hotbonbon

OK PicaPica, thanks for reminding the rabble about Burns Day. Having married a Scot, this is the first year that we haven't hosted the infamous dinner. We attended our first dinner last weekend and will be attending our second this weekend. My first year with my Scot, I was introduced to the tradition of the Address to the Lassies, whick is followed by the Reply to the Laddies. I was hellbent on kicking his literary ass....and, well, you be the judge. I spent about 2 weeks writing, editing and polishing mine. He wrote his 10 minutes before our guests arrived. I won't torture you with his, but here's mine. Is is, of course, written ala Robbie Burns style. Enjoy!

For those of you not privy to Lochs and byrnes and cads,
I beg your ears, and patience dears: my retort to the lads

Tonight we have a Scottish theme: the garb, the scran the heather
And although time zones differ vast, we even have the weather

My nerves are shot, palms bead in sweat, my stomach how it churns
Forgive my motley heritage, but cheers to Robbie Burns

Poetic duff would have us think that true love soon would come
But no clairvoyant, true or false could foresee countless bums,

The lads as mates are well and fine, the flame of friendship flickers
These well-intending wolves-as-sheep just want into your knickers

We neer give up, nor falter, we hold true strong and steadfast
But years of empty net and boat tell true of flies all ill cast

My lassie mates concur that lads are mostly oerrated
But although this true holds at times, mine eggs are near belated

My coupled mates at times seem like creatures of a breed
That I thought had died long ago: A prince upon his steed

So settle for existence in a tower of sand and glass
Resolved to live indignant, while always craving ass

Are all the lads whose virtues are from another time
Besotted, lost or forlorn? That would not be sublime

Have time and tide begrudged us of fundamental yearnings?
In some towns lads share hearts desire, directing after earnings

Do fathers not instill in sons, a womans heartly needs?
These sons, methinks, should trade their cars for steadfast, gallant steeds

These questions begged and posed, my friends, have made my spirit wilt
Bestill my beating hormones lads, now isnt that a kilt?

I know tradition would intend this prose be gosh and raunchy
Twould be rude to now deny this style to the horny and paunchy

Forget loves wants & hearts desires, a lads wants are resounding
A lad yearns not for poems or flowers, but splendiferous pounding

From suckling babes to growing lads, to aging wrinkled gits
Reality would paint quite clear that all lads wants are tits

Today we share a meal of kings, neeps, tatties and some haggis
But after all the whiskeys gone, theyll only want to shag us

In kitchens of a higher place, the chefs would carve and toil
In Scotland, being drunk they simply chop and drop and boil

The same posh chefs would also find themselves aroasting and acutting
The same drunk Scots would simply be pint drinking and headbutting

Glaswegians in the highlands; Scottish lads are up in arms
So jealous that they poach their cloven girlfriends from their farms

You know of which relationship I point thats always cheap
The always coy but willing; reluctant slut the sheep

And just like all the other girls the Scottish lad will choose
Its mutton over lamb my friend, this choice will seldom loose

But give me just a chance me liege, its bollocks that theyre better
They may run fast and never cling, but we are always wetter

And speaking of the weather friends Scots leave much to desire
Those cold long nights beside the loch mean bulky thighs may tire

Of beauty strewn before them, of loves most red rose lain
Why must these Scottish lads relinquish love with pure disdain?

Quivering bosom, trembling gams, does this, you not invoke?
Occupied with stout and game and maybe a quick poke.

So why with all these faults do lasses wish that lads would wean us?
The simplest terms would point to just one thing The Scottish penis.

Does beauty, size or diligence make any penis win?
Perhaps, but in the end there is that bounty of the skin.

And what of lass anatomy would make you raise your sporran?
Quite simply if the lass has one that lets you put some moor in.

So ever shall they falter, with spirits worn and lag,
Should love elude their wanton grasp, theyll settle for a shag.

And so of shags, whatever name used, nobody would refute me,
When offered to a randy lad, its absofuckinglutely

Despite our lads collective faults, insurmountable as would seem
Undaunted, lasses love divine continue but to dream

In closing all I have to say to lasses writ with scorn
So thankful am I such to have MY lad from sleep til morn