Crispssssssss.

A small species of spuddling was once counting his crisp funds in his end-of-limb-paw-palm. He had decided enough was enough. His lower-end-of-limbs, had recently been through a significant traumatic experience, resulting in his 'crisps' (note: spuddling's lower-end-of-limbs are crisps), being reduced to mere crumblings, after all the crisping about at Lloyds no. 1 bar Carlisle. So, after evaluating, budgeting, and then deciding on his new flavour of crisps, he gandered over to the Crispian Express (next to the frying pan in Stanwix THERE), for the numerous plus one time, and purchased a brand new pair of salt and vinegar discos....as the walkers plain style just couldnt handle the extravagant amounts off crisping.

Awk! Me arse-hooole!

WELL HELLO DER! I'm Seamus, and I'm from Ireland! When I introduce myself, I always have to tell everyone I'm Irish. I suppose they could tell from my accent, but then I wouldn't be able to speak some more to hear my voice. I love the way when I say "thirty-three and a third", it sound like "turty-tree-and-a-turd". I know for a fact that everyone loves my because of my irishness. Its just one of them things.

If I could, I'd marry myself because of it all. And at the wedding we'd all sing the beautiful national anthem. Standing there all proud and tall, (or proud and small, as we are all infact little leprechaun )...singing away in our lovely drunken voices. Afterwards we'd brake into the Irish jig. Hopping around with limbs merrily waving about, smashing guinness and whiskey glasses as we went. Because, after all, thats what we do best. Drink. Alcohol I mean. We always think were right when were intoxicated, so thats all the time I suppose. Louting about, having the craic, the laughter, basically whatever them random words are on the window in that shitty Irish pub in Carlisle.

Anyway. Spuds, are my favourite food. Or potatoes as you lot will probably call them. Boil em. Mash em. Stick em in a stew. Its all good. To be honest, all I really eat are spuds. A three course meal in Ireland, thats starter, main, and dessert, usually consists always of potatoes, but in different forms. Lets say, chips, then boiled for our main, and then mashed for dessert. When I eat, I take take little nibbles. So really I can't really taste the bastarding food anyway. Thats probably why we don't eat anything other than spuds. We wouldn't appreciate the sophistication of other food groups. Its a real novelty when something else gets served. It really is.

I'm a very religious lad. Catholic I am. Were always right us Catholics. Our believes are the only true believe to believe in. We all worship this all singing all dancing old man with white pubes for hair, and that wears a silly squashed squarey oblong hat. With a tassel on it. We all have midlife crisis' because we are guilt tripped into thinking everything we do is wrong, and unholy. To be honest, I'm a shit catholic. I just say I am one because I'm scared of what the neighbors will say. Their all gossips. Every single last one of them. God forbid if I wasn't at church on Sunday. Old biddys keeling over in shock. But I am one of them people though, when I walk passed a church, I will want to go in. To mass. Just so everyone can look and go "ooooooo" he's faithful.

I'm so paranoid. Infact, the whole country is. Everyone suspects the Irishman. Always been used as a scapegoat. For instance, I went to get a new mobile the other week. Everything was fine until they said i had to pay a bastarding deposit on the thing. they probably thought because I was Irish i was gonna run away with the phone and not pay my bills.

I believe everything. I'm so gullible. Ghosts, the end of the world, Friday the 13th, all this spiritual, superstitues shite. Really I'm a big fanny, a scardy cat, whatever. I work myself up something rotten, scare myself silly. And then go to the pub to have the craic and try and forget about it. I think I may have to go back to Belfast and visit the orb. Ya know, get rid of these suspicions and this paranoia at long last. Its very compelling this orb. It was present at my communion. Set me on the not so very straight and narrow.

Right lads and lasses, I'm off out to the pub. Well, tell a lie, I'm writing this on my laptop, the pub has Wi-Fi. OKAY, it doesn't really, Ireland doesn't have Wi-Fi yet. Were so behind the fecking times.

Well anyway den, good luck to ye.

DO NOT BE OFFENDED BY THE ABOVE. I LOVE THE IRISH REALLY.

My Story By Stevie G Miller.

