This crazy country needs a commentator who’s completely off his twig. I’m just the man for the job.
My qualifications? Well, I was once the plastic bag baron of Scotland. I have friends in the Indian Mafia. I lived for a week as a homeless person on the streets of San Francisco, on purpose. I’m the reincarnation of Robert Burns (if you don’t know who Bobby is, he wrote “Auld Land Syne,” the song you’d sing on New Year’s Eve if you weren’t too piss drunk). I’ve written an entire book of poems about dogs. And I’m a native-born Scotsman (we Scots are all a bit mad).
We live in a world where Rick Santorum is taken seriously as a candidate for president, people make their livings spray painting the lawns of abandoned houses green, and people, God help us, actually spend mortal hours paying attention to something named Kardashian. I’ve decided to chronicle and comment on the absurdity of that world from my own absurd perspective.
Think of me as Will Rogers with a Glasgow accent, carrying a glass of single malt and a big stick. Let’s do it.