SCFC
I dislike football. I just don't get it, I've never been to a match, and I don't want to.

So why is it that I'm so happy that Stoke City is top of the championship and Port Vale is bottom of whatever-the-old-third-division-is-now-called?
( Enzyme is in ur [noun]z, [verb]in' ur [noun]z, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 20:20, 2 replies)

This is a bit of a long answer to this question.
Lately, I think, when people talk about guilty pleasures, they’re often talking about television shows they’re ashamed to admit they watch. Beverly Hills 90210, Ghost Whisperer, Temptation Island – things like that.

The thing is, I have always watched those shows. And I have admitted it without shame –or, at least, with far less shame than regular people. I am a TV fiend. I know details about shows I’ve never even watched. For example, for Christmas 2006, I got a video iPod and a clear plastic protecting case for it.

“I’ve named my new iPod ‘Travolta,’” I told my best friend.
“Why?” he asked.
“The Boy in the Plastic Bubble!” I said.
“What?” my best friend said.
“John Travolta was in a TV movie called The Boy in the Plastic Bubble,” I said.
“Oh,” said my best friend, “No wonder I didn’t get it – I’ve never seen that movie.”
Pause.
“…Neither have I,” I admitted.

I watch a ridiculous amount of television. I love television. I revel in cheesy reality shows. I love soap operas. I love good television, too, but bad television is wonderful in a completely different way because it is something to make fun of. An easy target, maybe, but it’s always a good time.

I was very much an indoor kid as a child. My parents and sister would often tell me that I shouldn’t watch so much and that I should get outside and get some exercise, so, for a very long time, I felt bad about how much I watched TV. Normal, well-adjusted people don’t watch so much TV, so clearly there was something not quite right about me.

Now, even though my parents disapproved of my TV-watching habits, they were (and still are) very cool parents. They’ve always supported me in whatever I’ve wanted to do with my life and when I was wondering what to take in university, they encouraged me to learn something I liked rather than something I thought would make me a lot of money. My sister was an engineer in university, and she does make a ridiculous amount of money, but she admits that she hates her job.

I went to school for English, since even though I spend a lot of time in front of the TV, I spend an equal amount of time reading. I always enjoyed writing as well, and I thought, “I can get a degree for just reading novels and writing my thoughts about them? Score!” I also began working at my school newspaper, planning on becoming a journalist for the HARD NEWS! I’d be very, very serious and write Pulitzer-winning articles about… serious stuff. I didn’t know what. I planned on getting a master’s degree in journalism and being SUPER SERIOUS about writing.

But the thing is, I’m quite rubbish at writing serious stuff. I can do it, but it’s never my best work – I am at my best when I can just mock something. Even at my school newspapers, my best articles were things like comparing Beverly Hills, 90210 to The O.C. and making fun of both of them. It had just never occurred to me that there was a way to make money off of it, at least not right out of school.

But, lo and behold, luck was very kind to me. Searching for as summer job, I came across a posting for an internship for an entertainment news web site that prides itself on mocking celebrities and writing snarky articles about pop culture. Not only that, but literally everything they were looking for could be applied to me. Degree in English or journalism? Check. Interested in pop culture? Check. Grammar conscious? My friends call me the grammar Nazi. Sarcastic? Riiiiight, like I’m sarcastic.

I applied for the job, making sure to tell them just how perfect I was for the job. “When it comes to pop culture,” I wrote, “I can remember details without even trying. I can never find my keys, but I can remember the name of the evil car from Knight Rider. (That would be the Knight Automated Rover Robot, by the way.)"

My boss later told me that the Knight Rider comment was the entire reason why they brought me to be interviewed.

So I got the internship, and it was the best six weeks I’ve ever spent. Luck continued to favour me, as right near the end of my internship, one of the writers quit to concentrate on his music career. So I was hired for the rest of the summer and had way more fun at work than should be allowed. Last September, I left to start my postgraduate journalism degree, since I thought that having no formal journalism training might hurt me in the long run – and, even though I’d had a blast for the summer, I still had ideas of becoming a hard news writer.