Hiya. I'm called Stevie. And I'm a little westie. I was named after some footballer called Steven Gerrard. One of my favourite places in the world, is perched on the back of the sofa, watching the humans walk past the window. I like to make it all squashed down so I can nest. I havn't really been to a lot of places in the world though. I did once go camping. And when I came back I was very tired and I ate a fruit pastel ice lolly to revitalise my inners.

I don't like cats very much, especially the ones next door. They're smelly, and one of them looks like an inside out hand. It annoys me when they position themselves on the wall and look at me, with their yacky eyes. Ergh. Another thing I am not very fond of is our hoover. The noise is scary so I like to bite the big black sucky tail thing. But then I get called Steven, told off and put outside... which is where the cats sit and look.

Personally, I think the best day off the week is Sunday. I always know its Sunday because I can usually smell chicken and other food that humans associate with "the day of rest". If I'm a good boy I get some in my bowl on the floor. I hover round the kitchen while the dishes get washed because I know when thats done I can go for a walk round the river. I like this. My most favourite activity is to roll around in cow poo.

Well I'm a tired little doggie-nom. So I'm going to get ready to be taken upstairs and watch tv. I have to be taken up the stairs, because my limbs are very small, and I can't really climb up the big stairs. Once I got stuck on my belly on the giant step. I can manage the little ones though.

Right thats mum going upstairs. Better follow her otherwise I'll be stranded down here, and I don't want to miss Sky Sports News.

What does "nom" mean?

Well Ladies and Gentlenoms. Nom, is one of my favourite words ever. It is usually associated with the sound the cookie monster makes when he's feeding on cookies. I suppose its a form of chewing. Nom nom nom. It can also be used as a sign of affection. Like, "I wanna kiss you, nomnomnom." This act of said affection would be described as "noming", quite cute really :) I have been nomed many a time.

In the past year, the word nom has took on a whole new meaning. Cretins the world over are referring to people they fancy (I hate that word) as noms. If you get one nom, you're defiantly a fitty. Two noms, and you're well on your way. Three noms and you have surpassed what was once thought humanly possible.

To educate you further on the nom topic, I recommend you inspect urban dictionary.

Urban Dictioary: NOM

Simon the Slug speaks out.

Hi. I am a slug. I move slowly, and when its late at night I am probably going somewhere important. So its in your best interest to leave me alone. Sometimes I like resting on the tile floors in kitchens of Church Terrace. Thats in Stanwix, which is in Carlisle. I don't really like Carlisle. But thats beside the point. Legend has it i enjoy eating cabbages and lettuce, and other greenery in gardens and other places of outsideyness. Ihave eyes, which are attached to my body. I don't know why its actually called a body, because I don't have any limbs. But anyway, I have eyes, as I was saying, but I don't really have much control over them, they just move around. So if I look like I'm looking at you, I really wouldn't flatter yourself, because I'm really not looking at your misformed human face on purpose. Anyway, as I said, late at night I'm probably on my way somewhere very important, so I best be on my way. Bye.

Hmmmmmm.

Hello world... actually probably not even a small segment of the world BUT ANYWAY: My name is Ah-licks. I am a proud cretin, and I like to write stuff. Most of the silly things I write have no place in society, are aimless, and if you read enough of the kak I come out with, will eventually almost certainly turn what brain you have into mush. I like mush, and I like the way it sounds. Mush. Mushy. Mushy peas. But I don't like mushy peas. Or peas for that matter.

I get emotionally attached to inanimate objects, and like to give them personalities. While I do all this, I can imagine it all playing out in my head. I also enjoy writing about said objects/animals/whatevers. Even if it doesn't make sense to you, it entertains me, and through prior knowledge, I know that my silly way of thinking eventually will be understood by others.

Moving on, and getting to the point, this is my blog. I have no idea what blog means. But I intend to google it in the near future. Basically, I needed somewhere to write all this stuff floating around in my head. And Facebook can only help so much. I'm a faster typer than I am writer so I though this blogging thing was a nice idea. So this way I can share all my cretin thoughts with people who may be remotely interested.

P.S I once got emotionally attached to a burnt pizza.