god i love that place, glasgow is like birmingham of the north... a rotten scow to nowhere, unless it be a place that spoke: deep-fried mars bar for breakfast - you scurvy worth of the tangled sailor! ****!
gods took to the twallop, and i takes me to the rool ups! got a bargain with a shrimp you belfast *****? my **** you 'av! next time they sing: sweet dover, i'll have you marrying the ***** cult of: shard! ye storm ah heed! **** me an' timber twice: V fooking eye of ye, hire-crane! ******* twice, three times removed the drunk... huh?! it's all plus minus with me by now... ha ha! had a cousin, didn't say why, cursed & numbed the cuss words like a nun ought to know why... so i says me: lingua the leash - earn the ir - softspot for the tucker-jacks and the irish lepers: shauns they called them... he he... look at me: all smug and waiting for brussel sprouts out the paan tree... what's with these wallaby terms? panchree? panna quinoa, panna cotta? ******* as clingy as those pepsoowongs, or wangs or pepsoos.
as the english queers say F F Θ, but then pull out a churchill - and vey v girman vey such & such... they and way become indistinguishable - churchie and the welsh abbey become one and the same with either V as "peace", or the V and the welsh longbowmen *******...
v'eh point... wayward: too soon... vuck! wook? wookie? va va voom! woonder-brum, brimming, bra bra bra... ha ha ha... dried it all off with the giggles... then it became apparent: the man settled for the dozen, whether it was a dozen of ostriches, hyenas, bunches of lychee, leaks, bulgarian strippers - or worse... a dozen of english rhetoricians, notably gay; ****... what a gamble.