A belated gift of a trip to Dublin for my 40th birthday.
Charlie supplied the airfare.1
I supplied the hotel hotels.2
Todd supplied the laughter,3 the cheap bastard.
A good time was had by all, save for our livers; Charlie’s is still busy trying to escape from his body to live to die another day. Anywho, three days of pub crawl drinking reminded me that 40 is the new 60 80. Highlights included touring Guinness HQ at St. James Gate and visiting Kilmainham Gaol, a mere five hour walk from Temple Bar.
1 I’m still not sure, but I think I was a drug mule. A drug mule who had to take two different airlines and three legs to get from A to B.
2 I hate The Clarence—and that smug POS Bono—with the fire of one million billion suns. They suck deviled eggs, made by Satan himself. Any stars they had were long ago sucked into oblivion by the black hole that is their front desk customer service. If you are ever in Dublin and want to stay in Temple Bar without getting financially ass raped for a 5’ x 7’ closet room with a “hip” TV/PC that sounds like a 747 on takeoff, go to the Paramount Hotel and luxuriate in more space, better attitudes, reasonable prices and free Wi-Fi. Trust me. Further trust me that booking two hotels for one trip tends to get expensive. Further further trust me that even if AMEX says they have your back, they don’t—but they still want $450/year to act like they have your back, the rat bastards.
3 I don’t remember laughing once. That said, I don’t remember much of anything. Wait…what were we talking about?
