U.S./Scottish Border, Texas. Well, it looks like former President Donald Trump and his Republican allies were right about caravans of illegal immigrants charging into America if Biden were to become President. Since President Biden’s inauguration on January 20th more than twenty thousand wild, feral, armed Scotsmen have charged across the U.S./Scotland border in southern Texas into America. “These are horrible, disease-carrying, armed rapists with funny accents who ate my entire herd of cattle raw,” said one Texas cow-herder who prefers to rename nameless. “I also strongly believe these people to be homosexuals because..well..because most of ’em are men and they’re wearin’ dresses,” the man said. When asked to comment on the situation, President Biden had only this to say: “What, do you have something against a good plate of haggis? Don’t you like bagpipe music? Hell, let the Scots come! This is America! Everyone’s welcome here! Even guys who talk funny and wear dresses instead of pants!” Stay tuned to this blog for further developments on this ongoing situation.
Me neem ’tis Robert ‘n I’m ‘ere ta review da film, EEEKsmen: Dees ov Future Pas’. Et reminded me mostly ov da teem me ‘n me girlie boy faggot ov a son ’twas huntin’ fer da haggis beastie outside ov da Moors ov Edinburgh en Scotland!
Me son, who’s more girl dan man, ’twas pickin’ ‘is faggot arse en da damn bushes when da feckin’ haggis beastie lifted up ‘is ugly ‘ead en spit venom on ’em. ‘Course me girl ov a son cried out like da bitch ‘e is, “Da! Help me, Da! The haggis is spittin’ venom on me ‘n I’m scared!” Well, no need ta tell ye, hearin’ me own woman ov a boy cry out like a faggoty girl sent me runnin’ ‘ome ta beat me skanky wife fer ‘avin’ dat lil’ bitch en da firs’ place. Lucky fer ‘er she weren’t der when I arrived or fer damn sure I’d ‘ave loosened ‘er teeth but good. Jus’ den though me son, girl dat ‘e is, come a runnin’ inta me house wit dat haggis beastie’s carcass en one ‘and ‘n ‘is head en da other. “How da feck did yer girlie arse do dat,” I axed ’em. “T’wern’t me dat did it, Da,” ‘e says. “T’was dat Wolvereen fella from dem EEEksmen movies dat did, ‘n ‘e come home wit me.” ‘N sure ’nuff me faggot boy weren’t lyin’, ’cause wit ’em was Mr. Hugh Jackman, who ‘ad killed dat haggis wit ‘is own bare ‘ands, or so ‘e said.
I invited ’em ta stay and help us eat dat beastie, but ‘e said ‘e ‘ad ta run, ‘n ‘e left. Jus’ then, me wife came ‘ome. First I beat ‘er fer ‘avin’ such a faggot boy fer a son. Then I ‘ad ‘er gut an’ cook dat haggis ‘n we all three ate ’em right up. I’m Robert Da Reviewer, ‘n dat’s me review ov da film, EEEKSmen: Days ov Future Pas’.
In honor of the Ken Ham Bill Nye debate, held earlier this evening, TACP presents to you a tale told by Robert The Reviewer about the time he and Ken Ham went Haggis hunting in the moors of Edinburgh, Scotland.
‘Dis ‘ere’s Robert da Reviewer, ‘n I be tellin’ ye all toda’ a tale ov da time me ‘n me frind, Ken ‘am, da Creationist fella who also happins ta be an expert in huntin’ beasties ‘newn as Haggis, once went a’ huntin’ fer a pertcularly ferocious Haggis dat was eatin’ up all da Christian bebbees in ‘n ‘roun’ the moors of Edinburgh. I could nae ‘ave me ain son wi’ me on dis pertcular edventur’ ’cause ‘es more girl t’an man, ‘n ‘e would nae be able ta handle da stress ‘o huntin’ such a nasty beastie Haggis as dis. Nae room fer girly men on a trip like dis! So’s I got’s me ‘ole pal Ken ‘am tae come ta Edinburgh ta kill dat Haggis wi’ me ‘n eat ’em wit me wife ‘n meself. Me son, bein’ da girly-sissy boy ‘e is, I promised tae nae share a meal wi’ again ’til he larned ta act a MAN ‘n stop bein’ so girly! Da dam’ pansy dat ‘e is!
