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NotJustAHatStand

People say life is the thing, but I prefer reading*
 

Digestive Discomfort

In view of yesterday's post, I was delighted to read this today (despite very nearly inhaling a piece of pasta), and I was reminded of this poem, which was doing the rounds via email not so long ago. It's written in Scots (I can translate for any who need it!), and contains one sentiment in particular that I may adopt as my motto: 'Where ere ye be let yer wind gang free'.

Tae A Fart

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie,
Lurks in yer bellie efter a feastie,
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin
There starts to stir an enormous wind.

The neeps and tatties and mushy peas,
Start working like a gentle breeze,
But soon the pudding wi' the sauncie face,
Will hae ye blawin' a' ower the place.

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
a'body's gonnae hae tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
it's like a bullet oot a rifle

Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair,
Tae try tae stop the leakin' air,
Shift yersel fae cheek tae cheek,
Pray tae god it disnae reek.

But a' the efforts go asunder,
Oot it comes like a clap o' thunder,
Ricochets arrond the room,
Michty me! a sonic boom.

God almighty it fairly reeks,
A' hope a' huvnae shit ma breeks,
Tae the bog a' better scurry,
Whit the hell, it's no ma worry.

A'body roon aboot me chokin',
One or two are nearly bokin',
I'll feel better for a while,
Cannae help but raise a smile.

It wis him! I shout and glower,
Alas too late, he's just keeled ower,
Ye dirty bugger! They shout and stare,
I'm no that welcome any mair.

Where e're ye be let yer wind gang free,
That sounds jist the joab fir me,
Whit a fuss at Rabbie's party,
Ower the sake o' one wee farty.
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*Logan Pearsall Smith



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