Wednesday, May 20, 2015

There's Actually a Line in Comedy.

You can joke about anything -- anything. Except the Scots. I'm Scottish. Those jokes are objectively not okay. Thanks for understanding. :)

I lost my Scottish accent when I accidentally slashed my vocal cords with my broadsword while I was drunkenly beheading the English.

In full Braveheart make-up while I was doing it, shouting "You what, mate?" and "Square-go, like!" over and over, calling them all cunts.

I'm joking. My face was caked in so much blood you couldn't even see the make-up. And when the next wave of English soldiers thundered atop their steeds towards me, I stood on a hill, lifted my kilt and waved my bare ass. Cock and balls sweeping left and right, slapping my thighs.

Luckily I managed to keep the wave at bay with a lively Scottish bagpipe tune. Horses reared in agony. The heads of those leading the assault exploded. Soldiers fell off their saddles, clutching their ears.

"FREEDOM" I shouted defiantly at the retreating horde of English scum.

And collapsed, dead, a life-time of daily hard alcohol and drug abuse and scalding hatred for other races having finally taken its toll.

It's alright, I'm performing a highland dance with my bonnie lass in heaven now, after the English raped and killed her. Every soldier.

It's always the fucking English.