All Aboard the Pimp Train to Porto After the hell train that was Madrid to Lisbon, we got ourselves a pimp train to Porto, home of the Port wine. Port wine means dessert wine to you beginner wine drinkers. I am now officially considered an intermediate Port wine taster. If you’re now attempting to decifer what an intermediate wine taster would be, I would use this guide: Drinks Vinegar (Wyatt Culbert) Ghetto Wine Drinker (Bryan Eyslee, Brendan McNerney) Just Above Ghetto Wine Drinker (Cory Boyd) Beginner Wine Drinker (Caitlin McNerney) Intermediate Wine Drinker (Brian Tatko) [View Full Entry]

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Actually we only passed through Geneva, Bern and Zurich, the real fun, was in Interlaken. Interlaken Switzerland Trading Beach Towels for Tobagans We always start with trains so today will be no different. The first train of the day was built in 1704 by a blind man who dropped out of engineering school after one semester. This man also had no concept of how the human spine works and developed seats so uncomfortable they actually made parts of my body go numb, but, no train, no pain, no gain. I have half my kneecap due to the automatic doors that close [View Full Entry]

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The Long Ramblings of A Weary Traveler Never believe the impression you get during the first five minutes of being in a new city, especially Europe. If I did, I would say the same thing about every city; I can’t understand anyone, all the man have mustaches and it smells like pee. My first impressions of Barcelona (the first 5 minutes) There’s a pretty French girl who discovers that somewhere in the last 2 minutes of her first impression of Barcelona, someone has opened up her backpack and stole her wallet, camera and passport. She’s crying, her trip is ruined, Ba [View Full Entry]

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Trading Beach Towels for Tobagans We always start with trains so today will be no different. The first train of the day was built in 1704 by a blind man who dropped out of engineering school after one semester. This man also had no concept of how the human spine works and developed seats so uncomfortable they actually made parts of my body go numb, but, no train, no pain, no gain. I have half my kneecap due to the automatic doors that close on you and if you’re over the age of 70, don’t expect any sympathy from people trying [View Full Entry]

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She’s An Asshole I’m an asshole. I know it. You know it. I just have flashes of brilliance that often outweigh or overcast this fact. Being an asshole, I know when I meet another asshole or when I’m in the presence of a true bonafide asshole. Most of the time, you don’t call a girl or woman an asshole. If they were really deserving of an associative title then you would refer to them as cunts, bitches or slags. On a rare occasion you come across a person that is % 60 women, % 40 men and %100 asshole. I’m currently [View Full Entry]

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It was Senorita Sangria, In the Café, With a Knife I can’t explain why, cause I didn’t really listen to a lot of them in Madrid, but if you ever go to Madrid alone looking to get over love or looking for new love, or maybe just to have a small amount of fun, I highly suggest Jay and the American’s songs. They all seem to work with the moods of Madrid, mornings, days and nights. I decided in Ireland that I was going to go savage style through Europe, rarely showering and never shaving. The shaving part would be [View Full Entry]

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From now on, when your girlfriend talks shit to you or won't stop bugging you just say the simple phrase, "Shut up that honky voodoo." We went to the Galway races yesterday. Though i didn't drink, i missed the Liverpool vs Chelsea match and Tara tried to poison me with a hot meat sandwhich (it's not a sexual thing, it's actually a dry meat, cabbage and butter sandwich), i still had a blast. It's funny to me how dressed up some people get to watch horses run around and circles and how angry people get over it all. I'm sure some [View Full Entry]

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Here's Part 2 of the pictures. All credit to Tara and Cheryl, even though i told them which ones to get. [View Full Entry]

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Here are all my Belfast mural pictures. Again i encourage all to read up on Belfast. I have a few tales to share when i return home from some of the Irish men i met who lived through it all. [View Full Entry]

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Doc You’re Telling Me This Sucker’s Nuclear? We are now long and gone from Ireland. Our last night was spent there putting down a twelve pack of beer, 3 and a half bottles of wine and about 20-30 shots of rum, brandy, tequila, whiskey, and some coffee flavored liquor in a blaze of backstage rock and roll like glory. After a subzero sparkler dance routine in Rob’s driveway and singing, “Twist and Shout,” at the top of our lungs in his kitchen, all the while trying to keep the tacos I made for dinner down, I’d say we left the way [View Full Entry]

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