Monday, February 16, 2015
Some say this is no writing blog.
Some say it’s not even a blog at all.
Still others say
git mah haed outta this cupboard, ye fookin’ shite. Jus’ cos ah’m drawin’ me pension and cannae wrap me kilt straight doesnae mean ye can abuse me this way. At least have the common decency tae use proper nails instead o’ that vile smellin’ Superglue nonsense. A man can choke on that stuff, yanno. And if it’s comin’ out o’ mah sporran, don’t ye know how much moore expensive glue is than nails? Hell, ye shoudae nailed me to the shed to save on heating. That way, I wouldnae have to listen to your bairns wailin’ night and day. And before ye ask, aye, ah’ve figured oot those bairns are werewolves, jus’ like that idle streak o’ piss you call a boyfriend. Ah may have done some things ah regret during the Suez crisis — hell, ah still think about all those wee boats ah primed wi’ mines, and that long afternoon in the backstreets o’ Cairo with a 50% bottle o’ Tam McMooner and some German diplomat’s Labradors — but no way am ah gonna be the only pooor bastard harbourin’ a lycanthrope family on Skye. Ah couldnae live with the shame...
But hey, it takes all sorts...