OGSF

ODE TO A HAGGIS Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang’s my arm The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, You pin wad help to mend a mill In time o’need While thro’ your pores the dews distil Like amber bead His knife see Rustic-labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reeking, rich! Then, horn for horn they stretch an’ strive, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive Bethankit hums Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi’ perfect sconner, Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither’d rash His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He’ll mak it whissle; An’ legs, an’ arms an’ heads will sned, Like taps o’ thrissle Ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care, An’ dish them out their bill o’fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r, Gie her a Haggis!

At's boond tae bae nasty, lass. Didnae turrrn ye delicate wee mind tae at. A filthier pair o' graspin', hoary auld men ye widnae feend ootside, waill, tha 'Pool. Blacken'd finger nails protrudin' oot o' shabby, grey woollen gloves, crooked teeth tha colour o' goose piddle. Noo lassie, ye turn ye mind tae tha gentler things o' life.

Ah haid a wee nut tree An' nuthin' wid at bear But a silver nutmaig An' a goldain pear Tha Queen o' Spain's daughter Cam tae visit mae An' all fer tha sake o' mah wee nut tree. Ah hope ye' dog as recoverin' fraim hais "adjustmaint", lassie.

Ye put a space between tha "s" an' tha ".", ye feckless git bastarrrd scrrrratch-n-sniff bottom scrrratcher.

Gaze Ye Bastarrrrds!! Gaze!!

Ah'm feckin' brilliant, Ah am. Ah hae jus' finished emptyin' a rusty can' whoop ass all o'er Noba tae tha tune o' 92 tae 8. Hae spaint far too much time furtin', an' noo enuff time fightin'. Gaze ye upon mah mighty works, an' traimble!!

Stop talkin' aboot mah plums, ye filthy teabagger!

Di ye knoo wha' ye gi fraim toilet seats, Radley? Ye gi' toilet bottom, tha's wha'. Ah mean yoo di, noo everywun ailse. Jus' yoo. An' Rune.

Ye mean tha river wi' one single bridge o'looked bah a ring o' high groond, an' noo a single ford as an alternative? An' ye calculate Ah've lost two thirrrds o' a platoon? Riddle mae thas wun, ye pillock....as two thirrrds a platoon equal tae two squads or two Brazillians? Two Brazillians!!?? Whoa....tha's like.....a lot!!!

Cos at were bein' commanded bah a feckless git, noo doubt. Ah slaughtered Boo's armored horrrdes wi' a single tank, Ah'd di tha same tae yoo laddie!

Noo ye've confused haim! Hae's wunderin', "Wha' di ye mean 'this time around'?"

Ah refer tae haim as "mah wee Frenchman". Ah have haim di all o' mah shoppin' fer mae.

Q. Wha' di' ye call seven one-man bren carrier crews standin' aboot near a flag? A. Tha other parrrt o' Boo's attackin' force!

*splutter* Wha'?!!!? Ah hae a vurrry clear recollaicshun o' vaporisin' ye Russian fodder ain three turrrns o' a 300 point QB!! Yoo attacked up a short narrow map wi' mah Adolph's entrenched a' tha top. A small hut tae ye right flank. Ye laddies stood oop, an' mah laddies shot tha bejabberwockies oot o' thaim. Boot ye main point as made... unlike ain tha' encoonter, Boo As thas tha way tae the front? Radley had room tae manhoover. Which hae did...straight aintae mah copious minefields!!! Q: Wha' di ye call a Valentine wi' ats tracks blown off? A: Part of Boo's attackin' force!

Spoiler as at? Ah waited four minutes after Ah saint tha file back tae yea. As noo mah fault ye slower than a really slow person goin' really, really slowly, as at noo? Ye shuid open tha file laddie, jus' tae see where tha bulk o' mah forces were placed. Tha wuns ye ne'er e'en encoontered. At wuz gratifyin' tae observe tha' hardly a single minefield o' mine were wasted.

Sae Boo hae finished saindin' haes guid ol' boys intae mah Axis defences lak a hairless guinea pig aintae a dog fight, and haes bin duly slaughtered, SLAUGHTERED AH SAY, tae tha tune o' 84 - 16. He ainly did sae well due to a gamey flag rush wi' haes diapered reserves on tha second last turrrn. Ah ainly haid wun tank, WUN TANK AH SAY, tae confront haes armored horrrde. Funnily enough, at were sufficient.

Ah like tha laddy. Cuid hae returrrn on probation?

Boo, wid ye try on thas crimson jacket fer mae? Jus' tae see af at fits?

Sometaims Ah wantae swing mah claymore aboot mah haid, charge doon tha hill screamin' mah feckin' lungs oot, an' hack tha ****e oot o' a line o' Redcoats. Very therrrapeutic. Jus' sayin'.

Chris, glad ye're okay. Och, an' baist wishus tae ye Da'. Costard (spailt, noo bolded), ye didnae bold "Emrys", cos at's noo a Knight o' tha Pool. Hae's a feckless non-playin' git. Wha'a ye ain Kanniget at? Oh, havin' an angioplasty. Radley!! Thas as ye fault!!

Tha dog ate ye cell phone number. Saind at tae mae agin, laddie.

Mace, ye feckless edge-huggin', jeep-rushin', gamey bastarrrd. Ye smell worse than a Werribee duck. Mah sister lives ain Woodend on 20 acres an' she kin smell ye from her hoose. Di' ye still play tha game o' real men (an' ladies)? Saind mae a set-oop laddie, CM:AK wi' trees. Unless ye a stinkin' 'Pies barracker an' a big girrrl's blouse.

Gi' tha bastarrrrd nought, lassie!

An' noo a wee song, wrritten fer Joe Urethra Franklin Shaw... The moment I wake up Before I put on my makeup I make a little rule for you While combing my hair now, And wondering what dress to wear now, I make a little rule for you Forever, and ever, you'll stay in my heart and I will love you Forever, and ever, we never will part Oh, how I love you Together, forever, that's how it must be To live without you Would only mean heartbreak for me. I run for the bus, dear, While riding I think of us, dear, I make a little rule for you. At work I just take time And all through my coffee break-time, I make a little rule for you. et-feckin-cetra

Ah find at baist tae salughter all o' Joe Do ye knoo tha wah tae San Jose Shaw's pixel-truppen bah turrrn thrrree. Sae noo need fer haim tae admit wha' as plain tae see.