Get out of my country

Scotland is normally quite a welcoming place, and accepts tourists (and their money) with open arms.  I hate tourists, and what is certain to piss me off is meeting a certain type of tourist that shows up every summer.  The American (or Canadian) that believes they are Scottish, and has returned to the “motherland”.

First I should mention I am about as Scottish as one can get.  My beard is ginger, I speak Scottish gaelic (pronounced “gah – lik”, not “gay – lick” you ignoramus), I can eat haggis with no irony, drink most horses under a table, and at one point I did play the bagpipes.  Using these tremendous powers, I feel I am qualified to advise any Americanadians on what not to do on a trip to Scotland.

First, do us all a favour and erase the phrase “The customer is always right” from your brain.  If you act like an imbecile, you can expect to be treated like one.  The tourist customer is not precious or special.  The supply is plentiful, so the arseholes can be thrown out of the shop/restaurant/brothel and buisness will continue to thrive without them.

Second, stop fucking bitching about the weather here.  We live here.  We fucking know.  Buy a jacket, you turd.

Third, if you’re trying to find long-lost relations, don’t just ask people in the pub if they know them.  We are all liars, and will be sure to send you to the most unwelcoming people we can think of to teach you a lesson.  The lesson is to ask someone else.  Yes it would be easier to just tell you, but then you wouldn’t learn.  I’ve been personally reponsible for sending tourists 50 miles in the wrong direction, on a road that can hardly be described as a road.  A friend of mine sent tourists into a junky-riddled estate.  Just ask at the library.

Fourth, don’t make jokes about fucking sheep.  It gets very lonely up North.  Sometimes they just need a push through the fence.  How else are we supposed to keep warm in the winter?  That field full of sheep IS the leisure centre.  These jokes are all quite worn out, and no longer funny.  Tell us a joke about why you’re so fucking fat, like the time you turned around and missed your birthday.

Fifth, if you like Donald Trump stay the fuck out of the North.  Donald Trump is responsible for destroying an incredible part of Scotland that was a one-of-a-kind area of scientific interest.  If you like Donald Trump, you can just kill yourself.  The Scottish National Party and Aberdeenshire council can do the same (the Trump loving arse-lickers).  If you are Donald Trump, I advise you to stand in a bowl of hydrofluoric acid and wait it out.

Sixth, if someone tells you “It’s midgie out there, I’d go tomorrow”, you really need to take that advice.  Midges are tiny little flies that bite you.  There are a number of them.  That number is the second biggest number in the world.  The only thing there might be more of is “things”.  They are the best demonatration of “strength in numbers” that exists.  Some hard bastards just go out anyway, and come back completely covered in bites like it’s not a problem.  Some people claim they have stuff to spray on that stops the midges biting (there is no such thing, except maybe hot wax).  Smart people dress like beekeepers and only venture out if it’s completely unavoidable.

Finally, avoid talking about boring shit, unless you’ve found an equally boring person to talk to.  Topics such as your family history, how your great great grandfather on your mothers’ side is Scotch-Irish and that makes you a 16th more Scottish (you are not, and never will be considered Scottish you human failure), anything that involves the word “Scotch” (it’s called whiskey here), how you’re buying a kilt/house on the moor/Scottish widow/bag of horse, how much bigger/better everything in Americanadia is, how our accent is so hard to understand (you don’t see us having any trouble with yours, dick), or American football should be considered off-limits.  Because American football is fucking retarded.  Ask us about the last time we got hammered, or leave us to drink in peace, you ballbag.

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About harrypeat

I'm a happy-go-lucky chap with a zest for life and the resting heart rate of a yellowfin tuna. I love long walks on the beach at dusk, paintings of elderly couples, and vegan dinners by candlelight. As well as being a talented rhythmic jazz guitarist, I am a part-time vblogger and all-round gymnast.
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