So there I was having a cup of tea in some wee town south of Dublin, when a bearded chap grasping his pipe walked up. He said his name was Grandad and that I should follow him. So, being the American that I am, I followed him to his car. We drove west and enjoyed a bit of craic on the radio. I asked where we were going and he muttered something about the spa.
A few minutes later, we pulled up on the kerb close to a bunch of cows. He grinned and said he’d tell me the secret to hookin’ a lass. He went on to point out that fresh cow piss was like an aphrodisiac to the Irish women. He said I’d have to fight them off with a stick, whilst holding his pipe and smiling.
A moment or two later, we heard one of the cows grunt and turned to find one cow weeing while another watched. He motioned for me to put my head under the shower of urine, so I did and endured a tepid stench that I’ll not forget. I patted off a bit and we hopped back in the car and started back to the southeast.
We drove further south towards a village that I’m not privy to tell you all about. We pulled o’er in the centre of the village and he enquired if I wanted a coffee.
We sat down at a lovely coffee shop and had several cups of the black stuff. The lass behind the counter called it an Americana and he growled and said he wanted a tall black cup of coffee. They argued for a bit over the name and we went out into the gorgeous sunlight to catch some rays. He lit his pipe and I had a traditional scone.
The ladies kept talkin’ ’bout me and holding their noses. I reckon it was because they were wanting me or something. I always knew that being a country boy would pan out. The waitresses would run over and nervously pour some more coffee, sniff, snarl, and run away. One woman kept offering to bathe me. I mean, what was she wanting? 
Grandad was right. I was having to fight the women off with their towels and buckets of water. They said they’d never smelled a Yank quite like me.
We had a delightful chat until the Irish Army arrived in their full regalia. I don’t know who they were watching, me or Grandad. They kept gagging and making faces. I guess it was from the sight of an American? The jury is still out on that one. One bloke leaned over and offered me €5 for a bar of soap! I think he was just jealous of all the women talkin’ ’bout me.
It wasn’t long after that when the lovely K8 and puppychild arrived. Grandad preached a wee sermon about how American’s were trying to take over the place, while puppychild coloured in a book and K8 and myself paid him no attention. After a few cups of java, we headed back to Head Rambles manor. The place was absolutely amazing. We talked some more about family, life,and what not. Granny offered me a place to clean up, but I didn’t want to relinquish the powerful pheromones from the cow yet.
All the talk of life and what not was bit too serious for Grandad and myself, so we started knocking back a few pints of Guinness. Before I knew it, the craic was fluent and pints were pouring. We were all having a blast! Before I knew it I was wobbling around and laughing like a drunken school boy.
He whispered something into K8′s ear, and we set off for some grub. We went to the infamous Johnny Fox’s but they were not serving supper. I was a famished boyo. So, we went onto Bray and ate at the Barracuda, which is a beautiful restaurant facing the Irish Sea. I was still a bit liquored up by this point, but very grateful to be in the presence of an extremely intelligent and gorgeous woman. We watched a violet sun melt into the sea. I drunkenly devoured a calamari salad and yet another pint of Bulmer’s.
On the way back to the hotel, I had passed from stupid drunk to sleepy drunk. Next thing I knew, I felt a cool rush of air and a nudge on my right shoulder. I went tumbling down the roadside and into the bog. Evidently Grandad had given K8 direct instructions to knock me into the bogs on her way home.
So there I was soaking wet and covered in muck. After a lot of struggling and swimming through the muck like Bear Grylls had taught me on the telly, I made it back to the road.
I have one hell of a sense of direction. Maybe it is all the metal in me feet? Anyhow, I made it back to my room about 3:00AM catching all sorts of snarls and scowls from the staff whilst dragging bits of turf through the entryway. I went to me room, called Brian F. to tell him the story, cleaned up, and passed out.
Stay tuned for part two on the morrow…
P.S.: Many apologies for the lateness in posting all. The laptop I used in Ireland was returned to its rightful owner without thinking about all of the post I had written in Windows Live Writer. I had to steal it back for a few days. 
And, thanks again to Grandad, K8, and Granny.
UPDATE: I’ll post the next segment late Sunday night or early Monday morning. Thanks…
20 days since your last post!
I’m just saying…ya’ know
“being the American that I am, I followed him to his car.”
Well that kinda’ goes against what being an American is! We don’t follow, we lead!