But I soon realized that hard news was not for me. I couldn’t stop being cheeky. In my magazine class, I ended up writing an article about Brazilian waxes and included the line, “As soon as Sarah Jessica Parker got a Brazilian wax on Sex and the City, it was beef curtains for public hair.” I got in a little bit of trouble for that.

At the end of my first semester, I was doing well but I wasn’t enjoying it that much. Being a serious journalist was so stressful on my delicate sensibilities! When I found out that another one of the writers at my old job had left to work for the CBC, I told my old boss I was considering leaving school and would it be possible for me to go back to work for her?

“Hurray, you’re coming back!” was her reply. “I always thought it was a bit stupid that you went back to school. It was like you were going to school to get a job you already had.”

I couldn’t really argue with that point. I dropped out of my program and went back to work.

So now I have a full-time job as the TV editor for the web site. I get to write about television and interview TV people I admire – and even if I hate them, I am allowed to write about what idiots they are. Networks send me DVDs of shows that haven’t begun to air yet, and I’m allowed to watch them at my desk during work hours! I used to have to hide my TV-watching, and now I’m getting paid for it. My previously useless knowledge of obscure pop culture trivia now comes in handy every single day.

I’ll never be rich and I’ll never win a Pulitzer. But I have fun every single day at my job and I’m making enough to live on. I never dread the workweek ahead and I don’t have to worry about making too many puns. I may not be the best writer in the world, but I am having the time of my life.

TV might have started out as a guilty pleasure for me, but today I am proud that I never gave up on what I enjoyed. I’ll probably be a bit screwed if I ever have to get a job doing “normal” writing, but for now, I am very happy with my life.

Apologies for length, but I guarantee I’ve spent more time watching TV today than you just spent reading this.
(Katanma sleep enthusiast, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 20:19, 4 replies)

Watch My Family
The not very funny anymore since him in the BT adverts left "comedy" on BBC1/UKTv Gold. Because I'd happily fvck the father senseless. The younger son's grown up well too. And a quick trip to imdb.com reveals he's only three years younger than me, thank gawd.

If anyone needs me, I'll be having a very very cold shower...
(ToysForBigBoys would fuck the Tory out of David Cameron., Mon 17 Mar 2008, 20:15, 2 replies)

Going into a guitar shop
watching some kid playing bass badly for a while, then quietly sitting down and 'trying out' an instrument just to play a little slap bass, then watching as they quietly stop playing and walk off.

Makes me feel great for ages afterwards, being better than children.

Less guilty, more just sad, I guess.
(Pavlov'sDog Sit! Pavlov'sDog, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 19:50, 7 replies)

Excellant, I'm not alone!
going back a few years, I used to put my big fluffy dressing gown into the fridge before heading off for a nights clubbing.

You know that feeling you have when you get home at 4 o clock on a saturday morning, especially in summer, your all hot and sweaty and tired and sticky!.

Just imagine stripping off those stinky sweaty stale clothes while stood in the kitchen and then pulling on a refreashing icey fluffy dressing gown!!!

Sheer absolute bliss!
(RadG Thinks this kind of knobbery REALLY is funny on, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 18:57, 1 reply)

Machines
Whilst home alone of an afternoon, I like to create increasingly more contrived methods of automating masturbation.

Mainly because I'm a lazy bastard tbh.

Anyways, after various experiments with powertools and anything I can find about the house, the missus and I were doing some serious redecorating so we hired one of those paint-shaking machines. The sort where you clamp a paint-tin in it and switch it on and it oscillates vigourously, and saves you having to stir it manually.

Anyway, wife goes out and I go searching the house for parts to make a machine-penis interface. I fabricated something with a few layers of felt, rubber bands and gaffa-tape.

I started the machine, it was perfect. So I laid on the table next to it, got into position and set it going at about 60%.

Well that didn't take long, maybe 12 seconds. I'd struck gold in wanking efficiency.

Within maybe just over a minute, I'd cum 3 times and things were getting sticky. So I reached for controls, but in my ecstacy the machine had shuddered out of reach.

