It's Been Awhile

I apologize for my delinquency. I have simply not had the time to update this site as much as I would like, or indeed, as much as I had promised myself I would. I could feed you all some lame excuse about trouble at home, or being swamped at work, or an ingrown hair on my big toe, but I feel like you deserve more than that. I feel like you, my adoring public, deserve the truth.

Picture this: it is Monday evening, approximately 6:30, and I have just finished off my second bottle of Talisker. I am relaxing on my Italian leather sofa wearing my gold watch, the Blondage is beside me in her silk dress, and we're watching some bitches in the living room getting it on. Suddenly, I hear La Vie En Rose arpeggios coming from the driftwood castle nextdoor, and I decide I'm sick and tired of the guy next door quietly making noise. Up to the window I flew like Jumping Jack Flash, Threw open the shutters and ripped up the sash. "You there, boy!" I shouted to a passing urchin, "What day is it?" "Why sir, It's Christmas day!" came the cheerful reply. I was so elated that the spirits hadn't let me miss it, that I didn't hear my stereo begin to play the theme song to Close Encounters nor did I notice the menacing craft slowly descending on my slightly inebriated form. Before you could say "Another Round, Please!" I found myself breaking down into the very atoms that make up my body, and then reassembling inside the alien vessel. A wild-eyed, red-headed/red-bearded man with a Kilt and a Claymore stood behind a control panel mumbling something about "revolution...war...large bowl of porridge...drown middlesex in a sea of blood...FRRRREEDOM!!!" Then he stared at me.

Several minutes later, two more Highlanders came in and both shouted "FRRREEDOM!!!" and looked at me intently. Seconds ticked by. "FRRREEDOM!!!" they said again. "Freedom?" I asked. "Aye! FRRREEDOM!!!" They replied. "'Tis a Braw Bricht Moon-Licht Nicht Tonicht?" They inquired. "Ya're Richt Cha Can!" I said back forcefully. Then they said something that sounded like a chicken being fed through a food processor, so I just stood there. After a moment, one of the Highlanders pointed to a set of stairs and said "Ya'll tak tha high road, aye'll tak tha low road." I was beginning to understand their language. They spoke in old Scottish cliches and quotes. I replied "And I'll be in Scotland Afore Ye!" and they bellowed "FRRREEDOM!!!" then walked through the lower door. I climbed the stairs, and walked down the hallway to the bridge of the ship.

As I walked past busts of Mary Queen of Scots, Robert Burns, and that most famous of all Scots, Ouijock Poopon McPlop, the man who cleans out the public toilets in Aberdeen, I tried to understand what was happening. My best guess is that these strange creatures lived on a planet where they had been receiving television transmissions from Earth, kind of like the Movie Galaxy Quest, but funny. Unfortunately, through a strange twist of fate, they only ever received BBC2. I hated to think of the television programming hell that these poor creatures had had to endure on a daily basis.

After years of only BBC2, they had grown to hate the English and all things having to do with them. The next natural step, of course, would be to identify with the Scots. The sad part is that everthing they knew about the Scottish culture they had gleaned from BBC2. They thought all Scots were read-headed, drunken, bloodthirsty homocidal maniacs with no more ability to enunciate than a lisping stutterer in a peanut butter eating contest. This had kept them happy for a number of years, but eventually they had begun to want more out of life. In an attempt to learn all they could of the Scottish culture, they decided to kidnap an Earthling that showed all the signs they thought necessary to be an expert on Scotland. And that is why, when my Scotch-to-bodymass ratio approached 1:1, they locked onto me and beamed me up.

I entered the bridge, and was greeted with "FRRREEDOM!!!" by the crew. "Freedom." I replied and they all smiled and went back to work drinking whisky and head-butting each other. The captain, eager to test my knowledge of all things Scottish, approached and said "Lad, ye tink ye're a beg man, aye? Tink ye're tuff enuff to tak the captain, aye? Aye'll gie ye a Glaswegian Handshake!" Not waiting to see what would happen next, I shouted "Fuckye!" and smashed my forehead into his, sending him flying across the cabin to land on top of a man carrying a telephone pole. I then sat in is chair and started my carefully crafted speech: "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace Bled! Scots wham Bruce Has often led! Welcome to your gory bed, or to victory!"

Wild cheers filled the vessel as I finished my speech and approached a beautiful young alien/scottish girl. "Fair for yer honest, soncy face..." I said as she melted into me. Then I felt it. Goddamn kilts!

Well, needless to say, I had to kill him in order to ensure that the story never got out. Then, I gave the crew a round of Glaswegian Handshakes to make sure they knew who was in command. Satisfied that I held the ship, I began giving orders, and we, the noble Scottish/Conglerian Crew of the HMS MacMacMac, began our week long crusade of violence, rape, pillage, bloodshed, and Scotch consumption. They finally dropped me back off at home, with the promise to come back next month to continue their education.

Maybe I'll teach them some great Scottish songs like "My Love is a Prick (On a Red Red Rose)," "Let's give KOTWF another dram of Scotch," or "Tub Thumping."