Sweet Oblivion
Recently, I had the pleasure of talking to Lemon Party's premiere Scottish poster David, and boy howdy did we have a fantastic conversation. Only problem was that somewhere in our fantastic conversation of fantasticism, he began to talk about Scottish sayings and one just seemed to stick with me; I pulled. Before you roll your eyes and say: "He's about to go into a story about badgers and Scotsmen teaming up to pull off our legs or some shit man do I hate that guy" please wait until I tell you my side of it. You see, the phrase I pulled, as a very distinct meaning, its meaning? Why to mean. I mean... fuck. Basically it means that you scored (in the most general sexual sense possible).

Before you decide to side with the badger, please listen to my story, which so happens to be full of intrigue, design, and surprise (not taken from the hit TLC show "While You Were Out"). Imagine that there are two people, Fred and Martha. Now Fred and Martha have been married for exactly 45 years, Fred is 67 and Martha is 71. It's about 7 AM and Fred and Martha are enjoying their morning tea and afternoon crumpet (last afternoon's crumpet, they missed it the day before) unaware that a mosquito carrying the red menace is flying over the Indian ocean to their tiny home in Scotland.

Fred finishes his tea and heads as he heads downstairs to begin his exercise routine, the mosquito flies in and bites him on the leg, Fred of course doesn't notice. Going down he begins his hour long workout on the exercise bike, unaware that the strain of malaria that the mosquito possessed was a super strain, capable of killing a human in a little under thirty minutes. Working hard, Fred begins to notice that his energy isn't quite as good as it usually is, he begins to doubt that he will even be able to go 20 minutes on the exercise bike, he of course chalks this up to the fact that he didn't get a very good nights sleep the night before, or day before... I can't remember when night is.

Anyway, all that is unimportant because 15 minutes into his workout he strains his leg, yeowch. He of course turns of the exercise bike, turns off the lights, and goes upstairs. Once upstairs he sits down and begins to breathe heavily, probably because he believes that breathing will cure his strained ankle, whatever jackass. Sitting and breathing not helping, he tries to find Martha, his loving and caring wife to ask her what to do. Finding her in the powder room powdering her nose he begins his query, "Martha dear, I just pulled a tendon or something" is what he tried to say, too bad he only got through "Martha dear, I just pulled" before his entire world went black as his heart exploded from explosive malaria.

Well Martha never! Can you believe the nerve of her husband? Your last words to your wife being that you banged some floozy on gold street? Martha of course tells their children and all of her friends, and pretty soon word spreads like wildfire. Fred banged some girl, and told Martha the second before he died, what a bastard. No one visits him at his funeral, in fact, Martha doesn't even want to shell out the monies for his funeral, he's just thrown into a ditch and left to rot... all because of some silly Scottish phrase.

Truly now is the winter of our discontent. Truly now is the winter of our discount tent.

What a sad day for liberty.

And remember the guiding light, lest we forget the glory that be Lemon Party.
Because your blog sucks.
- posted by Andrew @ 9:09 PM