Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

Ah'm werrin nothin but baby ile hen, could be yer lucky night!

So, against my better judgment I'll be attending a "Scottish Festival" this weekend. I say it's against my better judgment because, well, anything involving going somewhere and being around other people fits that bill.

Regular readers of this drivel -- you, my beloved shlubbies -- already know how much I love Scotland and all thing Scottish. Most of my family is from there. Like my Auntie Chrissie. A native of Motherwell, just outside Glasgow, old Chrissie would listen as I'd regale her with stories about my primary school day. Soon, she'd had enough, and cuffing me about the ears : "If you dinna shut up I will pap this tin of turpentine over your heid" and then, finally, "Awa tae fuck yer talkin pish", she'd yell, and then kick me in the bollocks.

One of my favorite stories was about her and her brother Hamish. "A had tae wipe ma fanny batter on the curtains afore he'd shag me" -- that was the punchline of the story. We'd laugh and laugh, I gotta tell you. What great family memories.

Well, enough of this shite. Ah'm awl jeeked -- ah could'nae get a stonner if a Senga wi big diddies wis tae gie me a gammy.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 3:22 PM