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The Drunken Weekend of Chris Jericho Based Fun


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The cast: Me and Gill with friends Doug, Anthony and Chris (from Smash Forums amongst other places) decide to hit Dublin to go see Fozzy play the Voodoo Lounge. Before that, we meet in Glasgow on Friday night to chill out a little. Meet up with fellow Smash Forummer Calum along the way (he's not going to Dublin... BOOOO!) and we decide to hit a new place in Hope Street called the Crow Bar which seems pretty funky - cheesy rock music, candles, and a basement. What more do you need? Other than a second mortgage to buy a round, not much.


So we pile out of that, into Subway to get some munchies, then head for home, cheered up along the way by Anthony and his repeated insistence that he's "The Quiet One". Repeatedly, and as loud as he can. I know not who pays the taxi, or when we get home... but we do.


Much giggling and laughing, we all go to sleep.




Wake up, and watch Soccer AM while dirnking fresh made iced mochas, the finest hangover cure known to man, as I decided on this day. We go out to meet Chris' friend who is giving us a lift, only to discover that it's not a big people carrier, but a Vauxhall Zafira, so someone is basically sitting in the boot. That would be Chris... well, just because.


Get to the airport, and Chris is near in tears when he has to check his handbag in as luggage and can't take it on the plane with him. So bored waiting for the plane that we actually take bets on who will return from the toilet first when Chris and Doug vanish. Also, a game of "Hide the water bottle" kills a few moments also. Huzzah!


On the plane, and Gill and Doug end up sitting in front of Anthony, me and Chris. Chris decides to pester Doug by asking him constantly "are we there yet" as a stewardess passes him by to count the peeps on the plane... her method of counting looks suspiciously to me like she intends to skelp poor Doug behind the ear, which sends me and Chris into hysterics, much to the bemusement of others. The same stewardess also looks like she's trying to fly herself as she walks down the asile with her arms over her head checking the overhead bins are locked. Tgis also makes us laugh uncontrollably, and this is before Guinness...


The plane lands, we collect the bags, despite Chris' insistence that he can't remember what his looks like.


Hop in a HUGE taxi and get dropped off at the hotel, then taken round to the apartments where we're staying for the night by a strange porter guy. Don't understand a word he says apart from "gig" and "Slayer" and "Vodka". Also, I manage to stand on a broken bottle and burst the air bubble in one of my shoes. Crap.


So we go into the flat, taking great care to memorise the access code to get in the gate, look around the flat and notice that there's a pint glass (empty) out on the balcony. We leave it there, and head back into town... for a pint.


Head into Ron Black's - Dublin's smallest pub - and partake of the first (of many) pints of The Fine Black Stuff. From Ron Black's, we go down to Kehoe's as Gill goes to the Perfume Store (guess what THEY sell) and blows shedloads of cash on perfume for Xmas presents. Apparantly.


We go upstairs in Kehoe's and discover the unsafest stairs I've ever been on AND the squelchiest carpet ever. Doug cracks a joke about the Pope, then thinks better of it, and we leave to head off to O'Neill's for food. We walk past the Phil Lynott statue, and someone decides that it looks like Carlito... that's not cool.


Pop into O'Neill's to get food - with Gravy, but sadly there's no Gravy Guy. This guy usually just stands there with a ladel full of Gravy, dishing it out to all and sundry, with the one word - GRAVY? - but he's not there. Stunned is an understatement.


Food demolished, we go get Subway sandwiches and stop in Spar to pick up red bull, lucozade, a magazine and toilet rool for later use and then we head for the Octagon to say hello to Bono (as you do) and end up in what appears to be a prayer booth. Doug and Chris and myself all exchange random images on our phones via bluetooth and much hilarity is had at the thought of Bono's nuts. BWAH hahaha!


Still laughing... yes... we head off to The Brazen Head, the Dublin branch of the Glasgow pub famous for it's Celtic leanings. The bar here is plastered with Celtic tickets as well, and I donate three for their Wall Of Fame. We nearly get talked into buying T-shirts and baseball caps too, but we escape. Finishing off our pints quickly, we head off to the Voodoo Lounge for the fun to begin.


We get in, get a good whiff of DiFontaine's Pizza, get a black cross drawn on our hands and then it's gig time. From here on in, it's kind of a blur as I was drinking very much.


The first band we saw had a singer with long black hair headbanging with ferocity and velocity unlike anything I'd ever seen before. All of our party are much impressed by this, and the music, even if the guy's singingf was pretty much screaming and gurgling. Cool gurgling though. They go of, and we drink some more to fill in time between bands. Doug and Chris head off to buy FOZZY shirts, I pop to the bar with Gill to check out how much Kitty money is left (Answer: Not much) and drink some more.


When everyone reconvenes we find out that Doug has been accused by someone of being CM Punk ( "the tattoo just rubs off as part of the gimmick? AWESOME!!!" ) and has been bought a drink because of it. Meanwhile, there's a man in the toilet trying to be a cross between Bob Marley and Shaggy freestyling on anyone that comes into the toilet. I get "here is de man in de red shirt stylee" and the man behind in a Yankees top gets "bubblin hot in a Noo York stylee, Dublin stylee Irie Irie". O.....K.


