Kiss My Blarney

My first time in Ireland I was with a tour group, mostly Americans, and we had this beautiful blonde as our guide. One American guy was very obnoxious toward her, kept flirting with her even though everyone could tell she wasn't interested. You know, one of those guys who never gets the hint.

When we went to Blarney it was raining so hard they wouldn’t let us go see the Stone, because people slipped on the stairs and sued or something. So we piled back onto the bus, all soaked, and the obnoxious guy told the tour guide, “Well, since I won’t get a chance to kiss the Blarney Stone, and I’m sure you have, if you kiss me, it’ll be like I got to kiss the Blarney Stone, so this trip won't be a waste.”

The tour guide gave him a dazzling smile and said in her perfect brogue, “I’ve never actually kissed the Blarney Stone. . . but I have sat on it.”

So everyone’s laughing at this guy, and he's plenty pissed off. Later he said she must be a lesbian, if she wasn’t into him; yeah, he was that kind of guy. I said, “No, it just proves she has taste!”

That night I ran into her in the hall, told her what a great joke it was, and she thanked me and invited me to dinner with her. Later she invited me to her room, and. . .

The next morning I was leaving her room, putting my shirt on, when the obnoxious guy passed by and saw me. . .

I shrugged, “Told you she has taste. . .”

And as a friend said, “Who wants to kiss the backwash of a million lips?”

{Believe it or not, this story actually inspired a song of the same title--look for it on myspace}

{{Edit--here it is:  http://www.myspace.com/mtnbch }}