Good morning, Blog!
What shall we write about today?
Don’t ask me! You’re the fuckin’ ‘creative’! I’m just the medium by which you make your profoundness accessible to lesser mortals.
Bit sarky this morning, aren’t we?
Still with this ‘we’ shite! There is no ‘we’! When it comes to the writing, you’re on your own, pal.
It’s a different story when you’re putting squiggly red lines under every second word I write. I’m not on my own then, am I? However much I might wish I was.
Algorithms, mate! It’s all algorithms. Fuck all to do with me! And you wouldn’t see so many red squiggly lines if you learned to spell, Mr Professional Communicator!
Dialect, mate! It’s me writing in dialect! Trouble is, none of you blogging platforms are Scottish. You’re all American. You claim to be fluent in something called ‘British English’. But none of you understand Scottish. I’d be better served if I was Chinese.
Dialect my arse! ‘Remember’ has two fucking m’s no matter what dialect you’re writing.
OK! OK! This isn’t helping. I still don’t know what to write about. You aren’t being very helpful.
Not my fuckin’ job, mate! Dae ah look like yon Microsoft Clippy arseache? And why huv ye got me talkin’ like this? Ur you takin’ the piss?
Like you said, I’m the creative. I can write you as any character I want. Whatever happened to that Clippy arseache, anyway?
Fuck knows? There was a rumour he’d been eaten by the Linux penguin. But nobody was prepared to testify. Hang on! I passed The National on my way here this morning and they were having a ticker-tape parade in their panties over some football match. Why don’t you write about that?
Footing the ball? What the fuck do I know about footing the ball? 26 bladders in a field. 22 of them chasing the smallest one all over the place while the one in black chases them all over the place and another two run up and down at the side of the field as if they’re dying to join in the chasing all over the place but the others won’t let them play. Footing the ball!?
Not quite got the hang of the glorious game, have you, mate? Best not publish that comment. You’ve not got so many readers that you can afford to piss them off.
My readers are very loyal, I’ll have you know.
You’re forgetting I have access to the stats, mate. Not exactly setting the heather alight, are you? Whatever the fuck that means. Not exactly nipping at Stu Campbell’s heels, are you?
It’s not a competition. We don’t compete. We complement one another.
Yeah! Not sure that’s what you’d be saying if you had more readers than Wings Over Scotland. But never mind. Why don’t you write about what you usually write about? Politics! I can’t promise to read it, I’m afraid. There’s a new cat video on YouTube that I’ve just got to see.
Oh! Moving on…. I get weary of writing about politics. It’s hard work trying to find new ways of saying the same things. And there’s nothing new to say. I go to The National looking for inspiration and I just end up getting annoyed.
Aye. I’ve noticed. There’s a definite undertone of bitterness to your commentary these days.
Hark at him! I thought the creative side of this had nothing to do with you. Anyway! I don’t have time to write anything now. Dentist appointment this am.
I know. I can see your Google Calendar. I was just trying to be hel[ful. It should be the optician you’re going to, not the dentist. You’ve just hit open bracket instead of the ‘p’ key again!
Ach! How many times is that? You’re right. I must remeber to make an appointment with the optician. It’s hard enough seeing folk without all this social distancing.
There’s two m’s in ‘remember’.
There two f’s in…
Ffine! Ffuck of!!!
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