This was worrying and as I scrabbled around looking for something to cut the power with, pull the plug out anything. It didn't make it easy the fact that I cum two more times.

I was getting light-headed and was beginning to get distressed, though this was regularly punctuated with climaxes which were producing less and less fluid.

After maybe ten mins, I lost count at about 23 or 24. I lost track of time, but when my missus finally came in and rescued me I calculated that I'd been hooked up to it for best part of an hour and had probably orgasmed maybe 40 times. I looked like someone had glazed my abdomen with a dozen eggs.

The muscles behind the penis-root ached like hell. I now have groin muscles like Geoff Capes' biceps and when I shoot my load now I can hit the far wall with it.
(sandettie light vessel automatic My dog has no dictionary, how does it spell awful?, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 18:43, 7 replies)

I used to spit chewing gum
out of the car sunroof. Quite tricky; use insufficient force and it lands on the rear parcel shelf, but get it right and it's sucked ito the airstream like a Bond villain going out of a decompressing private jet.

Now I have a convertible and frankly, the thrill has gone.
(rogerzilla, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 18:35, Reply)

I crawled under my manager's desk
and, on the leggy bit near the floor, wrote "BUM" in the dust on on one side and "ARSE" on the other.

He never noticed, but it gave me a warm feeling just knowing it was there...
(rogerzilla, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 18:31, Reply)

right, i've had a think about it now
my guilty pleasures are:

watching ferngully
leaving toe jam under people's tables
watching extreme makeover: home edition - and crying at it
hugh fearnley-whittingstall
going for walks at 4 a.m and posting leaves through people's letterboxes
planning world domination
planning out escape routes and safe places to go in the event of a zombie attack
pulling faces at children
buying gnomes from poundland and putting them in people's gardens
air guitar
dancing around in my pants
eating tomato sauce or salad cream off the back of my hand
annoying my cat with a laser pointer
mashed potato with lots of butter and milk

there are probably many more, but i can't think of them right now.
( Smash Monkey it's a bitch convincing people to like you, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 18:28, 5 replies)

I dance.
In my pants.
In the mirror.
On my own.
To The Killers.

*cries*
( Lend Me Your Eyes twitter.com/lendmeyoureyes, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 18:24, Reply)

Well known urban myth, turns out to be be well guilty pleasure.
Most of the time when people hear this it's probably an urban myth, but it does happen...and I saw it with my own spherical light sensing organs. Obviously this in no way disproves the urban myth theory for any of you as you haven't, but take my word for it, small yorkshire terriers absolutely love licking butter (actually I think it was 'I Can't Believe It's Not Butter', but the dog obviously didn't notice the difference, thus proving their advertising claims too) and honey out of womens vajajays. Or one yorkshire terrier and one woman in particular anyway.

This was before I went to uni, I went round to this friends house unannounced (as you do) because she lived near me, went round the side to use the back door because that's the door we use in the north and caught an eyeful (is there anything larger than an eyeful? I probably caught that too) through the sitting room window. I watched for a couple of minutes before deciding it might be best if she was left to it for a while. Suffice to say my wank larder was well stocked for many months.

She still doesn't know I saw but may do now if she comes on b3ta.

/Edit oh, I'm guessing this counts as a guilty pleasure for both me and her, and possibly the dog. Imagine the moral quandary it must be going through 'oh, I love butter and honey, but is it right to eat them out of a womans snatch? I'm effectively a dog prostitute, A bitch whore'. Or maybe it loves it, you never can tell with dogs.
(Hippo_of_Doom, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 17:58, 4 replies)

what secret pastime pleasures me most?
Viewing last weeks challenge pictures!
(pulelehua.geo Ultralurker, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 17:33, Reply)

One more thing...
I don't know if I can call it a pleasure, but I have a habit of writing numerous swearwords in the comments of whatever code I may be writing. It does bring me great pleasure, however when I run the programs I have written and encounter an error calling me a 'maggot faced pig-fucking cunt' and not knowing what the hell I did wrong.

