Avatar of MisterHippity

by

The Poet Burns Returns From the Grave to Offer Virus A Final Birthday Wish

September 1, 2009 in A Birthday With Shoes

You know, Virus, we twa hae run about the braes and pu’d the gowans fine. But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot, sin …sin …

Oh hell, I can’t do these lines justice. Why not let the master himself do the honors?

Take it way, Robbie!


Related Posts

Tags: ,  

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/chillbearlatrigue/ Chillbear Latrigue

    I want to reach in and straighten his head.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/misterhippity/ MisterHippity

    It’s amazingly realistic it is, isn’t it?

    It’s like the poet Burns is really alive, and he’s right here in the same room with us!

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/misterhippity/ MisterHippity

    Chillbear: THat’s part of what makes it so realistic.

    Robert Burns’ head was actually kind of warped and wiggly like that. It’s just historic verisimilitude.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/ BookishLookish

    Robbie Burns was a very observant lad, especially “down there”.

    And he wrote poems for those who shave it:

    Nae Hair On’t

    Yestreen I wed a lady fair,
    An ye wad believe me,
    On her cunt there growes nae hair,
    That’s the thing that grieves me.

    It vexed me sair, it plagued me sair,
    It put me in a passion,
    To think that I haed wad a wife,
    Whase cunt was oot o fashion.

    And for those who don’t:

    There’s Hair On’t

    O, or yestreen I stented graith,
    An labored lang an sair on’t;
    But fient a work, na work wad it,
    There’s sic a crap o hair on’t.

    There’s hair on’t, there’s hair on’t,
    There’s thretty thrave an mair on’t;
    But gin I live to anither year,
    I’ll tether my grey naigs on’t.
    An up the glen there rase a knowe,
    Below the knowe a lair on’t,
    I maist haed perished, fit an horse,
    I could na see for hair on’t.

    But I’ll plant a stake into the flowe,
    That ploomen mey tak care on’t;
    An lay twa steppin-stanes below,
    An syne I’ll cowe the hair on’t.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/mama-penguino-2-2-2/ Mama Penguino

    What is it with these dudes and their potty-mouth poetics? I’ve noticed most of them are 18th century poets (J. Swift: “Celia shits!”), but they’re far from enlightened!

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/misterhippity/ MisterHippity

    There are a few more of Robbie Burns’ videos, for those who are interested:

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABiIUhOgBlA

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXqmNTEjkZE

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2MfZ5SS1Is

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLPKwnpoQK4

    He was kind of like Madonna, I guess — he made a lot of videos.

    Alas, Bookish, I could find no videos for “hair on’t” — neither yae nor nae.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/sproing/ Sproing

    Queen Elizabeth tours a Glasgow hospital. Toward the end of the visit, she’s shown into a ward with a number people with no obvious signs of injury or disease. She greets the first patient and he replies: “Fair fa’ your honest sonsie face, Great chieftain e’ the puddin’ race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm; Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace as lang’s my arm.”

    Her Majesty, somewhat confused (very easily done) goes to the next patient and greets him. He replies: “Some hae meat, and canna eat, and some wad eat that want it, but we hae meat and can eat, and sae the Lord be thankit.”

    She goes to the third patient, who starts rattling off as follows: “Wee sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, wi bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an chase thee, wi murdering pattle!”

    The Queen turns to the doctor accompanying her. “What sort of ward is this,” she asks. “A mental ward?

    “No, Your Majesty” replies the doctor, “this is the Burns unit.”

  • http://wordsmoker.com/ BookishLookish

    @Sproing: Thank you, I needed that.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/misterhippity/ MisterHippity

    Sproing:

    Next, the doctor led the queen through a awaiting area, where a woman sat calmly reading a magazine. Just as they passed, the woman glanced up from the magazine and, upon seeing the queen before her, shouted: “What rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

    Alarmed, the queen hurried past, and later asked the doctor: “What was wrong with her?”

    “Oh nothing serious,” the doctor replied. “Just a Yeats infection.”

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/misterhippity/ MisterHippity

    I just made that up. I’m rather proud of it, actually. :-)

  • http://wordsmoker.com/ BookishLookish

    @Hip: Thank you, too, sir. Now I want to try too, but I have a meeting in like five minutes, am not as quick as you gents.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/viruswithshoes/ VirusWithShoes

    THIS IS DEEPLY UNSETTLING.

    At first I thought the footage was for the new James Cameron movie “Avatar”, but then I saw how wee Rab wasn’t in 3D, and then I was disappointed. And unsettled.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/sproing/ Sproing

    @Hippity: +5.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/voxpopuli/ VoxPopuli

    Egads, Olde Tymes were creepy as fuck.