Tuesday, May 20, 2008


A Scotsman's Journey to the Vert with only Cherries for Vivers! Part II

fleer: v. to sneer or scoff; n. a word or look of mockery

nates: n. the buttocks

lief: adv or adj. willing, glad, or dear, beloved

blin: n. Russian pancake

blithe: adj. merry

rive: v. to wrench open or tear apart to pieces; to shatter, split with force

urp: v. to vomit

kex: n. a weed, or a dry husk or covering

zax: n. a tool for cutting roof slates

staw: v. past tense of steal

trice: n. instant, moment

cote: n. a small shed or coop (for sheep or doves)

vita: n. brief autobiographical sketch or curriculum vitae

Arms outstretched, singing to the skies, the Scotsman felt, for a trice, true comfort in this new land. He longed to spend the rest of his years living in this beautiful tarn, singing and dancing to his heart's content. He pictured the smew happily sleeping in a spacious cote, while he used his zax to fashion a splendid roof for his newly crafted hut, small but very blithe indeed. As the vision subsided, and the Scottish thesp came to his senses, he almost urped! "Blimey!," he exclaimed, "what in the world have I been thinking?" Realizing he could never leave his lief family, he fleered at the land before him, concluding he had gone utterly mad, if only for a trice. As he continued to frown, he felt like he wanted to rive the earth apart and rip the weeds around him, especially the malignant kex, though why the kex was malignant was a mystery to the Scotsman. He just hated the way the leaves looked and the stems curled, and ... and ... he couldn't think of any more reasons, and ended up crossing his arms in arrogant disgust. With his eyes wide and red hair sticking up, he looked much more like a mad Scotsman than the cheerful thesp he was back at home. To calm himself, he started to picture the rolling countryside of his native village, scrolled through his most impressive vita, and sighing, he dreamed of himself embracing his welcoming and amiable family. He pictured himself walking into his house, with his kitchen to the left and those wonderful blin his wife made him nearly every morning. Feeling as if he could taste the sweet pancake, he licked his lips and smiled, feeling utterly content. He suddenly wished he had brought blin instead of cherries for his vivers. Ah, I staw cherries when I could have swiped some blin!, he thought to himself. Knowing he must now return home to his lief family and scrumptious blin, excitedly, he started to run, wanting nothing else but to be home, home-sweet-home. After a few yards of running, though, he started to weaken, and had no choice but to continue on his way in a slow amble. The pain ran down from his lower back into his legs. It was so great, that he worried that his nates might completely fall off. Will the struggling Scotsman reach his home before his nates fall off, or will he be forced to delay his journey, continue to be vexed by the kex, and only dream of his wife's delicious blin? Find out next time on "A Scotsman's Journey into the Vert with only Cherries as Vivers."


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