I am a much better coder now, but damn anyone to hell that wants me to stop swearing in any of my error messages. There's something quite pleasing about telling myself 'you fucked up' in an offensive a way as possible.

This has backfired slightly, as a piece of my university coursework some years ago involved using Java to write an octal calculator program. It was only very recently that i had a quick browse of the old code and noticed that I'd set the title bar of the window to

"It's a Fucking Calculator"

Oops. I had a feeling that work warranted a higher score than it recieved. It was a fucking calculator. It fucking worked, and it fucking worked in base eight. fuck base eight...

What?
(Lythium is a jello pudding eating motherfucker., Mon 17 Mar 2008, 17:14, 5 replies)

graffiti - for all the wrong reasons
quite often over the last 8 years or living in flats in Edinburgh I have taken a biro to the walls.
Though the trick is to write something rude but so small that you can't really see it and it just looks like a very slight blemish. its only when you are about 2 inches from it that you can read it. and then it'll be something like 'arse' or 'balls'.


This one keeps me amused for hours, in the knowledge that someone sometime will read one and wonder what the fuck is going on...

excellent.
(poofly, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 17:00, 4 replies)

Ashdoorhandle
When at parties and smoking tabs (or joints) and deep in conversation instead of looking for an ash tray I like to either flick the ash on the top of a door, or try really hard to balance it on top of the handle, safe in the knowledge that the next person to walk past will deposit it on the floor.

supremely amusing, especially when someone asks what the hell i'm up to.
(poofly, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 16:52, 1 reply)

Lots of answers on here about music..
I've always been seen by my friends as a bit of a music (and videogame) snob, eschewing most artists in favour of listening to my old favourites. Most of my faves aren't to a lot of people's tastes, and I'm a bit of an arse when someone insults my beloveds.

Anyone that knows me will state that my usual vices are along the lines of Nine Inch Nails (huuuuge fan), Megadeth, Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Melt-Banana, David Bowie, Joe Satriani, Jack off Jill, and other such interesting artists.

What they don't know is that I hide a disturbing little secret.

I fucking love Duran Duran.
I own almost everything (all the albums, most of the singles) on vinyl. As well as CD.
I feel so dirty after lying while trying to explain why I had a shit-eating grin on my face because I was listening to The Reflex, or The Chauffeur.

I also screamed like a bitch when my girlfriend surprised me with tickets to go see them in Manchester a couple of years ago (I was under the influence that it was just a random trip).

But that's just our little secret, you and me, shh!

I also like boobs. A lot. I don't feel guilty about it, however, so it doesn't apply to this QOTW.

Other things I (shouldn't) like:

Super Mario Bros. Super Show.
Really bad Schwarzenegger films. (But Commando is the most awesome film ever made)
The smell of my feet.
Chewing my nails.
Chewing my toenails.
Chewing my pens.
Chewing other people's pens.
Chewing anything plastic.
Chewing my guitar calluses.
Chewing everything. except gum. That's disgusting.

YAY BOOBS!

That's no moon. That's my cock.
(Lythium is a jello pudding eating motherfucker., Mon 17 Mar 2008, 16:50, 2 replies)

after sex
I hate being with the girl.

No Really. Id rather be with me mates down the pub. It all happens in a split second.

Its even worse if your going 69, one second your in heaven and you have a pink velvet split dressing caressing your lips, the smell is the sweatest horniest smell you could sniff, the next youve got a wet floppy cock and youve got what best can be descibed as a hairy axe wound that stinks of fish, wobbling its opening not 2 cms from your nose. Eugh


The girl wants a cuddle but they turn into what can be best described as the answer to green energy as she is on FIRE!!!

but all is well after about 10- 15 minutes and it all starts over again.

of course - you dont tell them that. nooooo, that could ruin your chances for the next time, you just put up with it...
(Dan dan dan is just on the right side of good, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 16:34, 7 replies)

