So much gay stuff today. It’s the inverse of Oscar Wilde, the love that dare not speak its name is now the love that won’t shut the hell up. Everyone’s a homo, and if you’re not a homo, you’re in the closet. I’ve been to the urologist and had his hand up my ass (he didn’t even have the common courtesy to buy me lunch or even whistle “Moon River”). It hurt like a sumbitch and so I cannot fathom how people consider it pleasurable, let alone the dinnermashing aspect of the act. As soon as I see poo, the party’s over. At least that’s how I feel about the subject.
But I digress, yeah, that Nordic stuff. Quite possibly they may be my ancestors on one line, the ones that moved to Scotland 500 or so years ago. A few copper red hairs in my facial hair, so that’s probably their doing.
I stay away from Doctors ;)
I tell everyone who’s from Scotland they are the only people Vikings warned against messing with. Too many warriors lost, too little booty gained.
Then they went to Ireland and there were hardly any people there because the black haired Irish kept freezing to death. The vikings said “you know, you can burn this peat stuff you’re standing on.” The Irishman said “Really? It’ll make good fuel fer ma still. Watch my granddaughter fer a minute, will ye?” And so 700 years later Maureen O’Hara was born. They figured they better make her a movie star before she embarrassed the UK by beating Adolph to death all by herself ;)