Nettle Nonsense an’ Nippin’ Nightmares

Transcription:

Weel, gather roond, ye filthy beggars, an' let me tell ye a tale aboot wee Kevin, the daftest eejit in a' o' Glenfinnan. This wee numpty had a habit o' gettin' intae the maist ridiculous scrapes ye ever heard. Ane day, Kevin, the clumsy gobshite, decided he'd go fer a wander in the hills. He set aff wi' a bottle o' whisky in one hand an' a sack o' tatties in the ither, thinkin' he'd be a right clever clod an' hae a picnic. Aye, as if the daft shite could manage that without cockin' it up. He stumbled an' staggered through the heather, takin' swigs frae his bottle an' mutterin' tae himsel'. Eventually, he found a wee glen where he thought he'd settle doon. But as he sat his drunken erse doon, he realized he’d plonked hissel' in a patch o' nettles. "Ach, ye bastardin' nettles!" he roared, leapin' up an' swattin' at his stingin' arse. He danced aroond like a heedless chicken, cursin' the day he ever set foot in the hills. Decidin' he'd had enough o' the outdoors, he stumbled back tae the village, nettle-stung an' reekin' o' whisky. As he staggered through the street, the village folk couldnae help but laugh at the sight o' the daft bawbag. "Whit happened tae ye, ye daftie?" they cried. "Did ye sit doon on a porcupine?" "Nae, worse!" Kevin shouted back, "The bastard nettles got me. I'll nae be sittin' right fer a week!" But the humiliation didnae end there. As Kevin fumbled his way hame, he tripped ower his ain feet an' landed face-first in a muckle pile o' shite. Covered frae heid tae toe, he finally crawled intae his wee hut, swearin' he'd ne'er gae roamin' in the hills again. An' so, the tale o' wee Kevin, the biggest eejit in Glenfinnan, wis told an' retold, a warnin' tae a' who'd dare tae wander while three sheets tae the wind. An' if ye think ye've had a shite day, jist mind poor Kevin an' his nettle-stung, shite-covered arse.