Thir was this tree planted up Shitebag’s Alley and it was feeling happy coz winter was awe but over n it was getting its wee leaves back. Spring was a joy. Loved the spring so it did.
It was having a wee blether wae its best pal, an 1984 empty packet a cheese and onion crisps, when some cunt jumped over the railing and started pishing awe over it.
“Haw! The fuck’s going on?”
The guy gee the tree a mad-wae-it look and continued pishing. The packet a crisps was getting filled right up wae the pish an awe.
“Whit a place fir a pish, by the way. Nabdy kin see me. Cannae believe ma luck,” the guy said.
“Naw! It’s a shite place fir a pish. Am no a fucking lavy!” The tree said.
The guy finally stopped and fucked aff. Both the tree n the crisp packet wir greeting their eyes oot. A wee shame so it was.
“At least it wisnae a shite,” the crisp packet said.
The tree sighed. “Aye.”
It put on a brave face face fir its pal but inside it wished itsel dead. It felt like hings couldnae get worse.
But they did.
Fir the rest ae its life the tree became known as ‘The Sneaky Pish Tree’ and was frequented by jakies every night ae the week until the stench a pish soaked intae its bark forced the Muirhead council tae cut the hing doon.