As soon as Ken ‘am arrived, ‘e ‘n I went ta da moors ov Edinburgh tae begin our ‘unt fer da ferocious beastie Haggis! I ‘ad me Da’s ain’ Haggis killin’ sword wi’ me, ‘n Ken, ‘e ‘ad wi’ him a Japanese Samurai sword ‘e said ‘is ma give ‘im when ‘e turned a man at 4 years ‘eld. I n’er thought we’d e’vr git tae kill dat Haggis at first, though. Me pal, ‘am, ye see, ‘es one ov doe’s Bibel Literalis’ fellers who’s aw’a’s talkin’ ’bout dat girly boy sissy ov a woman-god, Jesiz. I’d nae could follow dat girly man ov a god if me ain life depended on me doin’ so. ‘es a PANSY GIRLY MAN, nae a god tae follow fer real men like me! ‘e let them damn Romans neel ‘is arse tae a cross ‘n ‘e died! Wa’ keenda bastard-pansy ov a god does dat?! A girly boy sissy faggot ov a god, ’tis wha’ I say! So’s I tells Ken ‘am dis, ‘n ‘e gets pissy wi’ me ’bout it! ‘Den ‘e tells me da Earth be only 6000 years ol’ ‘n men ‘n dinosaurs lived together at da same time, right ‘er ‘n da moors ov Edinburgh, ken! Well, me lassies ‘n laddies, dat saved Ken ‘am in me eyes ‘n kipt me from stickin’ ‘im wi’ me Da’s sword. Ye see, I see’s it as a good thing when a man who’s damn’d crazy, like Ken ‘am is, kin thump ‘es chest ‘n stupidly, ‘n wi’ conviction, tell all who’ll lisen’ ta ’em jus’ how stupid ‘e is by sayin’ da stupid things ‘e believes wi’ out any evidence a’tall. Ken ‘am spouted dat shite fer hours as we hunted fer dat ferocious Haggis in those damp moors.
It made up fer ‘is worshippin’ dat pansy-ass sissy girl Jesiz god ‘o ‘is, an’ it helped ta lull dat beastie Haggis inta’ a bit ov stupidity ‘iself, fer nae sooner ‘ad Ken ‘am finished ‘is yakin’ tae me ’bout ‘is stupid beliefs on da age ‘o da Earth, than dat Haggis leaped from a tree ‘n landed on Ken ‘am’s back. Dat’s when I drove me Haggis killin’ sword inta its ugly Haggis hide whilst shoutin’ out, ” FUCK DAT PANSY ARSE JESIZ, KEN ‘AM! YER ARSE JUS’ GOT SAVED BY ROBERT DA REVIEWER ‘N ‘IS HAGGIS KILLIN’ SWORD!” Needless ta say, me laddies ‘n lassies, Ken ‘am t’was damned thankful tae ‘is ‘ole pal, me. We took dat dead Haggis haem, ‘n after I beat me more-girl-than-man ov a sissy son ‘n me fargin’ wife fer havin’ dat woman ov a man son ‘o mine, we cooked dat beastie right up ‘n ate ’em down wi’ several pints ‘o Scotland’s finest beer. Dat was all of us but me boy, however. ‘im I sent ta the store tae buy ‘imself some pink ice cream wi’ cherries ta eat. Dat’s all dat’s fittin’ fer a son who’s more girl than man. Once ‘e learns tae be a man, ‘e kin eat wi’ da likes ov guys like Ken ‘am, who may be stupid, but ‘is still a MAN! See ye soon kiddies. Dis is Robert da Reviewer sayin,’ good bye.
