Back in winter of 1992, a group of friends were planning an epic St. Patrick’s Day adventure that could top their previous excursions to Boston, Philly, New York, and Chicago.

“It’s going to be hard to top swimming nude in the green Chicago river…” Liam said.

“My year to choose,” Siobhan said. “We’re going to The Blarney Stone. Legend has it, kissing the stone brings you good luck.”

Marty chimes in, “And that’s the only way ol’ Seamus is getting any action that night, am I right?”

The friends all laugh while they shove Seamus around at the table. As a toast to their next trip, they all take their Jameson shots, (except for fucking Seamus who shoots Fireball, because he prefers whiskey to taste like red hots candy from the bottom of his grandmother’s purse.)

 

Fast forward to March 17th, 1992, also known as St. Patrick’s Day. It was a Tuesday- we know because we looked it up. Can we just trust google on this? Or is there possibly some sort of larger “Big Brother” type scheme going on there that we’re not aware of? A question for another day…where were we?

Oh yes…Some may frown upon getting drunk on a Tuesday night, but this story is not about those people. We find our friends not in Ireland, as some might think, but The Blarney Stone dive bar, in Fountain Valley, a little known and less cared about suburb of a suburb in SoCal.

On this fated eve at The Blarney, smelling of old beer with that classic sticky floor, Liam and his friends are already five Irish Car Bombs and six green beers deep. The music is loud and the women are…well, there are no women here – not a good sign for any business that hopes to succeed…but they’re having a blast!

Seamus stumbles up to the bar to order another round, knocking a green bearded man’s pint over, spilling it down the bar. The bartender, who is roughly 153% done with March 17th, yells down the bar to GET THE FUCK OUT.

Seamus picks himself up and tries to defend himself, from what? We don’t know. Firstly, it’s his fault, what is he trying to defend? Secondly, all that comes out are slurred words and pointed fingers. Oh, Seamus. It really is time to get the fuck out.

Marty and Liam sling Seamus over their shoulders and carry him out of the bar. As they get to the parking lot, Marty lets him go to fish around for his keys (it was 1992, okay? There was no uber, someone had to be the DD), and Seamus tumbles to the ground, nearly taking Liam down with him.

He rolls over and comes face-to-face with a parking block, and with great joy and tears in his eyes exclaims, “Guys, look! The Blarney Stone! I’ve found it!”

He puts one hand on the parking block, looks at it lovingly, and says, “Kiss me, Blarney, I’m shitfaced!”

We think you can guess what the next several minutes looked like. Let’s just say, that bout of cement rash on his chin lasted for several weeks. BUT! To this day, Liam and his friends tell the tale of the night Seamus found the Blarney Stone in Fountain Valley, and repeat the words straight from Seamus’ mouth, “Kiss me, I’m shitfaced!”