So writes Gavin McInnes, an ex-patriot Scot, at TakiMag:
“See, if you was Billy Connolly sitting right there,” said the Winston Churchill doppelganger beside me in a Glasgow pub, “Ah’d fuckin’ stab ye.” I was with my uncle and this was his closest friend of at least 30 years, so I knew him well.
“You’d murder Billy Connolly?” I asked, hoping I had misunderstood his virtually unintelligible English.
“Aye,” he replied, “Ah’d sink the knife right there.” Then he poked his finger right below my rib cage. I asked him why, and he said it was because of all the swearing Connolly put in his act. “He didnae have tae go blue fer fuck’s sakes,” he lamented.
Of course, if I were Billy Connolly, this Glaswegian would be buying me so many pints, we’d have to slide over a new table to carry them all. The entire bar would be hollering with joy and begging for photographs. I’d probably get raped.
They don’t hate Billy because he swears. They all swear. They hate him because he left their underdog, working-class town and moved to Hollywood.
This is the Scottish mentality in a nutshell. It is fierce nationalism mixed with an obsession with the underdog that borders on psychosis. In the same pub, years later, another one of my uncle’s friends learned my wife was Indian after asking why her eyes “were so Chinky.” He started to cry when she told him and kissed her hand as though she were the pope. “See what happened to youse people?” he asked rhetorically through tear-soaked rosacea, “It’s a fuckin’ tragedy, so it is.” Scots aren’t rational human beings. They’re drunk. They don’t want to separate because it’s a smart economic decision. They want to separate because they fucking hate England. They don’t hate England because of history. They hate them for the same reason they hate America. They hate the winners. This has made them profoundly socialist and if they leave England, they will become a cold, wet, Cuba at best—McIslamabad at worst.