Burn's Night Comes Around Again Like A Record Baby.

I was recently asked about the Scottish Sporran, "Mr Knudsen sir, what is up with that minge like thing you vastly superior Jocks carry around on yer kilts?" first of when you talk about Scottish culture like that we Scots feel the quickening and will most likely kill you, then we'd cry at our loss and write a terrible song of lamentation.
You see we don't have much in the way of culture, all everyone goes on about is kilt this and kilt that and it was a bloody Englishman that invented the modern day version on the kilt in 1727, it was taken from the Great kilt or Breacan which was a length of cloth 6 yards by 2 yards that was wrapped around the body and over the shoulder. Tartan was also made up and the various patterns that became most popular in the 19th century were probably just regional manufacturing differences. I've mentioned before that the bagpipes were from the middle east and used in the Scottish regiments of the British army, but there is always the Sporran.



The Sporran which is Scottish Gaelic for purse was used because when wearing the Breacan you didn't have any pockets, this could be used to carry money, yer cell phone or even sometimes food. Made from goat or badger skin it could be plain or decorated.

Wombles, they pretend to be all environmentally friendly then they eat yer children.

Great Uncle Bulgaria, Tomsk, and Madame Cholet ganging up to take a small gurl doon, violent and bloody is their way.

I personally used Womble, I had my own wee business making Sporrans, those Wombles were tricky, they'd go under ground over ground or just Wombling free, I am responsible for wiping out Wombles in the north the south belonged to the soft southern English gangs and that was their turf. Lambeth was their base, the Pearly Kings and Queens, they'd walk about Lambeth going Oi! they wore buttons all over their clothes to deflect the point of a knife in a fight.
Once I strayed too close while on a Womble hunt, I was too worried about being ambushed by the Womble to notice them, they caught me and dragged me up some apples and pears to room where the Head Pearly King was. I'll never forget his boat race, looked like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle, they thought I was a septic tank at first, you know those Sassanachs not too bright, I told them I was Listerine and I only sounded septic when I sang.


Mean bastards that fight like fuck, Elephant and castle, stick it up yer asshole.

The Head King was a right Berkeley hunt, he grabbed me by the cobbler's awls and of course I told him everything, they said they were going to kill me and would I like some Jellied eels as a last meal, I told them I'd rather eat my own feces though I wouldn't say no to a Ruby, they agreed to go fetch me one and as their shouts of oi! faded in the distance I slipped out the windy and doon a drain pipe and made my escape.

I couldn't find a pretty female Scottish actress so I put up Ewan McGregor instead, pretty isn't he? and to cover my arse just go to Sam problem-child-bride's Blog on my sidebar for an example of real Scottish beauty, but watch it she'll glass ya.

You may have noticed by now this does not have much to do with Robert Burns, well so fuck I don't care. I put up one of his poems on my other Blog Old Knudsen, a bit ghey to be honest . I've been to Burn's cottage, very small not very impressive at all, they sell wee white furry men with tartan hats to the tourists.

Insulting the English, confusing the Yanks my job is done here.