I think about many a
thing as Prof Hewitt
talks about the
justification for not
writing as a solely
Scottish writer.
A fighter, he engages
the ears but the mind
wanders and debates
whether the girl replying
has an annoyingly nasal
American accent; a
curious point to ponder
as her words do linger
for longer.
I think iPods would be
beautiful if they'd just
remove the buttons,
keep it simple, stupid.
Cupid, he's a funny 'ol
chap; sat seven rows
ahead is a girl who
gave me head, then
discarded me like a
used condom, or a
moudly loaf of bread.
Ribbet ribbet, what an
odd ringtone, schools
should be shown a
selection of languages
to teach: Latin, English,
French or even Scots;
ae didnae amour cogito, cunts.
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