Probably time to update this behemoth I think. 2004 was the last time I did so and a lot has changed. Oh, here's my old summary:

I am a lust-powered mandroid, built and designed especially to make you feel like one million of your Earth dollars.

And here's my new summary:

I'm an Irish guy, teetering on the wrong end of my twenties, who has finally grabbed some stability and lego to garnish some semblance of a life. Until January 2007 I lived in Galway, Ireland, having been born in Dublin, Ireland. For a spell I lived in Strasbourg, France.

Through random chances, a drunken boast and an insatiable thirst for kiwifruit, I've ended up living in New Zealand with a wonderful woman.

Studied to get a snazzy Honours Degree in Computing, so I've used it to good advantage and secured a tasty job in the major university in Wellington, NZ.

Tara and I had a baby in January 2008, which on seeing, my father exclaimed "Thats the hairiest baby I've ever seen in my life."

Luckily it was all on her head in the right places, but still.. poor little thing.

Reading people, gauging their sense of humour within a few sentences, and making them laugh until some kind of liquid or cake comes out of their nose. Yup, boastful but true.

I've previously made the Hotlist on OKCupid, so I feel somewhat justified kissing my quivering biceps for hours at a time.

Pulsating ripped muscles, shining tresses, dazzling whole-body suntan, sparkling diamond-like eyes, enchanting sense of humour that makes women strip on punchline, and buttocks like two eggs in a hanky.

Breakfast is served.

(a) At present I'm reading Rolf Harris' autobiography. God, I wish that was a joke. Aside from that, I like 'Papillion' which I highly recommend to everyone, especially for the scene in which Henry urinates on the cows nose.

(b) So many. Princess Bride, Neverending Story, Labyrinth, Dark Crystal, Willow (see a trend?), Ghostbusters, Anything by Jean-Pierre Jeunet or Wes Anderson (especially Life Aquatic), Zombie Schlock Horror style films, Back to the Future trilogy, crap 60's Carry-on films, Clockwork Orange, terrible yet outstanding 70's kung-fu, really, really cringingly bad 80's films (like all those body swap ones - Look, I'm my father!). In fact, I think really bad talking animal films (where only one person can hear the animal, you know) are so amazingly bad they orbit hell and become good.

(c) Stuff like the Pixies, the Cure, Depeche Mode, The Smiths and their derivitives. Arcade Fire are pretty special. I'm as open minded as they come though, right about now my current playlist has 1920s skiffle, 70s Psychedelia, synthy 80s electropop, modern indie/rock and it changes week by week. I'm not a music snob at all, nor do I fit any handy genre, but I am a serious lover of music.

(d)I don't know, lets say... herbivores.

Instead of six things I could never do without, heres a loose limerick I just made up

There once was a stripper called Bridget Who happened to be a hot midget Her bulbous behind expanded in kind thus making the gentlemen fidget

My apologies to any stripper midgets out there.

Call me.

Bad starting lines to short stories. Here are some award winners:

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The countdown had stalled at T minus 69 seconds when Desiree, the first female ape to go up in space, winked at me slyly and pouted her thick, rubbery lips unmistakably -- the first of many such advances during what would prove to be the longest, and most memorable, space voyage of my career.

As the hippo's jaws clamped on Henry's body he noted the four huge teeth badly in need of a clean, preferably with one of those electric sonic toothbrushes, and he reflected that his name would be immortalized by his unusual death, since hippo killings are not a daily occurrence, at least not in the high street of Chipping Sodbury.

Agent 53986262.9 was strapped precariously to a giant Chinese firework, the fuse slowly shortening like a noodle getting slurped into someone's pursed lips, and although he knew he was running out of time and still had no plan for escape, all he could think of was the song about the Muffin Man and how the word "polyurethane" made it sound like the material was made out of multiple urethras.

As the fading light of a dying day filtered through the window blinds, Roger stood over his victim with a smoking .45, surprised at the serenity that filled him after pumping six slugs into the bloodless tyrant that mocked him day after day, and then he shuffled out of the office with one last look back at the shattered computer terminal lying there like a silicon armadillo left to rot on the information superhighway.

The moment he laid eyes on the lifeless body of the nude socialite sprawled across the bathroom floor, Detective Leary knew she had committed suicide by grasping the cap on the tamper-proof bottle, pushing down and twisting while she kept her thumb firmly pressed against the spot the arrow pointed to, until she hit the exact spot where the tab clicks into place, allowing her to remove the cap and swallow the entire contents of the bottle, thus ending her life.

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/
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Check out my site - http://www.chimpwithalimp.com

Playing fetch with Whistler til the wee hours. That sounds like dirty slang, but I almost assure you it's not.

When I was a child my 'party piece' was a sumptuous, witty turn worthy of Oscar Wilde, whereby I would release a repulsive belch and feign a trumpet shape with my tiny, grubby hands.

You see the beauty, of course, that my childish mind thought that a trumpet blaring somehow resembled the sound of a grubby-faced five year old belching.

They were laughing at me, not with me.

Your mind is open and lengthy, or your arms are.

I promise I'll answer any message, and almost any question.