“that fresh cow piss was like an aphrodisiac”
How nieve are you?
“until the Irish Army arrived in their full regalia.”
Please explain to me how ELSE an army shows up? In jeans and T-shirts?
“a wee sermon about how American’s were trying to take over the place”
Of course he did! The US couldn’t give two pooplettes about Ireland so of course they think we are on the verge of invading them!
“we set off for some grub. We went to the infamous Johnny Fox’s but they were not serving supper. I was a famished boyo.”
Ok, first off, no body serves grub outside of a roadhouse in the midwest and secondly Johnny Fox’s is only infamous in County Wicklow Ireland. Thirdly Supper is a declention ONLY used by the old dutch folk here to reffer to Dinner. Oops, maybe you’re Mennonite?
And as to, “I am famiished, boyo”…My only question is…..do you follow that with, Y’all?
Go write a post Brian so I can nit pick every word. I mean a real post. Not some copy and paste crap! I had never in my life heard the word “Boyo” until a whacky woman in Belfast called me that in 2006! It is not used in the “Southern” dialect. For that matter, neither is “Famished”.
This is exactly why I don’t like writing about friends. I guess I’m just a simple ol’ boy, but I’d just like to say that I had a blast with some wonderful Irish people in southern Ireland. But, that would be too simple! If I try to write in a humorous mannerr, I always fuck it up! So, the next post about K8 and my adventures on the following day will not be funny unless on accident!
I had a great time and am very grateful that they took the time out of their lives to hang out with me. ‘Nough said.
@ BrianF; *THUMP*
@ Jefferson; Don’t mind the aul’ bollix, he’s just jealous
Don’t touch this post – it’s funny ‘coz it’s true!!! Delighted you had fun on your adventures. 
Boys! Boys! Boys! Calm down.
Jd Were there any SUV’s in the bog?
Brian is just jealous that he didn’t get the ‘Tourist Treatment’.
Obviously the cow-piss was a bad idea. It just made you a slippery customer.
Next time…….. It’s the Land Fill
K8, you’re a sweetie.
Grannymar, there sure were a few SUV’s. I reckon Grandad had been blowing their tires out in the curve and rolling them over into the bogs.
Grandad, you’ll have your chance again in little more than three months.
Brian F., piss off!!!
Ah don’t worry JD, your sense of humour won’t go to waste in Ireland … you know.
Well I liked it JD. Nice mix of truth and fantasy! Although I believe pee is very good for the hair! Personally, I prefer a Guinness rinse to actually drinking the stuff! Glad you had a wonderful time!
Dario, it sure won’t.
Baino, Guinness rinse? I’m glad you liked it.
Uhm, hmm…so you get in a car with a strange, go off to nowhere in particular and then, when asked to do so, stick your head under a stream of bovine urine?
In that case….if you can transfer $15,000 into my bank account you will suddenly become very attactive to all women
DBA, I’m an American. We’ll talk to and get into the car with anyone.
As soon as I win the lottery, I’ll throw fifteen big ones your way. Would that be ‘Merkan dollars or pounds? 
Thanks for the comments alll.
Hahahahahahahaha!
I’m glad I waited.
My point was and still is….
JD….act right and be who you are rather something you see in the distance. Geez! When was the last time anyone from Greenville, Harrisburg or even Omaha said ‘Me’ instead of ‘my’? huh?
A Wee town? hahahahahahahahahahaha!
Be you a francophile or an anglophile, just be who you are. Geez!!! Just act normal, geez!
Don’t you realize that folks like you that speak like that are laughed at by both we here at home and the Irish folk you talk to like that?
I mean, C’mon dude!
Please tell me why before you went and visited you didn’t speak like that? You’ve been there before, right?
Are you just being pretentious?
I don’t think so. I think you are just so blown away with a different way that you have never seen before that you want to try and be different from what you see everyday. Tell me if I’m wrong, please!?
When you to go visit Boston would you return not knowing how to use the letter R, saying ‘pahk the cah’?
Now don’t even get me started on, “being the American I am”!!
WTF?
How about, “being the person I am”?
and as to ….”piss off”….Hahahahahahahaha! Try acting like the person you are!
Ladies and gentlemen, presented below for your viewing pleasure, a masterclass in how to respond arrogantly to a post.
Beautiful sight, isn’t it?