/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.22063774]

I came across my Uncle Scott playing his bagpipes one afternoon, he was practicing in the traditional style of our clan, the Forbes, by stomping all around in a circle; lifting his hairy legs up high as he did so, and going 'parp parp' hard into the pipes so as to produce an awful din. Every now and again he would remove the pipe from his mouth and shout in gibberish whilst waving his fist in the direction of the nearby shore.

"What ho, Uncle Scott," I said, taking my rest upon a stone with one gaiter. I watched him stomping around in a circle, roaring in nonsense verse, seemingly ignorant to my presence, "you know," I said, "I've been in London these last few months and have seen the Kings Guard playing bagpipes and they sound nothing at all like you."

"That's because they're fairies!" he shouted, "blasted fairies to a man," he cursed, and then carried out stomping around in a circle.

"They wear underpants as well," I said in grim tones.

He stopped in his tracks and pivoted on one leg, turning to me with raised eyebrows and an accusatory finger, "or do the underpants wear them?"

I took a bite of my apple.

"Back when I was a young lad," said my Uncle Scott, "we considered it a mark of masculine virtue to wear nay underpants," he said.

I feigned an expression of interest, "is that so?" and he fell to his knees, the pipes falling from his neck, and he began to claw at the clouds above him, he said: "hoo ken ye noo a mon if'n ya canny sea waddy made-ee," which was just too thick in accent for me to understand. He looked a little downcast at my lack of response, and so I smiled and nodded, "I quite agree."

"As a matter fact," I said, a thought just having occurred to me, "when I was in London I met Uncle Mick from Cork and Uncle Jones from [unpronounceable], as well Uncle Chong from Han China and Uncle Sanchez from Madrid, they asked after you," and I reached into my cardigan and produced a small Polaroid of us all smiling and waving whilst sitting around a Taco Buffet.

Uncle Scott snatched the polaroid from my hands, he began furiously pointing at the photograph and his words failed for him for a good few seconds, until stuttering and stammering he managed to spit out, "they're no Scotsmen," and his eyes were wide and yellowing, and I frowned, more than a little perturbed by this, "why no they aren't," I said, taking the polaroid from his hands.

[Anonymous No.22063778]

Uncle Scott, bless him, he'd quite forgotten, you see:


"That all across the world," I sung, "we are one big Family,
why: the Chinaman are our brothers, as are the Mexicans,"

"but how can that be?" asked Uncle Scott, "it's just beyond my ken,"

"Why we're AAAALLLLLLL related, even the chimpanzees,
for we'e AAAAALLLLLL desened from Adam and from Eve,
WAAAAAAY back in the bible, when they were having sex,
they had lots of deformed babies who procreated next:

And first came the Welshman, just like our Uncle Jones,
and he was so ugly that he was left all on his own,
next came the German who offered him her arse
and out popped the Hebrew who landed on the grass,"

"And what about the blackies?" my Uncle Scotty sang,
as at that very minute the local church bells rang,

"They came from England, in the very early days,
produced by a liaison between the Irish and Genoese,
they were white like us, see, but then they went and slipped
on the road the Canterbury into a muddy ditch,
and they looked so frightful that they were cast away
and they washed up ashore in Africa where they live his very day."


"Well now that you've explained it all to me," said my Uncle Scott, "I suppose it makes sense," and he went back to his bagpipes.


/end