OGSF

THAS as tha wun troo Thraid!!! Meeks! MEEKS! Wid ye noo stan' wi mae?

Down what is the question, you drunken git. I hope to God there's not a YouTube video of you as Florence Nightingale... </font>

Down what is the question, you drunken git. I hope to God there's not a YouTube video of you as Florence Nightingale... </font>

Ah used tae ha' a cat. Ah fed at strawberries. Ah had tae push thaim doon wi' a pencil.

Ah'm tha feckin' model o' a modern feckin' general, Haggis mathematical an' Heeland fling ephemeral... *burrrp*Oh sae kin ye see'*/burrrp* Wha' di' ye doo wi' a problaim lak MARRRREEEYAAHHH! *hic* *thud*

Err...aye, he as not pathetic. Err...noo, he as not pathetic. Yer a feckin' git bastarrrd fer askin' a shtyupid quaistion lak tha'. Di' Ah menshun yer a feckin' git bastarrrd?

Sae daid Meek's Mum ever buy tha' deuce-an-a-half? Tha' bastarrd Meeks....sainds blind artillery barrage on mah feckin' setoop area, thain ain a poncy Sassanach school laddie voice, "Di' Ah hit anythun?" Tea or Lagavulin, or both. Ah haid a feckin' cruise line wunce, boot at ran off.

Ah'm daid gorgeous, Ah am!

Mother? As tha' yoo?

Hiram, Ah hope ye wee Jo as d'win alright.

Congratulations tae tha bonny Emma an' tha feckless laddie Mensch! Ah met mah ain sweet lass on tha Internet ain '94, an' we just celebrated 11 years o' marital bliss this last weekaind. Anyhoo, Ah seem tae remaimber some vacuous bastaarrd threatenin' tae visit Denver soon. Who tha feck was at? Leeo? Lars? Dalem? All Ah kin remaimber as openin' tha Lagavulin whain Ah read at.... Fess oop ye cloggy nostriled tam humper!

Tha's a bonny tale o' loss an' redempshun. Ah haftae wring oot mah sporran noo.

StukaNukaPukaPants as a rotten egg.

I left a message for you there you Faux Scot. Joe </font>

Last wun tae post ain Hirams's thraid as a rotten egg!

Di ye ken, three current Peng Thraids open at wunce!

At's a bit like a schism. Ah remaimber at were Hiram tha' followed tha' mad bastarrd Meeks aintae tha void, all those lang year ago. Tha ainly wun as waill. An' all tha lang syne Ah didnae wunce starrt an incarnation o' tha MBT, an' tha worrrld as poorer fer at. Ah lak postin' ain Hiram's thraid. At maks mae feel funny inside. Noo, tha's tha Lagavulin. Mah mistake.

Phone cameras a' tha hangin'!

Ferty bum bum here Ah gi O'er tha hills an' along mah way Drankin' whiskey as Ah sang Under mah kilt's wha Ah keep mah bling!

Grid mods are gamey.

Tha's akin tae sayin', "Look a' mae, Ah kin stand oop!". As there wun haggis-haid an thas whole stankin' place tha' haes played an' didnae whup Joe mah bag needs emptyin' Shaw? Ah go' a 100 tae 0 win o'er tha hapless tosser, wi' tha print-screen tae prove at. Ah kin see wha ye didnae play agin real competition, cos Ah beat ye lak a rainted mule on many occaishun. Perhaps ye kin find a baseball bat an' take on a frog ain a bucket naixt. Twit.

Are ye gwintae a wedding lass?

At's bitter cold ootside. Cam aintae mah parlour an' warrrm yersailf aboot thas roarrrin' candle. A bonny Christmas tae tha lot o' ye.

Cos at's Christmas Ah'll fergive ye thas WUN FECKIN' TEEM. Didnae lait at happen agin. Ah cuidnae gi tha reeds ain mah peeps tae set anyhoo. Ne'er meend, laddie. Mah limited expectaishuns fer ye shuid noo bae a benchmark, nae matter hoo oot o' reach they may bae.

Wha hey! At's Lagavulin Day! Season' Greetin's tae ye, whataiver tha may bae. Ah missed that feckin' Podcast thing, Joe Mah Depainds are full Shaw didnae leave enough time fer a proper raisponce. Pillock. Sae a Scottish feckin' poem fer tha Day... Wee bairns kecklin’ late at nicht, cries o’, "Git tae sleep!" Wee bairns wishin’, een shut ticht, bit naebidy’s coontin’ sheep. Squeezed-oot whispers wauken dawn wi’ oo's an’ ah's an’ aw's! Thochts o’ sleep hiv lang syne gone; "Look at them! An’ those!" Tuggin’ grand bows, rustlin’ paper, Skirls o’ sheer delicht. Openin’ boaxes, weans a-caper, Oh, for Silent Nicht! Clanks an’ whirrs wi’ bangs an’ bumps; Faint chimin’ frae a bell; Crunches, thuds an’ clangs an’ thumps; an’ noise that soonds like . . . Well! Music is near, playin’ guid cheer, Echoin’ Christ his been born; Soonds that we hear, soonds we haud dear, Soonds oan a Christmas morn. - Francis Kerr Young