September 14, 2006

Clan MacDonald of Keppoch has a new chief at last. Not everyone is happy. MacDonald of Keppoch, aka MacDonnell, aka Ranald of Lochaber, is not to be confused with the larger Clan MacDonald, of which it is one branch.
  • I just got in from the Isle of Skye I'm nae very big and I'm awfully shy The ladies shout as I go by - "MacDonald, where's your troosers?"
  • Sterling first comment on that scotsman thread: "What a nasty, bloodthirsty lot. It almost puts you off Big Macs".
  • *hides the Campbell's soup*
  • *puts Burns-o-matic acetylene torch in cupboard with soup*
  • OK -- dumb question -- what does he win?
  • Is it the hat? It's the hat, isn't it?
  • He wins a tartan' more! Hee hee!! *grizzles, prospects*
  • Now that they've picked Ranald MacDonald as their chief, can we expect to find some new era of clannish accord with the MacCheeses and MacMuffins?
  • Well, ain't that a hoot, mon!
  • ... and, yea, then the new scotland was crammed so thick with Iain and Ian and John MacDonalds and the like Iain and Ian and John MacDonnells that no man could inch between them that was a very fat man ... MacDonalds to the left of him, MacDonalds to the right of him, here a MacDonald, there a MacDonald, dammit, everyone in the county was named John MacDonald ...
  • Got so carried away by these hordes o' MacDonalds I forgot m' link!
  • The Ghost o' Burns (A Highland Haunting) Upon th' lone, wild moor one morn, Th' heather looked sae braw, As I went walkin' a' forlorn, The strangest sight I saw. I didnae ken what it could be, Some phantom, or some sprite - I'd like t' lay me doon an' dee, A' o'ercome wi' fright. Ah, 'twas th' ghost o' Robbie Burns, An' to me he did say, "Och, lassie, in me grave I turns, Each time ye write this way! Nae doot tha'art a clever lass, But Scots tha ne'er shall be. It makes me want to gag, alas, On yonder linden tree." An' then he gang awa', puir Rob, An' left me on th' moor. I hadnae done sae bad a job As a' o' tha', for sure! For a', 'twas but a bit o' fun, Me little Scottish verse, An' tho' 'tisnae sae gud as some, I'm sure there's more what's worse! Och, ghost o' Burns sae hyper-critical, Gi'n me a' your flak! I've ne'er known shade sae analytical; Cut me noo some slack!