The Adventures of McFinleyyy

Chapter 2: The Train to Dublin’s Fair City

If Chapter 1 was about survival and self-resurrection, Chapter 2 is about pure momentum. Because nothing says “big night ahead” like a squad assembling on a rickety Irish Rail train into Dublin’s fair city.

The Squad Reunites

The Uber dropped McFinleyyy at the station with just enough time to make the train. And there they were—his loyal brothers-in-chaos.

Ye Olde Large Lad: Built like a rugby forward, heart of gold, stomach of steel. He once ate three spice bags back-to-back and lived to tell the tale. Legend has it, his idea of “light pre-drinks” is a six-pack of Dutch Gold and a bottle of Buckfast.
Winky: Notorious for two things: a wink so cheeky it’s borderline illegal, and a talent for chatting up women who really should know better. His catchphrase? “Sure what’s the worst that could happen?” (Spoiler: usually a lot.)
Whizzair: The speed demon. Nobody really knows how he got the nickname, but it’s something to do with missing flights and sprinting through airports like Tom Cruise. On nights out, he’s the guy who somehow manages to be in three places at once, usually with three drinks in hand.

When McFinleyyy strutted up, half-buttoned white shirt glowing like a beacon of bad decisions, the lads erupted.

“Big man himself!” roared Ye Olde Large Lad, slapping him on the back so hard his lungs nearly filed for compensation.

“Look at ye, dressed like a Love Island finalist!” Winky winked (obviously).

“About time,” added Whizzair. “We thought you’d bail. Tara would’ve murdered you.”

McFinleyyy smirked. “You think I’d leave you lot unsupervised? Dublin wouldn’t survive the night.”

Train Vibes 🚂

They piled into a carriage, claiming a four-seater and turning it instantly into a traveling circus. Beer cans appeared like magic (nobody asked where they came from), playlists blasted from tinny phone speakers, and Ye Olde Large Lad started loudly ranking every chipper in Leinster.

Then it happened.

Alicia Silverstone (Maybe)

Halfway down the carriage, a vision appeared. Blonde hair, flawless skin, sunglasses perched indoors with the confidence of a Hollywood starlet. She looked like she’d walked straight out of Clueless and onto Irish Rail.

McFinleyyy, never one to miss an opportunity for banter, leaned in and whispered, “Lads… I think I just spotted Alicia Silverstone.”

Winky nearly choked on his can. “The one from Batman & Robin? As in Batgirl? On a train to Connolly?”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Whizzair, already Googling Alicia Silverstone Dublin 2025.

But McFinleyyy had already pulled out his phone.

The Text to Sgt. Salty

Now, Sgt. Salty wasn’t technically there… but spiritually, he was always part of the squad. A mysterious figure, half mentor, half chaos agent. He had the tactical mind of a general and the sense of humor of a man who once got banned from three pubs in one night.

McFinleyyy typed:

“Stg. Salty. I think I just spotted Alicia Silverstone on the train.”

The reply came within seconds, like he’d been waiting in the shadows.

Sgt. Salty: “Damnnnn. Yummmiezzzz. I’ll get to the chopper and be on my way…”

The lads howled. Ye Olde Large Lad nearly spilled his beer. Winky leaned back, grinning. “If Salty parachutes onto this train, I’m done.”

A Nod to the Past (The Crossovers)

See, this wasn’t the first time Sgt. Salty had been “airlifted” into a night out. Back in the Adventures of McFinleyyy: The Temple Bar Debacle, he’d appeared out of nowhere just as the bouncers were about to turf them all out. And in The Limerick Lock-In Chronicles, he somehow convinced a bartender to keep serving after hours by quoting Predator.

So when he promised to “get to the chopper,” the lads knew it wasn’t just a joke—it was a prophecy.

Flirting Across Carriages

Meanwhile, Alicia (or Not-Alicia) Silverstone had noticed the energy from their table. Women always noticed McFinleyyy, even when he wasn’t trying. Especially when he wasn’t trying.

She pulled down her shades, glanced his way, then gave the faintest of smiles.

“Ohhhhhh,” hissed Winky. “It’s on. She smiled at you, mate.”

McFinleyyy leaned back, cool as ever. “Relax, lads. It’s just the McFinleyyy effect. Happens on every train.”

Ye Olde Large Lad rolled his eyes. “If you don’t chat her up by Pearse Station, I’m taking your drink tokens tonight.”

Challenge accepted.

Cliffhanger

As the train rattled into the city, McFinleyyy stood up, straightened his shirt, and made his move down the aisle.

Winky whispered, “Godspeed, soldier.”

Whizzair filmed discreetly, already planning to upload it as ‘McFinleyyy vs. Alicia Silverstone: Dublin Edition.’

And just as he reached her seat… his phone buzzed.

It was Sgt. Salty again.

“Landing in 5. Keep her warm for me.”

End of Chapter 2.

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