Kilts and pee, oh my!

There aren’t many of them, to be certain, but that makes the danger all the more keen. Maybe you’ve known some of them at one time or another. This is actually pretty likely as many of them are prolific socialites. Or maybe you’ve just seen them in passing; some bare and hairy knees spotted in a shocking and distracting moment. Car crashes aren’t unknown after these distracting encounters, and indeed it is well-known that several highland clans used this as a tactic: Flash your knees and then slaughter the survivors.

They are the Scottish and they are everywhere.

In the last week I’ve seen a shocking amount of honest-to-god Scots wandering about North Las Vegas, considering where we are. Two on Saturday, three on Sunday and one hairy bastard at six o’clock this morning wearing a plaid kilt. The knees, oh god, his knees. I tasted vomit right then.

Mumbling aside, all the highlanders wandering about have put me in mind of how much of a transient city that Las Vegas is. We all come and go, but only a few stay here, and only a few people whom I’ve met, such as my sister-in-law are actually native to here.


Mark Grealish

Dashing brigand, handsome rapscallion, father, crazy cat lady and the world's greatest lover and liar, living in Dublin, Ireland.



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