OK, so my sister and I already knew that standing in line for an hour to kiss a rock right after every other generic tourist was far below our moral standards but with her red hair and our Irish adventure not complete without it, we stood. And stood. And finally kissed it, snapped some pics and got the hell out of there.
It was later that day as we were chatting with some nice locals guys in a pub that we shyly admitted we’d kissed the Blarney Stone. They all laughed and we laughed with them. Or so we thought. Their laughter continued long after ours. Tears of laughter. OK, it really was not THAT funny. After the cute blond one could finally get enough air to speak, he told us that the local teenagers break in to the castle at night so they can pee on the stone.