Why does being bad feel so good?
At school being bad at hockey was liberating. (I once let in a goal because I was chatting to a defender about how much I hated the games teacher, but the goal was disallowed because it "had been hit from too far away" - ie. the opposite goal post). Being bad at maths meant I could torment the maths teacher. ("I'm sorry, Sir, but I just don't believe in negative numbers.")
Being bad at filing awarded me great satisfaction in a Commercial Estate Agents. I doubt whether they ever found the details for 76, Hillcrest Rise. Ha!
Occasionally - children, please note the occasionally - going to bed without brushing my teeth feels O! so rebellious.
Bad language - swearing. What can possibly be bad about swearing when it's so bloody satisfying?
Misusing apostrophes deliberately - to annoy the pedantic old crows amongst your friends - blissful.
Creating fake personas on social networking and blogging sites - not that I'd ever do anything quite as bad as that, you understand - must be too, too delicious ...
I realise that I am only scraping the surface of Badness. I must try harder; affairs, bank heists, forgeries of Great Works of Art, graffiti (witty, of course), fiddling my expenses.
But of course, the ideal career beckons ...