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Note to self: When attending nodermeets in Dublin, always take Aspirin. Irish hospitality is great, but the locals have constitutions nourished by prolonged intake of fortifying drafts, chief among them being Guinness. And in the meantime I have grown sedate in my habits.

Dublin is beautiful in Summer. It's a great little city, and I owe the Irish a lot, for instance my passport. Now, on Sunday evening, I have recovered enough to recount the shocking events of the night before.

I met CloudStrife in the afternoon, outside the town shopping mall (yes, they have one. This isn't some small town. It's a city. A city, you hear!). We were to meet noders at the Dakota bar at 8pm, which gave time for afternoon viewing the town's magnificent new spire (it doesn't do or represent anything. It's art), then a drop at the Porterhouse, and noodles at wagamamma.

Shortly after 8pm amnesiac and TheBooBooKitty arrived, and over a samovar of tea we were soon deep in discussion of the merits of different styles of 17th century nurses uniforms. Sneff made a brief appearance, delighting us with his spirited rendition of "John Henry", including some unofficial adult verses which I have never heard before, but certainly enlivened the song.

Theonomist and Wharfinger had meanwhile arrived. Being from Boston, both shared a strong Irish spirit, and after a few bottles thereof become embroiled in a heated debate as to if "absurd liberal myths" were just a ridiculous liberal myth. We asked them politely to continue it outside, which they did with verve, but the Gardai, attracted by the growing number of spectators (and a few participants), soon interrupted them. I'm told that the stitches will be removed around the time of their respective releases. In the meanwhile, we are opening a fund to cover legal and medical costs.

The happy couple, Ocelotbob and Nate, filled us in on their new venture, which merges the concepts of Everything, Kansas, Sealand, and soy bomb.

AnBolb's apparatus was wheeled in by his nurse, and a large quantity of guiness was poured into the tank, obscuring our view of his cerebellum and causing his eye-stalks to twitch. In a flat monotone, his speaker relayed his regrets that Gritchka would not be able to make her usual captivating appearance.

ac_hyper, Frankie and Tlachtga arrived riding ac_hyper's secret NASA prototype flying saucer. The locals found their shiny black spacesuits very fetching, and were soon fetching them drinks. The military-industrial complex sure is cute!

The peripatetic ^Davion^'s limo soon pulled up, and he apologised for being late as his private jet had been delayed in San Tropez. We reminisced about which of the world's great cities were our favourites. ^Davion^ discussed how the scenic beauty of Vancouver or Sidney, though among his favourite holiday spots, just could not match his own beloved native seaside Welsh village with a strong historic, nay, genetic connection with the sea and the denizens of the deep, and the way that in his house at Rhyl eh, dear Crystalin lay dreaming.

Just when it seemed that we had reached an impasse, each strongly holding a different opinion as to the best Radiohead album, and it seemed that the new friendships were in danger, help arrived in the form of a representative of the Dublin Chinese community. Their delegate, who went only by the name of "Dman", pointed out that as democracy was the only viable political system, we must clearly yield to the will of the majority and declare Britney Spears' work to be far superior, which we did.

But I realised that the illustrious Dublin noder, Ryano, had not arrived. Perhaps he had carried out his threat to stalk the meet? I seized our waiter by the lapels and pinned him to the table, where his toupee and false moustache were rapidly removed. Amnesiac, his Parcheesi opponent of old, confirmed his identity. It was he! He made a full confession in return for a promise that he would not be fed to Giant Squid.

Giant Squid! No sooner was the dreaded name uttered than we heard a great stirring without. The midnight hour had passed almost without notice, and now the conciliation of the accounts was at hand. Awestruck, we stumbled down to the great stone piers, now shrouded in mist, to pay our respect to the abyssal tenticularity.

On the bestoned banks of the Liffey we stopped and peered into the thick, pungent, brown waters of that beloved river. There writhed the squid, preceded by his herald and light-source, the glowing fish and followed by SharQ. I greeted them with what few fragment of old speech I know. This must have pleased the squid, for I have lived to tell the mournful tale that follows, though the waves of nausea, cold sweats, shivering and pounding headache that followed made me long for the release that death will bring. Or maybe that was the vast amounts of alcohol; and the dodgy pizza that I scarfed down at dawn, in foreboding that I was going to miss any breakfast that could be served by human hand.

I say mournful tale, as despite our cries and tugging at his boots, Ryano was dragged from the midnight pier into the mist-shrouded maw. Though that terrible mouth I could see … Stars, Worcestershire sauce, monkeys, monkeys, and a paunchy man in a toupee and tight lycra clothes. I know not how to describe those realms that had no place in the innards of any cuttlefish. allseeingeye, seeing too much for comfort, began to gibber, and jaybonci cast his perls forth frantically, but to no avail. AnBolb's wheels jammed. will was unable to will himself to stay, and fled screaming from the streets. We have not seen him since. No doubt he still roams the green hills, scaring children and livestock at night.

I do not know what hell ryano encountered in that transdimensional maw, or if he will ever return to tell a tale of his adventures beyond the infinite.

Back at the pub, the TV was now tuned to a news show, that try as I might to focus upon it, appeared to be presented by identical triplets.

Later we adjourned to the house of some female friends of Cloudstrife for conversation with normal folk:

Me: There's this German site were you can get a T-shirt that reads "127.0.0.1"
CS: Hahaha. That's good.
Me: hehe, yeah, hysterical. I'd wear it whenever I had friends over, and was acting as the local host.
CS: ha ha.
CS's female friend #1: ... looks around ...
CS's female friend #2: so, mini-skirts are great, aren't they?
CS's female friend #1: Yeah, aren't they just. I like makeup.
Me: I have a T-shirt that reads "geek"
CS's female friends #1 and #2: We're sure you do.


Some details of this meet have been improved in order to provide a more compelling narrative.

Several noders have asked if there was in fact a nodermeet.There was. I met cloudstrife, had a few drinks.