Robert the Reviewer’s first post for TACP was a huge success. Fans of the site from as far away as the fourth moon of the planet Yavin have been writing accolade-filled e-mails about how much they enjoyed reading Robert’s unique, tenderly worded review of “12 Years A Slave.” In order to quench our readers’ thirst for more of Robert’s words, we are proud to announce that, in addition to his media review column, he will have a second column featuring stories for children ages 3 and up which he promises to be both entertaining and educational for all. So, without any more delay, we give you, Robert the Reviewer.
How ye doin’ me laddies ‘n lassies? Dis ‘ere ’tis Robert, da Reviewer ‘n da best damn teller ov yarns ye’ve e’re ‘eard. I know none ov ye are like me own faggy, girly man ov a son. So’s da tale ’em about ta tell ye won’ scare ye none, though it be fill’d wit blood, horror, ‘n da livin’ dead, ken. It ain’t as ‘orrible a story, though, as da time me faggy son almost got hiself ea’n by a rabid Haggis on da moors of Edinburgh whilst we t’was huntin’ da fraggin’ gay beastie wit s’ords ‘n clubs ken. Dat’ll be a tale I tell’z ye anither time, wee ones. Fer now I want ta tell ye ov a Bible story ‘day ne’ tell ye ’bout in church: da story ov Matthew 27:52-53. ‘Tis a tale dat begins wit dat lordy-lad, Jez’is returnin’ from da dead. He did dat af’er bein’ dead fer 3 days, wee ones, as ye may ov been told. But what ye ain’t n’er been told is dis: Jez’is weren’t da only one ta rise from da tomb dat day. Just as Jez’is’ eyes opened in ‘is tomb, da grave stones ov dozens ‘o other saints ‘n prophets braked open, ‘n da zombie saints inside ’em went walkin’ in’ta Jerusalem ta spread da word dat the lordy-lad ‘ad come back from beyond da grave. Only, Jez’is, ‘e ‘ad nay a clue dat dis was ta happin’. So’s ‘e decided ta ignore da situation when ‘e realized ‘e wasn’t da only reanimated bein’ walkin’ ’bout dat ‘day. ‘E did nay wan’ ta ‘av ‘es moment stolen by sharin’ it wit more zombies. ‘E simply paid no heed ta them. No heed ’til ‘day started eatin’ da people ov Jerusalem, dat ’tis.
The Saint zombies were expectin’ ta get sent back ta Heaven or ta der graves quickly, at least, by Jez’is when ‘day decided ta come back ta life ta show their support ov da lordy-lad. ‘Day weren’t planin’ on dat bastard, Jez’is, just ignorin’ ’em ‘n leavin’ ’em on Earth, alone, ta fend fer themselves. ‘Day got real ‘ungry real quick-like after a few days, ‘n ‘day started eatin’ da people ‘day come back ta life ta rejoice wit just a wee bit before. Dis, of course, wasn’t what da lordy-lad wanted ta be happin’. It was stealin’ ‘is thunder ‘n ‘e weren’t havin’ it. So’s ‘e got hiself a big ‘ole fish bone, ‘n ‘e went out ‘n whacked da ‘eads off all them zombie saints in just a wee few hours.
Den ‘e went back ta bein’ a big shot solo zombie again. ‘E believed ‘e had wiped the incident out completely from da minds of men,’til Matthew’s Gospel came out, at least. Oh me, laddies ‘n lassies! Ye ain’t seen or heard angry unless ye seen da lordy-lad da fine day ‘e read da Gospel of Matthew. WOW! ‘E ain’t said a word ta ‘ole Matthew in da almost 2000 years since, me wee ones. ‘N I believe ‘e would’ve sent dat poor bugger, Matthew, right ta ‘ell if it weren’t for da fact every priest ‘n preacher ‘as ignored dat section of Matthew’s Gospel da way da lordy-lad ignored da zombie saints all doze years back. Hardly ’tis it e’er mentioned ken. Now ye all know Jez’is is a rat bastard ‘n a’ ego maniac. So’s ye all need ta stop givin’ a shite about ’em, ‘n just live yer lives as best ye all kin. Da end.
