Scots welcome new Prime Minister Boris Johnson to Edinburgh

Well, we already know how one Scottish poet feels about this.

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If he manages to crash out in a hard Brexit, it’s almost guaranteed. I thought that before I saw this righteous Scots anger.

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Trainspotting was one of the few films shot in the English language where I needed subtitles to understand a word of dialogue.

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What about certain scenes in Snatch and Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels? (There is a pub scene with subtitles, due to the slang.)

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Brad Pitt’s character was supposed to be incomprehensible in Snatch so I didn’t mind.

Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels also qualifies as does The Harder They Come.

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I remember that “Gregory’s Girl” and some other Bill Forsyth movies from the 80s were dubbed with much lighter Scottish accents for the American market.

I’d love to see Malcolm Tucker unleashed on BoJo the clown:

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I couldn’t actually hear the sound on the clip, because I’d got György Ligeti’s “Kyrie” playing in the background… it was strangely fitting for the visuals of a shambling, apelike oaf stumbling up to a large black oblong.

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“Fut-baw!”

“Shaw-pin’!”

@Mangochin As entropy claws at my flesh, I find it more and more difficult to watch TV without subtitles. I really struggle with high-pitched, American actresses. I could not understand a single word that Felicity Smoke has said in the past three seasons of “Arrow”. :frowning:

@FGD135 Isn’t he just (Officer Dawyne Myers, not Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson)?

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Scottish insults have a sort of zenlike transcendence about them. Pretty much any form of inanimate object can be an insult, given enough vehemence and emphasis by the speaker.

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What about that informant that Bullet Tooth Tony drags with his head in the window?

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I know, not Scottish, but a cracking swear.
7vFL0qj

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Likewise. But I find Emily Brett Rickards is still enough of the right side of the Stinson Annoying/Hot Continuum that I don’t mind it so much.

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Been a while since I saw the film.

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It was Ewen Bremner, you know, Spud.

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That’s the best part. And apparently no PM had ever done that, previously.

There’s been a heat-wave; it’s been way too hot to wear a kilt in Scotland, lately.

Well, Scotland’s got Frankie Boyle, who is basically real-life Malcolm Tucker in his ability to insult. Some of his descriptions of Boris Johnson [just insert random obscenities for the full Malcolm Tucker effect]:

  • A malevolent baked Alaska
  • The interface of the public school system and foetal alcohol syndrome
  • What happens when Pixar is infiltrated by the last surviving Nazi war criminal
  • Oswald Moseley’s soul trapped in a Furby
  • A cross between a head injury and an unmade bed
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Stewart Lee (possibly the finest satirical comedian plying his trade in the UK currently) is worth reading on a weekly basis. Here’s an extract from this week’s. The ‘insult’ simply plays BJ’s words back as part of his name. It is mesmerically effective.

I believe it was I who wrote in June 2017 in this very paper: “The secret Tory steering committee has always intended Boris Johnson to be leader of the party and Theresa May has only been put in place as a kind of palate cleanser, a nasty-tasting mouthwash that you swill around your gums before being forced to eat actual human shit.”

Dude, I take no pleasure in having been right. The unopposed undemocratic coronation of the cheating, self-serving liar Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-The-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Turds Johnson is the tipping point in my relationship with this reality. Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-The-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Turds Johnson has made me realise, belatedly, that morality is an artificial construct we maintain by our mutual belief in its assumed value and all it takes is the success of one high-profile utter bastard to shatter the illusion. There’s nothing left to believe in. Johnson rends the fabric of faith.

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Well, he certainly is as popular as the pultrid bloated orange one in Scotland.

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Both of them are about as popular as Edward Longshanks.

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I just recently discovered his Scooby Doo routine. Brilliant.

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