Free guilty pleasure papers, essays, and research papers.

no sexual guilty pleasures in your countdown ? you gotta have one you sneaky smiling … girl

FREE Essay on My Guilty Pleasures - Direct Essays

Ahh… I don’t know why, but every time I put on a pair of those soft socks, I feel like I’m a queen. They are just so cozy and warm. I love it when I get these socks as a gift and I treasure them. What guilty pleasures they truly are!

An essay or paper on My Guilty Pleasures

Regifting is something I think many people do but few will admit. It fits the true definition of guilty pleasure. It’s so fun to take that lame gift and pass it on. No need to feel guilty because the person you gave it to will probably pass it on too!

That magazine is so bad, it’s good. It is one of the easiest guilty pleasures out there. Just grab one at the supermarket for a few hours of indulgence. I don’t care that most of that celebrity stuff isn’t true; I just want to look at all the pictures and dream that I owned as many pairs of shoes as Suri Cruise.


Guilty pleasure essay - ILM Tool

These are my guilty pleasures
1) listening to grease songs
And memorize them by heart
2) watching chick flicks such
As dirty dancing and grease
3) dancing to the spice girls
Song wannabe at dance parties
4) watching glee episodes on fox
5) going on movie dates with
My boyfriend Josh Brundage
6) dancing to slow songs with my
Boyfriend Josh at dance parties
7) choreograph my own dance moves
8) have some girl talks with my
Family friend Katie Colosimo
9) read novels and watching
Really sad TearJerking movies
10 I bail into tears when I watch
Tearjerkers and I sing without
Anyone in my family noticing

Guilty Pleasure Essay Examples | Kibin

In a completely chaotic whirlwind of obscure natural concoctions and a bizarre stylistic approach, Samuel Taylor Coleridge immaculately models the broader spectrum of Romantic literature in his infamous poem, “Kubla Khan.” Through his obscure structural foundation and recurring syntactical elements, Coleridge guides us in a dreamlike trance through the “pleasure-dome” of Xanadu, a portal into the fascinating mind of one of the world’s greatest Romanticists....

Guilty Pleasure | College Essays About school | Teen Ink

Oh. My. Gosh. Talk about a guilty pleasure – I could listen to a guy with an accent talk all day long. If it’s a European or Australian accent, I turn to complete mush. This is one guilty pleasure I don’t get to experience often, but when I do, I can’t get enough.

All of the Pleasure. None of the Guilt. - The New York Times

I admittedly can't work out whether anyone would consider this a guilty pleasure in the first place ("I have no idea," shrugged John when this was played in Quietus HQ, "this just sounds like shit music to me"), but in any case it's emblematic of a certain fondness I've always had for that particular turn-of-the-millennium school of fast, overblown chart trance and Ibiza-aimed house and techno. Blaring from radio and MTV around the time of my burgeoning awareness of dance music culture and what came with it, to a teenage mind 'Touch Me' and its accompanying video - hedonistic, romantic yet basically uneventful, something that could be said of most good house parties - hinted towards all sorts of strange and enticing mysteries that would come to be unravelled in time. That, I think, is largely down to the strange, intangible sense of melancholy at the song's heart, an affect far more complex than the strung-out, MDMA-fuelled joy overload of most late 90s/early 2000s 'euphoria' pop-dance. A swarming mist of high-pitched whistling tones, like falling drizzle captured in cobalt-blue light, parts in its opening minutes, creating a translucent screen between listener and the song's earthier dancefloor impuses; you're made to feel like a witness to a party you'll never be allowed access to, like gazing into a sweat-soaked club scene through a glass wall. That's heightened by the chasmic void between Cassandra Fox's vocals and Rui Da Silva's piston-pump peaktime production - swimming through a limpid sea of reverb, she drifts in space, far from the action as it unfolds, another outsider looking in. "You'll always be my baby," sighs Fox, almost through gritted teeth, as if in an act of self-steeling; but the tone of her voice hints that she already knows otherwise. The next line, delivered with a bitter tang, as if from that sad future now long come to pass, confirms it: "I'm always thinking of you, baby." It went to Number 1 in the UK upon its release, a reminder that for all the beige dross that clogs up the charts, moments of transcendent weirdness can still slip through the net.