I'm gonna go totally out of order here and skip the address and the stabbing straight to my favorite poem. Read by yours truly, in my best (read: worst) Scottish accent.
I will dip into the 16 year old Aberlour tonight. I only have a can of haggis left but its still tasty as a cracker spread. Does that make me a heretic?
There's a reason the Romans built a wall, two in fact, to deal with them. Bastards don't know when to roll over and bloody die. A descendant of Scots even sits on the English throne. Bastards!