Hoors? Yeah... Hoors. Prostitutes, Tarts, Hookers, Ladies of Negotiable Affection, call them what you will. For 8 years or so I lived in granite tenement. My Neighbours Were Hoors. Sadly for us all (!?) the brothel was closed down and I moved out of the area. I never did get around to writing about the court case though...

Thursday, July 16, 2009

From the Wildes of Garthdee


The boy was making his way through the Wildes of Garthdee the other week and some kid came up to him.

The kid couldn't have been 10. And was blonde and might have been a girl. That's all the information that soaked into his brain. I did ask for further description for blogging purposes (not living near hoors any more, we have to put up with other local quirks for entertainment), but further descriptions were not forthcoming...

Put it this way... A chylde of his generation has been so immersed in relating to the outer world through computer games that unless it was a zombie threating his experience points, or nay, Lara Croft herself... i doubt he'd have any more descriptive details with which to enrich this post. So we move on...

Anyway, the kid approaches him and goes "Excuse me?"

Immediately struck by Doom-based paranoia, he looked around himself, like this angelic wean was some in built game-distraction and that he'd very soon be facing attack by a hoard of (quote)"all-sorts-of-demons".

He goes, "What?"

She goes, "How dae ye mak Lady Gaga cry?

He goes, "Fit?"

Wee Quine: Poke 'Er Face!*

*I swear this is the truth. Perhaps a member of the local shit-pun-massiv. Possibly responsible for the tagging of the Bridge o' Dee with "I say, I say, I say...!"