Sir,
I'd like to complain about the degree of anti-Scottish bias on show in your internet tabloid rag. Scotland is real. It exists, and as we never tire of telling you sassenach bastards; we've got the oil, we gave you television, we gave you the telephone, we gave you tarmac, not to mention Doctor Finlay's Casebook and Andy Stewart's White Heather Club Hogmanay Party Show, Gordon Brown, Dennis Nielson, Dunblane, The Proclaimers, Jimmy Summerville, John Leslie, Aberdeen Steak Houses, deep fried Mars bars, sectarian violence, Buckfast, William McGonegal, Rabbie Burns, haggis, Shetland jumpers, violent tramps, knife weilding nutters and...
Oh fuck off.
Wee Willie Hootsmon, Coatbridge.
Sir,
Zis is not usually somesing ah would contemplate. Under circumstances normale. Bert ve are aving some problems avec ze cash flow zese days in la Republique magnifique. So we need you rosboeufs to come over here and spend les Euros. I live in Paree, and I ereby promise mes amis Anglais zat you will be most welcome ere, should you decide to ride le Eurostar to Le Gare Du Nord. We promise zat our taxi driveurs Afriquains will not rip you off. We promise zat zer four star otel you booked will be a real four star hotel and not a slum in zer Latin Quarter wiz no elevateur and bedbugs. Our famoos Parisian waiteurs ave promised to be nice to you, providing you do not call zem all garcon, and we promise zat le gendarmerie will prevent zose naughty Arab boys from burning your cars avec les cocktails de Molotov. Actuellement, we despise you. We ate you wiz a vengeance. But we will do anysing pour le money.
Guy DeMophandle, Ministere De Tourisme, Paree. France.
Sir,
What the hell is it with you cockamamie Limeys? I was going to come visit your quaint little country with my good lady wife JoBeth, and my sister in law, LilyBeth, and our sons John Boy and Jim Bob, and our daughter Brangelina. Then my good neighbor Elroy tells me you don't take dollars over there, and that we have to convert our hard earned dollars into some gay fag queen type money. Who the hell do you people think you are, not taking dollars? Who the hell made you bums top dawg? Then, to cap it all, my Uncle Buck tells me that you drive on the wrong side of the god damned road! What the hell is that all about? Let me tell you this - in the clearest possible terms - bearing in mind I bought the whole party new Hawaiian shirts, tartan shorts and new baseball caps at Wal-Mart for the trip, not to mention a real big camera - you jerks can take your Royal Family, your castles, your history, your frickin Cotswolds and your God damned London Bridge and shove 'em up your ass. We're going to Orlando. Again. Get us some real frickin' culture - Walt Disney style.
Francois DuBois, West 'By God' Virginia.
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