Ciaran profile picture

Ciaran

I am here for Friends and Networking

About Me

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To begin, this is a tale of how my very existence was twisted and transformed in a most peculiar way. Please have a seat, for I wish to take a moment to relate to you the fascinating odyssey which ultimately led to my reign as the Prince of Bel-Air. I was sired and reared in West Philadelphia. As a lad, most of my time was spent at the neighborhood recreation center where I would laze about and relax in a most charming manner - that is, when I was not engaging my chums in a friendly game of basketball at the schoolhouse. Around this time, two young hooligans had begun to stage a campaign of vandalism and intimidation in my neighborhood. When my mother discovered I had had a bit of an altercation with the ruffians, she insisted I leave town at once and take up lodgings with my aunt and uncle in Bel-Air. As the taxi approached, heeding my beckoning whistle, I could discern the word "FRESH" emblazoned upon its license plate, and took particular note of the pair of plush novelty dice which hung from the rear-view mirror. I was a bit taken aback by these strange omens, but quickly put them out of my mind as I cheerfully called to the driver: "To Bel-Air, my good man!" We arrived safely in Bel-Air at dusk, and as the driver came to a stop in front of the house where I was to live, I left him with the words: "Farewell, sir. Perhaps my nostrils shall delight in your aroma once more!" To be sure, it was a long journey, and as I gazed upon my estate in all its splendor, I knew once and for all that my rightful place was on the throne - as the young scion of the great and mighty kingdom of Bel-Air!

My Interests

I'd like to meet:


Not this guy...

...truly terrifying

Music:





Movies:

Amelie
Garden State
The Lord of the Rings
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Clerks

various awful B-movies such as:
Troll 2
The Langoliers
Class of Nuke 'em High
Zombie Holocaust etc..

Television:

Scrubs
I'm Alan Partridge
Curb Your Enthusiasm

Those educational programmes that're always on when you stumble in drunkenly(/stoned?) at 3am. The presenters generally sport an impressive pair of sideburns and are clad head to toe in brown corduroy/knitwear, whilst boasting an unrivalled and encyclopaedic knowledge of the mating techniques of Amazonian weevils. I could watch that shit for hours.

Books:

Charles Bukowski
Kafka
Mark Z.Danielewski
Borges
Hemingway
Edgar Allen Poe
Kerouac
Camus
Nietzsche
Hermann Hesse

Heroes:

Dave Benson Phillips
Pat Sharpe
Terry Nutkins