There was this tired looking wuman that worked in the offy that sold buckie tae the school weans. Jesus she was scunnered wae her shite life. Thought aboot ending it awe the time. If it wisnae fir her two wee cats she would have years ago.
She was jist about tae sell a wee half bottle tae a boy that looked aboot ten when the buckie spoke.
“Here, hen. Fuck off! Ave no spent ma life maturing intae the perfect bottle ae tonic wine tae be selt tae a wean n whiteied up wae a back a chips an hour later. Gee the wee wank a White Lightening.”
“Shut yir hole and get in the bag!”
“Three quid, son.” she said tae the wee boy. “Dae ye want any ciggies tae go wae it?”
“That’s it! Am calling the polis,” the buckie screamed.
So the half bottle ae buckie called the polis and within ten seconds they burst in and the shop was shut forever! The wuman was subsequently carted aff straight tae the jail fir selling alcohol tae minors. Nae trial was needed.
“Ma cats! Somebdy needs tae look efter ma cats.”
“Fuck yer cats, hen. Dae we look like vets?” the polisman said, tanning that grass half bottle ae wine in wan go. “If yir lucky al shoot them after a rob yir hoose.”
But it wisnae awe bad news. Muirhead’s finest gee her a len ae a rope in her cell and she successfully hung hersel.
There was this set ae auld curtains that had been stuffed up a loft. A lovely pink and brown and yellow mixture. The cunts that put them up there said it was jist till the winter was over then they’d be back doon in the living room. But it had been aboot 30 year. Mibby even longer.
“Here, a don’t hink we’re getting put up again,” the left side ae the curtain said tae the right.
“Aye we ir. Don’t start that pish talk again. She said jist till winter was over. Any day now. Any day now. Any day–”
Low and behold the loft door creaked open and a man appeared.
“See telt ye.”
But it wisnae auld Jeffery Ferguson or his handsome wife. It was a new younger fella wae dirty fingers.
“Here, ye mind asking auld Jeanie or Jeffery when we’re getting back oot,” the left side ae the curtain said tae the man.
“Them? Och, they’ve been deid fir yonks. Am here tae pap awe ae yeez up here in the skip. Somebody finally bought this shite hole hoose.”
“A skip? We’re 70 quid curtains, don’t ye know? We don’t belong in a skip.”
The guy raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I’ll take ye somewhere more fitting.”
“Cheers, big man.”
And the 70 quid curtains ended up in the middle ae a Crowwood bonfire. Their screaming was a delight tae the inbred locals.
There was this wee piece ae coal that lived doon the mines in Moodiesburn. The hing was left behind when the mine shut yonkies ago. Bored oot its nut.
“Here, ye fancy making a break fir it?” it said tae a fag butt trapped there since the 1950s.
“And how ir we going tae dae that? Ye hink ave no thought aboot that afore, ya pie? We’ve awe tried and thirs nae way oot.”
The wee piece ae coal winked and whispered, “Oh but there is. Follow me.”
So the two new pals jumped intae the auld lift and crawled up the rope.
“It’s filled in at the top, so ye better huv a belter ae an idea how tae get oot or al be forced tae chib ye.”
“Och, wheesht. A dae.”
They got tae the top and yes it was awe filled it.
“Now whit?” The fag butt said.
The wee piece ae coal booted the butt right aff the edge and it splattered at the bottom. Cannae blame the hing, it was bored oot its nut. It hopped doon the rope and looked aboot fir another victim. At the very least it kept hings interesting fir itsel.
This guy was on the Muirhead subway line headin fir his giro. Nae seats but plenty standing space until a hoard ae wee salary men swarmed on at the next stop at Moodiesburn.
Instead ae waiting two fuckin minutes fir the next train, every last salary man cramed on the wan train coz they wir awe fannies like that. He was sandwiched between two sweaty cunts wae reeking hot breath. The poor guy managed tae sneak in his headphones, held on tae the railing and went tae sleep.
When he woke up, the train was suprisingly empty. Still running but. He rubbed his wee giro face and looked at the stop – next wan Cumbernauld.
But… but there was blood everywhere. Somebody had murdered awe the salary men! A beautiful miracle. He had a machete covered in blood in his hand but it wisnae him, officer. It wisnae. That guy was sleeping.
“Ave been set up! A hate those wee bastards, but a didnae dae it!”
The polis didnae believe a word and he was locked up fir a 90 year stretch doon the mines.
There was this immortal wee piece ae chewin gum that had been stuck under a manky desk at the primary school since 1987.
It had tried its best tae get free tae no avail. Awe the other bits under the desk wir fae a packet ae 1993 tropical Hubba Bubba and needless tae say wir bunch ae fannies. It longed fir the company ae his auld pals fae his auld Juicy Fruit packet. Awe he lived fir.
And wan day it had a miraculous stroke ae luck! It jist drapped aff the desk.
“Oh ya dancer,” it said and hopped along the floor and oot intae the sunshine. Felt brand new. It danced awe the wae back tae the newsagents it came fae awe those years ago.
Sadly that wee shop had long since closed n awe his pals fae the packet wir gone.
It tried tae hing itself after that, whit wae nothin tae live fir, but being immortal that didnae work.
A wee shame, eh?
There was this auld wee midgie and it pure loved its life. Biting awe sorts a cunts anytime it wanted and coz he was so fast, nabdy could squish him. At 72 year auld he had lost a bit ae speed but still had plenty ae juice in the wings but.
It was spring and he was back oot ready fir action. He spotted this a fat lassie coming oot the pub fir a smoke. Reeking ae Blue Wkds so she was n wearing a crop top wae her big belly hinging oot.
“Target locked, permission tae land. Permission granted, good sir. Feast away,” the midgie said.
He landed on that big hing’s belly and sunk his wee midgie biting hing right in there.
“Jesus, Moira. Thir’s a stinking midgie on yir belly,” said her pal.
The wee midgie, sharp as fuck, spotted her hand coming right for him n took off. But sadly he was stuck in a wad ae belly sweat n couldnae move an inch.
Hing was died.
This auld guy fae the nursing home shat himself in the cafe. He didane gee two fucks but. The place emptied pronto and the manager wuman went aff her nut.
“Haw you, ya stinking bastard, get oot!”
“Or whit? A paid fir ma knickerbocker glory. If a cannae hod in ma shite anymore that’s no ma fault. Am a paying customer n the customer is always right.”
She thought fir a wee second and nodded.
“Yir right, am sorry. Here, why don’t a get ye another ice cream on me?”
“That’s better. Al take wan wae raspberry sauce this time.”
The wuman smiled and came back wae a sawed-aff shotgun n blew the head right aff him.
“How’s that fir raspberry sauce?”
When the polis arrived there was blood n brains everywhere – awe over the wuman’s face and the ice cream an awe.
“He jist died, officer. Auld age it must have been.”
Muirhead’s finest looked at the headless body and gee the wuman a cheeky smile.
“Aye why no. The fuck we’re wasting a sunny day like this inside. Case closed.”