-So ye understand like? It’s her da in heaven that’s keepin’ ye in the relationship?
-What do ye mean like?
-Well, see everythime your attention wanes, it would be him that provokes the wee move on her part, ye know a smile or, let’s say, a certain radiance that particular day that makes ye think twice.
-Aye, you’re right there ye know. I think you’re right.

Aye so now that we’re back slabberin’, I guess it’s only right to introduce the fellas. The leds. We’ve got Harry, Paeter, and John. John’s a big fat fucker with six different beards. Paeter’s a quiet chap, talks in a whisper, and Harry, well, the less said about Harry the better. Anyway, the whole three of them’s a packa cunts, but that’s alright, they’re good genuine boys, not atall ashamed or backward about their cuntiness, and not the one a them afraid to stand up and shout ill-informed nonsense at the innocent bystanders that gather to stand and to gander at the three of them doin’ their thing…

Anyway the-day they were wafflin’, awful shite they talked and slobbered, slabbered, slaverin’ over tight young things that they shouldn’t strictly have been looking at, unscrupulous fuckers that they were. Not a one a them was married or tied to be wed or even being seen by a member of the opposite sex. There were many reasons for this being the case, the main one being that they were each, the three of them, admitted rapists. As you can imagine this would cause most any woman to stand as far aback as possible from the little street corner that our humble trio presided over, but in actual fact it was all one big lie. You see, none of these boys had ever raped a soul in their lives, it’s was only that they were possessed of a simple plain-speaking honesty that caused them to remark, upon spying an amply bosomed passer-by, ‘Jaysus, I’d rape the legs a thon.’ So you see, it was rather that they garnered the reputation of being rapists by means of displaying spoken intent alone. So aye, there wasn’t much harm in them to be truthful, they were just a bit mixed up.

And this is only three fellas we’re talkin about here, can ye imagine who else might be out there, carousin’ the streets all dirty and confused? Yes, there’s some dorty bastes about, and many of them ye wouldn’t even hear the worst of their talk until ye let them into your living room. ‘Gwan now Margaret and get yer breasts out, the tea’s wet an all.’ Confused individuals. Or are they? Maybe these mollycoddled dirt codgers know fine rightly what they’re all about. And the dorty line spills out as they salivate and eye up yer missus. Ye know it’s hard to know.

No breedin. No schoolin! Nae fuckin’ manners!