Lost Keys

A guy came home fae work. Couldnae find his hoose keys. Checked his pockets n everything. Lived hisel so he was fucked.

He wandered around the ootside, checking that mibby he’d left a windy open but naw. Whit tae dae, eh? Whit tae dae?

He chapped the door. Nothing. Chapped again.

“Whit is it? A wiz sleeping there,” his couch said.

“It’s me. Ave lost ma keys.”

“Hiv ye, aye?”

“Aye. Kin ye let me in.”

There was silence.

“Naw. It’s ma hoose noo. So fuck aff.”

“Whit? Come on tae fuck. How is it your hoose? A bought the hing, no you, n you ir a fucking couch. Quit being in wan ae yir moods and open the door.”

“Ave been in this hoose 20 year. You’ve been in it almost five. Correct?” the couch said.

“Aye, but-”

“Case closed. Aff ye go.”

After a lengthy discussion wae Muirhead’s finest, the polis sided wae the couch and the guy was homeless.


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