The Poseidon Venture
BY AN ANONYMOUS SUBMITTER
'They wint ye there Monday. Direct orders fae Boab.'
'Beale Boab, or Angus Boab?'
'Beale Boab, Angus Boab, Boaby Boab, ane ae the Boabs. Fit difference does it make.'
'I’m nay daen it.'
'Eh?'
"It’s nay right."
'Fit d’ye mean, it’s nay right.'
'It’s morally objectionable.'
'Eh?'
'I’m nay daen it.'
'It’s the Boabs, Dan!'
'They might rule Moray but they dinna rule me.'
'They dinna jist rule Moray. They own it. That means they own you.'
'That’s fit they think.'
'Oh, so noo ye’re yer ain gaffer.'
'I’m nay a runway man. Nivir huv been, nivir will be. I prefer the highways, the by-ways, even the single trackers. And I dinna like caps.'
'Caps. Fit’s caps got ti dae wi it?'
'They like thir caps, and ye’ve ti salute thim, even if ye’re only gan fir a pish.'
'I dinna think it’s that bad these days.'
'It’s worse.'
'How d’ye kain.'
'I’ve heard.'
'Ye’ve heard. Heard fae fa.'
'Sources.'
'Sources?'
'Aye, reliable sources.'
'So, ye’re nay gan.'
'No.'
'Well, ye kain fit like they are. Ye’re signing yer ain certificate.'
'That’s okay, I am a learned chap.'
'Dinna you get sarcy wi me!'
'Fit ye gona dae like, phone the Boabs.'
'I might dae, aye.'
'Try and get me on the blacklist. I could dae wi a rest.'