I decide to conduct an experiment... figuring that people here to see Fozzy are pretty much guaranteed to be wrestling fans, I let loose a Ric Flair "wooooo!" to see if I get a reply. 10 seconds pass, and I'm starting to give up hope... and then from the other side of the room, I hear a muffled "Woooooo!" and all is right with the world. Ten minutes later, it's Woo-mania, even prompting a man at the toilet to proclaim that "it's ****in' Ric Flair night in here tonight". Classy ;)


So then Fozzy hit the stage... I remember them singing "Nameless" and then I'm a blank... What I know now has been filled in by Chris (The Sober non-drinking one). Doug managed to get on stage and steal Jericho's microphone before exiting the stage and leaving the mic behind. We don't know why to this day.


Jericho drinks a pint of Guinness, declaring that they can do it as HUGE ROCK STARS before wussing out of the "Down In One" chant. Several ECW chants and Y2J chants are gradually drowned out by Fo-ZEE Fo-ZEE chants as it dawns on the room that they do actually rock. Oh yes, drinking lots of Guinness at gigs is a good idea, as your farts become horrific and you get space around you. True Story!


Two hours and 14 pints later as well as countless texts, most of which were just "Jericho baby - Rock n roll mother****er!" we leave. We head back up to Gogartys late night pub discussing whether or not you'd survive being clotheslined into the Liffey or not. The answer is as yet, undecided.


Getting into Gogartys, we arrive just as The Proclaimers "I'm Gonna Be (500 miles)" comes on the pub's speakers and a mass singalong is enjoyed by us and everyone around us wondering why we're so loud... it's because we're DRUNK, DAMMIT!!!


Anthony drops his pint without realising it, and we realise it's time to go home. Jumping in a taxi (somehow) we get dropped off at the Harcourt Hotel - not because it's where we want to go, but because it's NEAR where we want to go and the driver is sick of us giggling at nothing.


We get out, and this is where the fun really starts. Across the road is The Federal Bureau Of Fraud. We know this, because we looked in the morning. Why is it important? Because Anthony stole a traffic cone from there. He carried it for a while, but for a brief period of time, I had it on my head. No, really - don't ask.


We stumble home, Sober Chris remembering the way, despite Gill's insistence that we are going the wrong way, and we open the gate with the code. Two ladies are coming into the apartment complex at the same time as we are, and as they get near the gate, the conversation is something like this:


Chris: Do you have the code?

Girls: Yeah

Anthony: I have a traffic cone!

Girls: Good for you...


The verbal equivalent of a pat on the head... excellent work, my friend! We all fall asleep and I wake up at 5 am to be sick and to expel some Guinness from the other end... meantime, Doug also wakes up, hears that the bathroom is occupied, and takes a leak off the balcony instead... as he talks to man drinking Heineken about Ice Hockey. Genius!






So the next day we all wake up, with remarkably little hangovers. Chris filled us all in on the details of the evening and every one of us cringed a little inside.


We drop our bags off at the recpetion, and head off to explore Dublin for the day before flying home. Walking along O'Connell Street, Chris spys two guys dressed as Leprechauns and takes a picture with them. He also finds a Yoda mask in a toyshop and has his picture taken with it on, the FOOL! He also disturbs several children by drawing "Mister Kennedy.... Kennedy!" on a handily placed Etch-a-sketch.




A few more pubs and the Guinness Factory is then hit! Sober Chris drinks 2/3 of a pint of Guinness before going cross-eyed. and giving up. Bless. We leave messages on the postcard wall in the factory. I leave two cards - one that says "Mister Kennedy" and another next to it that cunningly says "... Kennedy"


Another taxi ride to the airport, a boring wait for a plane, plus some airport shopping gets us on the (delayed) flight. A debate on the finer things in life on the plane between me and Chris passes the time... the highlight being "if you put a sleeping person's hand in warm water, they pee themselves, right... what happens if you dip their hand in gravy?"


We go our seperate ways, except Doug, who's crashing at our house because on Monday... well. That's another Day.




Recovering from the weekend escapades, we have an easy day, not going out until 6pm. We head off to the Solid Rock, meet two fellow Fozzy fans who we've NEVER seen before in OUR LIFE and head off to the Crow Bar once again, forgetting how dear it actually is. A couple of drinks and we head off to the gig, in the ABC2 place... we've never been in here, so it's a first.


The place is tiny, and hot... so of course, after a round or two of Sambucas, I end up in the mosh pit right at the front, centre stage. Dammit, if it wasn't hot in there... sheesh! Still, I touched JERICHO!!! I MADE HIM UNCLEAN!!! And they rocked, also... mightily so.






We come out, go to Firewater to top up on Guinness - THE ABC HAD NO GUINNESS!!! DAMN THEM!!! and also a couple of black sambucas... wooyeah! When we came out, we went to Subway for munchies and boooed the guy taking the Fozzy sign down from the ABC to replace it with.,.. SUGABABES. GAH!


Not much else happened... we came home, had some whiskey, watched bits of Raw and fell asleep.


All in all... good fun was had.

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I say your right in that everyone there were wrestling fans because they can't be that popular as a band if theyre playing there


A friend of mine played a gig in there and it was his first gig


I was thinking going myself just because of the Jericho factor but decided against due to that music isn't really my scene







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