Sunday, the 1st
It’s
August already? What the funk? Well anyways, July, you were great, not quite
sure where you went, but its August now, shit.
We got up from bed at the usual 10am and rolled our bags downstairs…now
our load was much lighter as the real Bags shoved off early. But this time, we
took the city bus into town. We get to
the hostel around 11 and check our bags…question…you have a 4-story hostel with
a 1,000sq. ft. common area, but your luggage room is the size of the maids
closet…did it not occur to you that although we are at a hostel, we may have a
bag with us that needs storage…whatever.
Once checked in, we find a note at the front desk from Gabe…Doll Head
Lovin says Gabe, if you don’t know the story, don’t ask, as all of us who do
know the story wish we never heard it in the first place…not even Doug asked
questions about this one.
At
noon we drug our asses out for an Irish breakfast…if you will notice, breakfast
at noon…its not a crime to my knowledge, get over it. After a cornucopia of breakfast items, we
summoned our unwavering strength to make a long, arduous journey to the real
Mecca…sorry Muslims, you have been going to the wrong place for thousands of
years…we are off to the Guinness Factory.
After a good mile walk, we took a quick break at the main entrance, died
quickly, and went to heaven/the factory.
Eleven
euros, holy shit, that’s a cheap ticket to Mecca…I feel like the Muslims pay
way more to get to their place…see, this one is better. (If you shook your head
at that comment, remember that you chose to come to this blog and nobody is
preventing you from the little x in the top right corner…if you just shook your
head again, suck one, and go press the x, you are no longer welcome)
Now
that we only have our most faithful, dedicated readers with us, I can
continue. Between a history of Guinness
that Damien could even make exciting, and a tour through the 200 foot pint
glass shaped museum, I am really glad all of these old dudes really love beer. I mean, Guinness is fabulous, but I don’t
think I would ever start a beer company…so Arthur G., you are a man and a
scholar…a beer in your name! We
continued the tour by learning how to pour the perfect pint…push tap away from
you, 45 degree angle, fill to the harp…settle…final pour with tap towards
you…DO NOT SPILL…sit for 119.5 seconds…boom, perfect pint. With a certificate to prove it, we headed to
the Gravity Bar, got a cool look of the entire city (of Dublin obviously), then
booked it through the gift shot and out the door. Best pint ever (yes, I drank the pint I
poured, sorry, I thought that was obvious).
Can’t forget the 1-wide 3-high, it can be done.
The
rain was pouring down, the Gaelic football match was outside…we skipped on that
one. Back to the hostel…looking for Doll
Head Gabe. Found him, chatted, he was
low on rations, had a few euros, buy some bread and tuna right? Nope, beer…MY MAN. Gabe headed out to hear some traditional
music, Aaron finished his paper, Jay and I sat around and did frat things. We finally shoved off, and for the life of
us, could not find Gabe…sorry man, but where the fu*k is O’Shea’s. Some lady told us its an old man bar…we figured
we had the wrong bar, then we remembered we were looking for Gabe, a wise man
in the body of a 25 year old, of course he is here. In any case, sorry Gabe, couldn’t find you.
Anyway,
shitty burger place, one beer, and a cover band later, we were beat. Usually there is a good night-time story, but
if you recall, we are usually drunk for those…this time, sober…no story…sorry
folks.
What’s
up bed by 12:30…good thing I love people snoring.
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