I hope ye all liked me story. I’ve got many a’more ‘en. I’d tell ye anither now, but I’ve got ta gits home ta beat me faggy, sissy-boy son fer bein’ such a damn fag ‘n a girly boy. Da damn queer bastard! ‘N after I beats ’em, I gots ta beats me wife fer havin’ dat faggy, sissy-man pansy in da first place. See ye all soon. Bye!
The Arm Chair Pontifictor is proud to welcome Robert the Reviewer to our team of ace reporters. He is joining us from Edinburgh, Scotland where he’s worked as a media critic for several years. He was recently let go from his position as Ace Media Critic at the Edinburgh Times after it was discovered he’d actually never seen any of the movies he reviewed or read any of the books he critiqued. He simply parroted what he heard others say about whatever it was he was reviewing or flat-out made up a review based on something entirely unrelated. Well, we here at TACP admire he’s gusto and his brogue, so we hired him to review movies and books for our readers and have encouraged him NOT to see or read them before hand. In a society filled with people who rarely bother with details, like checking the facts before expounding on a topic about which they clearly know nothing, we feel his brand of criticism will be refreshing and welcome. And now, without further ado, I give you, Robert the Reviewer with his review of the film “Twelve Years a Slave.”
“Hello there, laddies and lassies. This ‘ere ’tis me fine review fer ’12 Years a Bloody Slave’. What a ‘orrlble place it ’tis ta be in, bein’ a slave ta some o’ter man. It reminds me ov da time I twas huntin’ a farrgin’ Haggis beastie wit me very own laddie, Robert Jr, who’s a wee bit ov a faggy sissy boy, but I tries ta luv ’em anyways. We was standin’ on top da moors of Edinburgh, waitin’ fer dat faggy Haggis beastie ta leap from its den so’s we could kill ’em ‘n eat ’em. When alls ov a sudden, he leaps o’ us fro’ behind ‘n knocks us out. I came back ta me senses to da sound ov me faggy, girlie man son cry’in like a babe fer ‘is mommy. ‘Shut up, ya farggin’ faggy boy!’ I tellz ’em. ‘Ya kin act like a farggin’ man, or I’ll kills ya me damn self, ya farrgin’ faggy boy, ya! We’z got ta plan a way out o’ dis Haggis den or we’ll wind up as Haggis food.’
Well, dat shut me girlie man son up long enough fer me ta reach da double barrel shot-gun I’s alway’s keep’s stuffed up me arse when I goes Haggis huntin’. Me Da’ taught me dat trick, and it saved me life ‘n the life of me faggy boy son dat day we was slaves ta dat Haggis. I also blew da ‘ead right off dat Haggis dat day wit me shot-gun. Shot da bastard as ‘e was stickin’ ‘is ugly Haggis tongue out at me. ‘Den I went ‘ome wit it, beat me wife fer havin’ such a faggy girly man fer a son, an’ den we craved dat Haggis, fried ’em, ‘n ate dat enslavin’ bastard right up. To conclude, indeed, ’12 Years a Bloody Slave’ would ne’ be a thing I’d wish on me own faggy son, ken.” So eat yer Haggis, and stay away from der dens if’n ye’d rather not spend 12 years a bloody slave ta one. Dis ‘ere ‘as been Robert the Reviewer, an’ I’m sayin’ so long ’til next time. ‘Bye.”
Before horror films or even scary novels existed to frighten us and warn us not to wander alone into the dark woods, folk songs were being sung that did the same thing. Such songs were sung to children as a way to warn them of dangerous people and to illustrate for them what happens to people who do bad things. These songs express the deep fascination we have with the dark and ugly side of humanity. In songs known as “Murder Ballads”, things like infanticide, incest, and hanging are often the subjects. I’ve included two such songs below. The first is called, “Weile, Weile (The River Saile).” It’s performed by Jesse Ferguson, a Canadian folk singer and You Tuber from whom I’ve learned dozens of songs from Newfoundland, Ireland, and Scotland. The second song is called “The Well Below The Valley” and I find it hauntingly beautiful and really fucked up at the same time. Listen carefully to the lyrics so you get the whole picture of what the song’s about.