feminism, Highland Light Infantry, jump suits, knife crime, Lilliput, male chauvinism, North Sea Oil, Philosopher Kings, Plan B, Plato, politics, Scottish Nationalism, Scottish Referendum, stretch marks, The Republic, whisky
To Plunge in or Not?
Thank you fans; thank you. Back, you mad fools! Thank you. Yes. Here it is. After many, many years of contemplation on this burning issue which has occupied the greatest thinkers of the age, I, reluctantly, have resolved to enter the lists in this most divisive and weighty of all questions. Are Jordan’s tits real? No. Seriously folks, that question will take a great deal more time and investigation before a definitive answer can be given. (And you’ll be blind by then, you pervert! EdZilla) No. In the meantime I have finally agreed after massive pressure from all my fans, [Now down to one; the pet goldfish died last week. Ermintrude] Bah! From my intellectually superior position, I have condescended to give The Definitive View on the presently piffling matter of Scottish Independence. It is truly a struggle of positively Lilliputian proportions. Because, my dear discerning reader, in case you haven’t noticed, neither the ‘Yes’ nor the ‘No’ Party offer any true independence. Either you vote for Salmon and Sturgeon and the other rejects from a fish-farm; or you vote for the parade of Z-list failed politicians who pollute Westminster with their pension plans. What both sides have in common is the tacit understanding that, whichever way the vote goes; you, me and all Jock Thamson’s Bairns are gonna get half of bugger all, divided by two, in terms of North Sea Oil or any thing else for that matter. ‘Cause we’re too stupid; obviously. No. When the votes are counted, regardless of the result, you, the electorate, will still be getting told how to spend all your taxes by the soi-disant experts. You know, the ones who got you that concrete suppository for the Seriously Hard of Thinking at the Foot of the High Street, at the bargain basement price of £400 million. and not the trifling sum of £40 million. In the real world, that would get them a boot up the balls, and bankrupted. Here, in Cloud Haggis Land they have the utter gall to try and tell you that they know best how to run a country. They couldn’t run a piss-up in a brewery. Henceforth you will be known not as ‘The Electorate’ but ‘The Erectorate‘, since you’re all being so soundly fucked over.
And yet, avid readership, do not despair; the answer is starting you in the face; it lies in your own hands! [You wanker! Ermintrude] Humbug! Plato was full of it. (So are you. EdZ) Fools! Puny Earthlings! I was referring to his need for a ‘Philosopher-King’ to guide all these poor deluded people out of the cave and into the sunlight. [I think he means ‘total oblivion’. Ermintrude] Rubbish! (That too. EdZ) After long soul-searching [In your trousers. Ermintrude] I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that what this country needs is a good dose of MOI. (We’re doomed! EdZ) [Nah. But he sure as hell is. Ermintrude] Idiots! Here I present, to a breathless World, my ten point MAN-ifesto; ‘Watch With Mother’. I did not put that in! [No. We did. Ermintrude] Just you wait till the revolution! (Just you wait till The Coven reads all this pish! EdZ) Forget it Dum-Dums, the chicks won’t be able to understand the big words. [He’s dead. Ermintrude] (Since it’s all about Scotland can we use a boiling hot gallon of porridge with a blunt ‘spirtle’. EdZ) Since it’s Scotland, can you ‘carnaptious cauldron-clutching cows‘ put a sock in it? [Not a bad idea. Ermintrude] (Starched rigid, then sideways. EdZ) Eeeek!
1) The wearing of the kilt shall be a crime anywhere south of Stirling; unless you’re a chick with gorgeous legs.
2) Even then, the sporran will have to be worn on the inside; face turned in. Ouch!
3) All skean dhus will be worn in the buttocks, with no sheath. Double ouch!
4) The new crime of bagpipe-fondling will attract a punishment of having to listen to all the poems of Edwin Morgan; read out by a haggis with a squeaky voice.
5) Gaelic will only be taught in East coast harbours, when the tide is in. Unless read on TV by some of these good-looking birds. All Scottish folk groups will only be allowed to sing in Gaelic if the lead singer has at least 36Cs; and a good understanding of Scottish history. Maybe.
6) The main export of Scotland will be knife crime. Glasgow already leads the world in this form of self-expression. During the last War the Highland Light Infantry scared everyone shitless, even on their side, when they pulled out their bayonets – they thought they were special long knives made just for them.
7) The outrageous tax on whisky will be reduced by ninety percent; especially for discerning middle-aged men, who nobody really understands.
8) All football gangs; like ‘Hibs Casuals’ and their brethern in other cities, will be hired out to the British Army as mercenaries; known as ‘Jock-hadis’. The towel round their head shall be an optional extra. Their price shall be linked to the price of a pint of heavy as it so shall vary from time to time. If they insist on being chummed by their girl-friends; or ‘burrdz’ as they are known, their steel combs shall entitle them to be paid in free Pina Coladas and tanning sessions.
9) White nylon jump suits shall be banned over size thirty. Except in very dark discos.
10) All politicians shall be forced to make love to a really ugly bird/bloke every night for their rest of their lives. They may get time off for good behaviour if they’re nice about the stretch marks.
The case rests.
John J McCabe. Copyright. [Rhymes with load of xxxxx. Ermintrude]