So Billy The Joiner said the immortal words “Is this not braw?” No, Billy it is not for this is Aberdeen and its incessant buckin’ greyness is causing me to fear that I have lost my colour buckin’ vision. Even King Sean the First of Scotland (aka James Aloysius Bond) would not relocate his throne to this square sausage free arena of miserableness and even if you yourself, armed only wi' the kind of psychotic indifference that distinguishes First Bus drivers, had the option you would choose to be otherwise incarcerated in East Kilbride.
Noting however the excess of polis patrolling these streets of indifference in their fluorescent chariots, doing the Vietnam thing and taking deep cover seemed a wise doodah. You see, Billy The Joiner has a potty mouth and a few ill-chosen words about the logistical difficulties of a reach across tug tug in the front seats of a Range Rover and it would have been a night in the cells as the dessert to the main course of a traffic polis powered kicking. Nae tunnels for these warriors in the battle against shite kebabs and common sense though as instead market buckin’ intelligence found us a safe haven in a Brewdog. House rules on the wall, by the way, that said nae shandies or you will be judged. That’ll show the door to the east coast jessies. Nae words of wisdom for the Carling ten pint vomiters of this parish though. Like stay in Wetherspoons. Or get an early night so you can be up sharpish and build another Lidl.
There’s a feckless looking boy in the corner showing his bum cheeks to the windae. He’d regret that move in Edinburgh. Little does he realise though that he is facing a Zeitgeist powered firing squad just looking for the God given opportunity to character assassinate him and his winsome buckin’ ditties about ho’s and bling. To the credit of his musical credibility however, he has adopted the name of JJ Bull as an ironic counterpoint to the nihilistic sexism of gangsta rap and, in furtherance of his inverse urban credibility, is packing an acoustic guitar instead of a Mach 10. So thorough is he in his method acting impersonation of a singer songwriter that he actually induces a Pavlovian response amongst the daddy funded student bawbags that made up his too cool for school audience. They just ignored him. It was like being back in dear old Glasgow toon.
Billy The Joiner has meanwhile spotted that the barmaid has tattoos. Billy The Joiner is consequently reminded that the last time he noticed that a barmaid had tattoos he got himself a community service order. Said tattooed barmaid then gratuitously and randomly cards a wee studenty twat in a check shirt. Ah nearly choke on ma oan vomit laughing as said studenty twat kakks his full retail paid Calvin Kleins upon the demand for age verification. Barmaids are fearsome creatures indeed.
Ah’ll say this. JJ Bull wisnae a bawbag but equally he did fall into the abyss of indeterminate pakora munching on a Tuesday night. If you do not know what kind of pakora you are then it will be buckin’ hard to get any hairy arsed bawbag to buy you and eat you all up. Either that or I was mair pished than I thought I was. Which is possible given that Japanese ale that was on tap, in glass and in belly. So, as my good friend Robby The Bruce once said – time to shoot up the buckin’ kebab shop. Or shoot up in the buckin' kebab shop? Robby The Bruce. Now, in spite of the friendship angle, he was a fulltime bawbag. Toom tattie and aw that.