Oh it's a Guillt-y pleasure
but so Ruud-e too



/Coat and Bag on the way out
(Princes Dags Cheese plant, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 16:28, 1 reply)

bring on the summer
on dead hot days, I like to leave a pair of socks in the fridge so that when I get home after a hard days drinking I can slip into some nice, ice cold socks.....
( deanovski, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 16:26, 2 replies)

Your own club
If im at a club and the DJ wont play the songs ive requested after asking 5 times, i simply just dance on the dance floor and sing the songs ive requested out loud over the top of what ever he's playing, i guess other people think i dont know the words and just making new ones up, but it makes me happy.
(beano, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 16:25, Reply)

ooh yes guilty desires
Is it just me or does cat food smell really appetising?
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:46, 8 replies)

Guilty desires
Have you ever noticed that just before masturbating, you always have an insatiable urge to taste your own cum?

And as soon as you've actually cum, the urge dissapears?

It's a bitch, isn't it.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed in your pint on, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:45, 6 replies)

Keyboard Spliffs
I have been known, in times of desperation, to take all the keys off my keyboard in order to extract the bits of weed that are hiding within.

Oddly, the spliffs that I make in this way are always the best spliffs EVER.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed in your pint on, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:43, Reply)

Hair Balls
When he was younger my brother used to pluck out tufts of his hair, roll it into a ball and stuff it up his nose.

My parents kept some (once removed from said nostril).
(Mean Mad Mutski, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:37, 3 replies)

Austrian
I like to tell people I meet that I'm Austrian, and get complimented for my excellent English. I also claim to be able to speak fluent Cantonese, and pick out different Korean dialects.


Somehow, this has yet to backfire.
(sinbad, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:36, 2 replies)

“Guns. Lots of guns”
On the odd occasion, when no-one else is in the house, I suddenly feel the urge to start an all out gun fight against invisible enemies.

Of course it has to be in slow motion complete with slowed down sound effects, like the lobby gun fight in the Matrix (hearing the Propeller heads makes me want to do this). The use of several remote controls for that twin pistol look only adds to this.

Trouble is I’m not very good and every gun fight eventually ends with me going out in a slow motion blaze of glory like at the end of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid before I am flung backward in a slow motion landing in a bloody heap on the floor.

I’m 30+ …………
(The Revolution will unfortunatly age on, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:31, 8 replies)

Yet more fart stories.
In bed sometimes I roll over and fart while using the rustling of the blanket as cover so my girlfriend won't hear. Obviously if it's a loud one I can't get away with it so I've developed the technique further. As I'm rolling I use my one hand to hold my arse cheek apart to minimise the noise. Most of the time it doesn't smell so I get away with it, but there are times when it does. That's a risk I'm willing to take.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:15, Reply)

Imaginery beers
Is this a guilty pleasure?

The Bro and I used to play a game whereby we'd take turns to order imaginery beers. We'd start off with something plausible like "Bishop's Elbow" or "Old Fozzock". Upon hearing the inevitable negative response we'd then come back with "Really? It was on last week. Oh well, pint of Guinness then please". Each return visit to the bar would require an increasingly outlandish name... "A pint of Grumpy Tuesday please mate". This can be limitless fun unless you keep getting the same bar staff, although you can just about pull it off in a real ale pub, where all the beers sound daft anyway.

We did this for several hours in a pub once, getting increasedly pissed and creating increasingly ridiculous names. The management threatened to kick us out... killjoys.
(Mean Mad Mutski, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 15:09, Reply)

More smelly stuff
Akin to the back of watch smell from the first time this question came round, I have to also admit to loving some other, very wrong, smells.

Mostly it's smeling my fingers, almost always surreptitiously after having done something;

-rooting around in my ear
-rooting around in my belly button
-scooping the horible stuff out of from under my toe nails (after horrible stuff has been disposed of, of course)
-sleeping

The favourite smell is the toe nail cheese smell (almost as good as the back of the watch), but the most interesting is the finger smelling after sleeping, trying to figure out, from the intermingled smells, just where I've had my fingers whilst asleep
(lardyboy Huzzah for civilisation!!!, Mon 17 Mar 2008, 14:50, 3 replies)