romancing the stone

why hello again dear readers, and welcome back. since last embarrassing (yes, ASSing) post, we have bussed, boated, and booted the 4 p’s into place. well sort of, like the way ¾s of the right test answers get you a solid C. either way, we definitely saw some green things, rocky things, and old shit. lots of old shit. from lots of bus windows. too many bus windows in fact, and i’m not just saying that because of my current, uh, SITuational handicap; yea, the bum bum hurts but the busses get boring. so let me begin the end of our irish tale, where the magical mr. mazer did not even start.

step aboard this tourist trek, and imagine the perfect irish spring day, the day that soaps and tourist pictures are made of; the kind of day for which you forgo the snooze button. it was with that picture perfect promise shining through the window that someday, last week, we arose to venture to the aran islands. climbing into the taxi to take us to the bus to take us to the ferry, our driver john cusack confirmed this perfection with a ‘beautiful day for yous.’ yes yes, a beautiful day just for us.

arriving at our previously determined printed out point of departure, with no bus in sight, we made a panicky decision to examine the other bus station in town. a small man with an electric orange vest gestured rapidly that we must go back from where we came and find a bus somewhere there. and so, johnny boy drove us back, where we concluded that the bus was around the corner, but no employee was particularly certain if or when it left. after much deliberation, it was decided that the bus had left 2-3 minutes into deliberation.

mountains, ant hills; limes, lemonade – when in rome do what the romans do?! yea we made the most of it, buying tickets to a bus tour of connemara and cong, which was particularly crowded and indecisively seated. much of the excitement of the day came from the musical bus chairs game the non english speakers were playing. below are some of the attractive highlights; however, my personal favorite part had to do with one of our fellow passengers. there we were, in ireland, standing in a pile of ruined old shit, listening to a self-proclaimed bus-driving comedian, when a particular smart ass audience member grabbed center stage. and there we all were staring at an uncomfortably obese and causally crippled american who proceeded to loudly and effeminately enunciate: ‘i’m from kentucky, YOU SSSSSS AYYYYYYYYY!’

aforementioned beautiful day.

aforementioned beautiful day.

that alexander, he sure is great.

that alexander, he sure is great.

i buy for you.

i buy for you.

later that evening, after providing the funkmaster’s flatmates with giggles and american drinking game inspired hiccups, we steadfastly dreamt of island success that just had to be the story for our following day.

so when cabbie cusack shook his head at our rainy reattempt, we were undeterred. perhaps stupidly, but we made that damn bus, rocked that damn ferry, and even felt so good we got into another damn bus and had another little man tell us the story of his homeland, complete with a bit about the 3 family compound he grew up in, that housed 32 children at one time. imagine those dinners. in all reality, the aran islands are really frickin’ cool. they are the last bit of ol’ erin, safely preserved in routine tourism. electricity didn’t come to the islands until the mid 70’s, and even today the bank is only open on wednesdays when a mainlander comes to collect dues. we were on the largest of the 3 islands, inishmore, which boasts one of the oldest forts, dun angues, hanging around atop of sheer cliffs. the cliffs are literally killer (at a 150 meters straight drop into the ocean) and recklessly approachable, even when it pisses down rain. alex referred to the japanese tourists in his post, and it was here that they found a fine location for jumping jacks.

11 children, 1 thatched roof.

11 children, 1 thatched roof.

self titled.

self titled.

alright, moving on to the next tourist destination: county cork and the blarney stone! yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah! after a rather lackluster easter mass, funkmaster + friend and this dynamic duo headed to blarney castle, and proceeded to prove that it is not humanly possible for the locals to piss on the blarney stone, unless of course you believe in fairy urine and dislocatable genitals. so, MYTH=semiBUSTED.* we then sat down to delicious irish fare at captain america’s, the only place in the world that serves a wee bit of cardboard with every burger. freemeal’d!

we only come out at night.

we only come out at night.

toot toot, final stop: dublin. going against conventional wisdom, we arrived in dublin and fell collectively unconscious due to the power of a sign that boasted “10 euro a bed, free WIFI.” awaking, we found the only difference between this place and a heroin den was the visibility of drugs, and perhaps the presumption of existent internet. without going closer than 5 feet from the toilet room, i knew i was going to be spending the next 24hrs exercising my thigh squatting muscles. quickly and blindly dropping our bags, we ventured out to experience the real dublin: eddie (ie: johnny) rockets and a movie! ah, it was rainy so, whatever.

a tasty treat from the local american embassy.

a tasty treat from the local american embassy.

after a fairly sleepless night for one and not for the other, we actually did see dublin. speed walking through the city, we saw templebarststephensgreendublincastle and most importantly, the guinness factory. as ireland is a magic-fearing land, we kept with the theme and managed to turn 2 free pints into 8.5 free pints. sufficiently saucy, we returned to dumpland hostel so as to bid ireland farewell and move middle east.

it is from here i write, the rhythmically ringing cairo. and that’s all i’ve got to say about that.

*this has been supremely covered and recorded, so stay tuned and one day you will get to watch alex go to 2nd base with a stone (available in surround sound).

9 Responses to “romancing the stone”

  1. Mumm-Ra: The Ever-Living Says:

    too long, didn’t read

  2. Cheers guys. Keep it going. Figures some redneck from Kentucky would find his way into your world. You just can not escape your roots. Stay safe and enjoy the wonderful world you travel. Love, Dad

  3. Electronic Pierre Says:

    Why do ducks have webbed feet?

    To stamp out fires.

    Why do elephants have flat feet?

    To stamp out burning ducks


  4. the one who sat on hippie shit Says:

    i hope you all influenced the japanese to play leap frog…it seems more fitting while there is green all around and water so close but so deadly. i got into tasmania so it is indeed official. i hope to see both of your rugged smelly faces soon. hopefully in a more comforting place than the hostel that yall respectively chose…Megan, thigh workouts are worth the couple dollars saved…well, its obvious that you already recognized the importance of that.
    venture on folks!
    p.s. my alien crater on the face is dissipated…your bum must be in the recovery stage by now. so i hope.

    • hippie shit? alien craters on the face? blemished bums? what interesting children with which i have been blessed. may the sun shine on both your faces and that bum. love dad off to the races.

      • Dad, I’m fairly certain that neither of your children wrote that post. Neither one of us has received any kind of acceptance to Tasmania. but wouldn’t that be nice?

  5. yo LBlaze. this may come as a surprise, but there are other dads besides the one whose seed spawned you.

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