From the Emerald Isle, Ireland, Dublin Town.

This is obscure season 3.

Wuthering Heights, I am your host, your friend, your earlover, your literary mansplainer

in chief and Georgianologist Michael E. and Black sitting in room 411 at the intercontinental

hotel there on Balls Bridge Street in Dublin, where I am attending the Irish poker open

with my good friend, Joe Stapleton, been here for three days, have played a lot of poker

and will be leaving this trip up a little bit.

Not enough to pay for the trip, but to get me relatively close.

So that's a good thing, have had a fun time with Joe, did a little poker commentary.

As we watched the Irish poker open, Joe is a poker commentator by trade.

That is what he does, so I sat in the booth with him and we did a little poker commentary

which was fun, I enjoyed it, had a good time.

So the poker portion is done, it is for me.

It is now 118 in the morning on Sunday, or I guess Monday, April 10th, I depart from

Ireland back to Rome and about 14 hours and I thought well you know what, I only slept

about four hours last night, I just took two gummy edibles, why not crack open weathering

heights and see if we can't get through the final chapter.

We're just about there, it's an exciting time, always exciting when we finish a book, is

it not?

I mean the feeling of contentment, the satisfaction we derive from finishing a work of classic

literature we had no interest in reading, and yet reading is what we have done.

The only question is can we get through it before the edibles kick in, I don't know,

...