies)

I'm dyslexic and have OCD
It's like OCD but all the letters are in the correct order.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Tue 20 Dec 2011, 13:54, 2 replies)

so the goat is spread acoss the stone altar and tethered at both ends while bleating with the wild look in its eyes
we'd already opened the portals to the gates of Nesmith and the pulchritudi upended their vessels to Halloumi while the Telewest chanted the words of the EffAyKyoo in a low sonorous sussuration that reverberated through the googleplex of Flid.

But I can't help cutting West to East when I disembowel the shaven infant glottal click instead of East to Vector additional coordinates. So naturally when the Old One raises his homonunclular diseased corpse head from the Scrotula of Leicestersquare he invariably winks a lot, it's my own damn fault for scoffing a packet of Quavers during the Abdjuration of Cowell (the omifiscient spangle of satan's throssels). All Hail Jamieoliver.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Tue 20 Dec 2011, 0:20, 9 replies)

Positive thinking weirdness
Back in my early twenties, I was sent on a 3-day sales training course by my employer. It was one of those naff motivational courses that culminates in you punching your way through a piece of wood.

One of the sessions was based on the power of positive thinking, and the group while standing in a circle were asked to close their eyes and think of the one time in their life they were at their most happiest (to the tune of some specially chosen song by Enya).

The coach then asked us all to perform some kind of ritual or gesture now that our frame of mind was at its most positive. I felt a bit embarrassed, so fractionally opening an eye, I caught a glimpse of what the other guys were doing.

It was all a bit weird frankly. One was hopping up and down, another swinging an imaginary sword, a third crouched down low rocking gently. I decided to clasp my hands behind my head and waggle my elbows in front of my face (think Ross from Friends). I felt like a berk, but satisfied that I wasn't the worst in the room.

Once we had returned to the land of the normal, the coach explained that our chosen gesture would now be forever linked to our personal state of positivity. Should we ever need to gee ourselves up for an important meeting or occasion, we should just crack out the gesture and all would be well.

The thing is, this shit actually works and I've used it on many, many occasions over the years to settle nerves and help prepare for an important pitch.

So if you ever see a bloke in the toilets of your office with his eyes closed, doing some odd chicken impression, please don't call security, just leave him be.
(BinDipper, Mon 19 Dec 2011, 14:34, 10 replies)

I have fun
by speling things incorrectly or us'ing apostophies wrong on intetnet message boards as it drive's theyre tiny OCD minds mental.

Remember. If you've had to resort to correcting people's spelling and grammar to try and win an argument then you have already lost! If you can't win on content, even if the other person is borer-line illiterate, then you need to really think about your life.
( SiX and his hat, Mon 19 Dec 2011, 7:11, 27 replies)

Eht "CDO" ejko ahtt 'eevw eens os chmu fo is for aegiklnsw adn efiosst.
I aehv ot ptu eervy egilns eelttr I eirtw in aaabcehillpt deeorr. Abceesu 'ahtts how CDO korsw.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Sat 17 Dec 2011, 19:56, 9 replies)

I don't live in London
But I'm down there every other month or so. Without fail, every time I visit, I have to play tube door jedi. Have to. For those not in the know, this is where you pick a point on the platform and the train has to stop with the door directly in front of you (or a foot to either side if you're not fully trained in the ways of the tube door jedi).

I'm actually really good at it.

EDIT - and obviously, you have to command the door to open doing that finger twitch thing. Because they wouldn't open otherwise, oh no.
(berk, Sat 17 Dec 2011, 16:38, 7 replies)

OCD is just an attempt to control the random aspect of life due to fear of the unknown.
It comes from the same mental stem as religion and belief in god.

Strap on some balls, and accept that your life is meaningless, existence futile, and that one day all will be dust.

Then go and do a bungee jump, have a threesome, and do some fantastic drugs*.

*Requires leaving the bedroom and computer.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 16 Dec 2011, 15:11, 7 replies)