Fresh from enduring yet another worldwide mangling and Americanised mispronunciation of 'Auld Lang Syne' and emerging tattered & somewhat battered from the bleak midwinter days of the year just newly consigned to history, the S T o n E d H o L y B L O g g e R has rather tiptoed his way into 2018. But the pussyfooting stops HERE!!
For, although the New Year has been somewhat low key and the days have sneaked past the grubby windows of StonedHolyCentral unnoticed almost, today I was roused from my Pop-Slop-Torpor by a paragraph or two which caught my eye in one of the periodicals I peruse, to maintain, at least, a tenuous link to the outside world, disappointing as it is!
Here it was, as I cast a detached and somewhat listless ee over the various columns that told of the latest balls-ups, cock-ups & all-round fuck-ups of the Great & the Good - also known, to me and a growing multitude of disaffected others, as the sad, stunted little gang of playground bullies, imaginationless stuffed shirts & emotionally crippled creeps who we allow to frame the political paradigm - that I was drawn to an item of news which told of a Burns' Night Supper to be held in the State Dining Room of number 10 Downing Street!! And somewhat incredulously, I was informed of how the personality vacuum that is Theresa May was 'looking forward to a great evening to celebrate a great poet, a great nation and an enduring union.'
As regular cyberpeepers of these jaundiced virtual columns can attest, this is usually when the s t O n e D h O L y B L O g G e r waxes lyrical about Mr. Robert Burns, late of Ayrshire, Scotland and posts a scathing line or two about how the poet would be spinning in his grave if he only knew aboot aw the keech and aw the haiverin done by bletherskites & dunderheeds in his name on January 25th. Dumfries toon could daresay run street lights for free if they stuck a dynamo on the Birlin Bard! The thought of aw them Unco Guid & Rigidly Righteous liftin a glass in his honour wid scunner him for sure! Never mind aw the Holy Willies and their fantoosherie! Anyway, I had thought I wouldn't bother this year ; after all, how many times can yi scoor the same stibble. But after reading the above & being in no doubt as to what Burns himself would make of all the liars and phoneys blowin' in his lug, the S t O N E d h O L y b L O g g e R clambered indignantly aboard his high-horse and made ready tae caw doun damnation & caw time on aw the primpin' prigs!
Perhaps you, like me and, no doubt, the late departed Robert Burns, esq, can take delight in the thought of Mrs. May, wi a wee drammy by her bedside, next to the nuclear destruction button, enjoying a furtive perusal of The Merry Muses of Caledonia and informing her husband that 9 inch would, almost certainly please the lady!! Perhaps you also can relish the image of Mrs. May warmed by the usqebae n aw the blether aboot pintles and where exactly wiz it that the Guidwife wanted something doin', pleasuring the dessicated, Prime-Ministerial love button!! Perhaps, bathed in the afterglow of the podgering meted oot by the sex machine that is Mr. Philip May, she translates for him intae her clipped R.P. English what exactly "gin a body meet a body comin through the grain, gin a body fucks a body, cunt's a body's ain" actually means! And who could've guessed that the dried up old carlin has a working knowledge o the Scots leid and kens her clamjamfries fae her stooshies!! Who knew the vicar's daughter appreciated a guid doon-tae-earth bit of bawdiness rendered in the Guid Broad Scots?!?!Perhaps flushed from yet another joyous run through the wheat fields of Oxfordshire she likes nothing better than to curl up with her facsimile of the Kilmarnock Edition. Who could've guessed that her love of aw things Scottish extends also tae the dining table?! A wee bitty o the clapshot, hen?! Perhaps, as she lifts another forkful of haggis to her hollow and insincere mouth, the same mouth that speaks of "precious, precious union" the words of her 'great poet' come easily tae her vacuous mind.....here, let me remind her ;
Fareweel tae aw oor Scottish fame
Fareweel oor ancient glory
Fareweel ev'n tae the Scottish name
Sae famed in martial story
Noo Sark rins ower Solway sands
An Tweed rins tae the ocean
Tae mark where England's province stands
Sic a Parcel o Rogues in a nation!
Whit force n guile cuid no subdue
Through many warlike ages
Is wrought noo by a coward few
Fir hireling traitor's wages
The English stell we cuid disdain
Secure in valour's station
But English gowd huz been oor bane
Sic a Parcel o Rogues in a nation!
O wid, or A hud seen the day
That Treason thus cuid sell us
Ma auld grey heid hud lien in clay
Wi Bruce an loyal Wallace
But pith an power till ma last hour
A'll mak this declaration
We're bought an sold fur English gold
Sic a Parcel o Rogues inb a nation!
Aye, I can really see Theresa enjoying that yin!! Whit's that rumbling noise I can hear? Jings, I think it is, y'know!.....It's Robbie Fukn Burns Birlin' in his fukn grave!!!!
