George, a mediocre insurance salesman, was desperate to land a big account that he’d been assigned to go after. This was do or die. If he failed, he’d lose this job as he’d lost so many others, so he hatched a radical plan. He’d travel to Ireland, kiss the Blarney Stone, and be blessed with the Gift of Gab. Then he’d be a Blarney Certified Professional Salesman. With the money and prestige that the gift promised, he’d be all set to propose to his girlfriend, Rose.
Without telling anyone, George drove 531 miles from London, England, to County Cork, Ireland, which took him over the Irish Sea on a three-and-a-half hour ferry trip. He envisioned the stone itself to be a giant boulder in the middle of a field. After all, it was called the Blarney Stone, so he expected a hunk of rock. The Blarney Stone, as it turned out, was actually a stone set high up in the outer wall of Blarney Castle, and the waiting line to kiss it stretched for a mile outside.
He waited with a thousand others who hoped to rise above their mediocrity, and when his turn came, he paid the fee and entered the hallowed halls, where he was whisked into a room out of sight of those still waiting. The walls were plastered with photos of the Blarney blessed: Laurel and Hardy, Winston Churchill, and even Mick Jagger.
“It’s decision time, laddie! What sort of kiss are ya going to plant on old stoney? Are you going to give her a modern Pop Kiss, or follow the ancient tradition with a Medieval Kiss? We need to know how to prep you.”
“How to prep me? What do I get with a Medieval Kiss, a red rose or something?”
“Or something...” the doorman chuckled.
“Ah, what the heck. I’ve traveled all this way, I might as well go big. Let’s plant a juicy Medieval Kiss on her!”
The doorman slid a piece of paper across the table, “Okay then, a Medieval Kiss it is. Sign here, please.”
George frowned. It was a consent form releasing Blarney Castle in case he came to any harm. “Would I have to sign this for a Pop Kiss?”
“Look laddie, you’re kissing a stone high up in the wall of a ninety foot castle. You saw how many people come through here. We’re just protecting ourselves from daredevils and suicide missions.”
“I’m not here to jump off the edge. I’m just looking to get blessed with the Gift of Gab, no craziness here.”
George signed the waiver, and was given a red rose for his buttonhole. It was a good omen, as he was doing this for his beloved girlfriend, Rose. Then he joined the line inside, which wound all the way up the spiral stairs. Slowly he ascended the steep, narrow steps, giving him the opportunity to look out over the surrounding countryside from the windows.
Finally, he arrived at the top of Blarney Castle, with only a woman in front of him. An older gentleman took the woman’s hand and asked, “Are you ready to kiss the Blarney Stone? Here we call it the ‘Stone of Eloquence’.”
“Yes!”
He laid her on a lounge chair face up, and instructed her to scoot through the hole in the side of the castle wall, into an iron-barred basket. The stone was across a gap in a parallel wall, and all she had to do was raise her head up, and kiss the underside. Every precaution had been taken to keep it safe and simple, and George wondered why a man on his way out had warned, “Don’t go up there! They’ll try to kill you! It’s not worth it… don’t go!” The man must have been afraid of heights.
George’s big moment arrived. The old man took one look at the red rose, and hollered, “Brutus! We’ve got a casket case! You’d better get over here!”
A hulk of a man appeared, with scraggly whiskers and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He kicked the lounge chair off to the side, pulled a rope, and the iron basket slid sideways out of sight.
“You!” the hulk pointed to George. “Over here, and stand with your back to the parapet!”
“Back to the parapet? I thought I was supposed to lie down and slide through a hole?”
“C’mon man, we ain’t got all day! Lotsa people waitin’. Hup to!”
Confused, George looked over the edge of the parapet, getting a little dizzy as he saw how far down the ground was. The Blarney Stone was in the outer wall, with a gap between the two walls. Even on your back, you slid through the first wall, and out over the gap to get to the second wall. Hence the iron basket underneath you.
George couldn’t fathom why they’d stand him with his back to the edge, so he just stood gaping down at the ground far below. Brutus grabbed George’s arm and spun him around. “Don’t move, until I tell ya.”
Brutus knelt down, grabbed George by the ankles, and hoisted him up over the edge, so that George was dangling upside down from the top of the castle. Nothing stood between George and his head smashing into the ground like a Halloween pumpkin, except for Brutus holding his ankles.
“Kiss it! Kiss the Blarney Stone, quick, before my fingers slip!”
George swayed back and forth trying to reach the stone with his lips, and the red rose slipped from his buttonhole, falling ninety feet to the rocks below. George’s face was dripping sweat, and he could see the stones below, darkened with human blood. “Oh dear God,” he prayed, “please don’t let my ankles start sweating!” He kissed the stone and hollered, “I’m done! Pull me up!”
“If you weren’t so red in the face, I’d swear you’d turned Irish green!” Brutus laughed, exposing stained, crooked teeth.
George was sweating hard. “Is that blood on the stones below?”
“Hell yes, matey! That’d surely be blood, didn’t they tell ye? I’ve never lost my grip, but the man before me, he lost somebody once — a man by the name of Jack. They say you could hear the man hollering all the way down until his head hit bottom. He hit so hard that his head went splat, and there was nothing left of it. He was like the Headless Horseman, he was, when they dragged his dead body away! I’m sure you’ve heard of him… Jack Splat.”
Brutus laughed, and the man in line behind George turned around and hightailed it back down the stairs. “No refunds!” Brutus hollered as the man disappeared out of sight.