Monday, January 26, 2009

If It's Not Scottish, It's Crap!

Due to my questionable literary talent, I have made a new virtual friend (we are virtually friends, though I've never met him), named Alec B. You can check out his hysterical blog at: I think I know talent damn it, and Alec's got talent!

Alec is Scottish, and he talks about stuff like wee yappy dogs and taking a wee in his blog. For all you dumb fucks, who can't figure it out on your own, wee means both small and to take a piss in Scot's speak. I guess I've got to translate damn English for your dumb asses now, too.

And don't go over to Alec's site and do something dumb and embarrass me, like mistake Alec for a Brit (he's Scottish dumb asses, not a Brit--the Scots were oppressed by the Brits, like practically everybody else on this planet). I am trying single-handedly to fix our reputations as Americans overseas as part of my Bust a Nut for America campaign, so don't fuck it up and be insulting Alec with your damn stupidity.

SB has fond memories of Scotland. I once visited Dundee, Moffat, Edinburgh, and Turnberry, Scotland, where I met Arnold Palmer, but didn't recognize him. We talked lawnmowers, people! I said something like, "This sure is a damn big lawn to mow." Of course it was, it was a damn golf course! I didn't realize the man was a damn pro golfer. Golf was invented in Scotland. I am always teaching you people. They ought to pay me for this shit.

In Edinburgh, the Mums and I were nearly run over crossing a busy street, until a handsome and highly-amused bobby saved our dumb American asses. I owe my life to a Scot!

While in Edinburgh, we checked out the Firth of Forth. How's that for a name? We don't have any physical landmarks named that eloquently over here, instead Americans name places stuff like Big Bone Lick State Park (actual place). I rest my case.

Before I got sidetracked by ranting, I was going to say that when I visited Scotland, I collected weighty tins of Walker's shortbread, which are biscuits, not cookies. So don't be telling them in Scotland you want a damn cookie. They don't know what that shit is. They'll just think--you dumb-ass American, learn to speak the King's damn English! And they'd be right, too.

One of the cookie tins I collected celebrated the escape of Bonnie Prince Charlie. He was a cross-dresser, so I really dug him! I'm not quite sure why Chuck's so celebrated in Scotland, because he abandoned the Jacobite cause, escaped Scotland dressed as a chick, and then screwed a lot of French ladies while in exile. Maybe Alec B. could help me out and explain why Bonnie Price Charlie is so loved. I mean there was a certain panache in the escape.

Below is a photo of Bonnie Prince Chuck. He was a good looking cuss, and you can see how he might have made an attractive woman in makeup and full dress. [And don't be making insulting comments about the Bonnie Prince's manliness because the Scottish get pretty offended when you poke fun over this particular bit of their history.]

The Moms and I also visited the very haunted Greyfriar's Cemetery when we were in Edinburgh, but I was disappointed because it was in broad daylight, and I didn't get slapped around by the angry poltergeist of Bloody George MacKenzie. George was another dumb religious asshole, who persecuted and murdered a lot of poor Covenanters. His spirit is said to roam the cemetery, scratching and slapping visitors, because some dumb-ass street person got cold and made the mistake of breaking into angry George's crypt to get warm. And because this unfortunate fucker couldn't find a damn blanket some place, he released a wrathful, avenging spirit, who slaps the shit out of dumb-assed tourists on ghost tours.

Anyhoo, check out my friend Alec's blog. I highly recommend it.

Anything I've got wrong here, Alec, please feel free to correct. It's been about twenty years since SB has had the pleasure to be in Scotland, so I may have hosed up some of the historical details. I think those dumb network fucks at the Travel Channel ought to give me my own history show though.

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