It's a lovely day for a Guinness

It's always funny when stereotypes prove true,

but Guinness in Ireland is a different story.

It is literally everywhere:

I've been tempted to buy this shirt of several occasions... and I don't even like Guinness.

Obviously I had to take a trip to the Guinness Factory to see if this was really all it was cracked up to be... and it is.

It's awesome. I've been twice.

There's a whole section devoted to advertisements over the years

(you have to wonder what the stranger was thinking who we asked to take this)

When you get to the top of the storehouse, you enter the "Gravity Bar,"

where you are served up the freshest, most genuine pint of Guinness in the world which you enjoy as you gaze out at the 360 degree view of Dublin... it's best to go at sunset!

(And this is proof that I actually did give it a fair chance... )

After my visit to the land of free flowing darkness,

I decided to write a poem about this magical substance:

If anything on earth resembled the heavenly gates above

Arthur Guinness is responsible for building them with love

With one hundred pounds left by his Godfather’s will

He built large shoes out of barley for his ancestors to fill

A smart business man of immeasurable confidence

Signed a historic lease for extremely little pence

Nine thousand years in Dublin for 45 pounds each

Ireland’s stuck with the legacy like a dog with a leach

If he could see it now he’d raise a glass in his own honor

10 seconds for Art and that black beauty’d be a goner

Well he has been long gone and we’ve just got here

So we climbed atop his castle and raised our dark beer

“Slainte” we said before our foam mustaches arrived

And we felt his presence from the gravity bar revived

Looking over the country that floats on barley and oats

Grass that’s too green and an unusual amount of goats

So glad Arthur used that hundred for such a business

Because every day here is a lovely day for a Guinness.

Slainte!