Tag: Scotland

Bully Wee

Are you anything like me? Too old? Too lazy? And too crotchety to pick up new interests and hobbies?

Well I have the perfect solution for you!

It’s not testosterone replacement therapy. Nor is it psychiatric therapy for clinical depression!

It’s buying ownership in a sports club on the other side of the planet!

For years, I told myself that I needed to get into European football, sometimes known as “soccer” in the United States. But who has the time to learn new rules, players, strategies? I don’t have time for that shit.

So I came up with a brilliant solution: I will buy ownership in Clyde FC, a Scottish football club outside of Glasgow!

Have I ever been to Scotland? Nope!

Can I point Glasgow out on a map? Also no.

But here’s the best part: You don’t have to have any geographical knowledge to be a part of sports history. All it takes is pulling out your wallet and forking over 80.00 USD to own a share of the club and becoming a part of the Bully Wee family. Think about it. Now that I have a stake in the club, I’m REQUIRED, by law, to be invested in its success by familiarizing myself with Scottish football culture.

It’s genius in many ways.

A few people from Motherwell FC were like, “invest in our club 😭😭😭”. But it’s too late. As a club owner, I’m fully invested in building Clyde FC into the finest club in Scottish sports and I will never, EVER, step foot across the River Clyde into Motherwell. Hell, I wouldn’t piss on your town if it was on fire.

So what are you? Stupid?

Buy your own share of Clyde FC and let’s build something together!

Stop shi€£ing all over the place!

I’m gonna apologize ahead of time for this one.

“Weaver’s my name. Dick Weaver,” the tall burly Scotsman told me. “I was a whaler fer 13 year. Been a private eye fer 15.”

The man was covered in hair from head to toe. He wore only plaid. And denim.

His jeans were tight.

I put out an add for a roommate to help with rent. Dick was the only one who responded.

Dick sat down, pulled a cracker out of his toboggan, then started munching.

“Listen here young lad, let’s set some ground rules. Me bein a private dick, I do ne wanchya snoopin around me business. If I catch ya, I’ll kill ya. If I see ya sippin on me Irn-bru, I’ll kill ya. If I catch ya eatin me powsowdie, I’ll eat yur cock for breakfast,” he told me.

“Fair enough,” I said.

After I showed him his bedroom, he grunted for a bit and then slammed the door. I went to bed.

The next morning, Dick was hanging up clandestinely taken pictures of naked women on the wall.

“You said you were a private eye, right?” I asked.

“Aye”

“Is this a special case you’re working on?” I inquired.

“What business is that of yurs? Eh boy? Ask again an I’ll crack open ye noggin!” Dick angerly retorted.

“I was just asking. Jesus!”

That night, I was lying in bed when I heard some stomping around then considerable hootin’ n hollerin’ outside. It was none of my business. Hours later, Dick came stumbling into my room drunk as all get-out.

“Aye boy, I got to bein pissed at the pub an met a nice ol hen behin tha bar. Aye brought er here but she got to slippin digits n me hole. Aye it was a’right first but then I shat me britches,” he said.

“So you were smashing ass and then you shit the bed?”

“Aye. I cannae sleep because the sheets are covered in shite.”

“Well climb on in.”

Dick got under the covers. We shared a shot of whisky and a few tales of his time at sea before falling fast asleep.

The next morning, I awoke to find Dick wide awake and his hair-swirled chest in full view. I was fully clothed.“Top of the mornin’ to ya,” he said.

He climbed out of bed and his buttcheeks were beaten blood red.

“Aye boy,” Dick said. “I s’pose I should be congratulatin ya. You rammed me a new one!”

THE END