Step Aside James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser

My wife has been telling me about the series of books by Diana Gabaldon for quite some time.  Now it’s on cable and I’ve been watching it with her.  And damnit – I like it!  I didn’t want to, I really didn’t.  Who wants to read about some manly Scot all sissified for wanton hussies?  I mean really!  Did you see the Wedding episode?  Of course you hussies have, you’ve been wondering what corn grinding looks like for six episodes, so they gave you one full hour of slobbering whiskey filled bliss. (Pssst… Claire drinks too much).  I think Claire needs a real Scottish man.  So step aside James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser… for Haggis McGoey Fernando Louis Ernie Hamish.

Famous Hamish will do.


Haggis McGoey Fernando Louis Ernie Hamish

You want corn grinding?  I’ll give you hash browns, French toast,  and cracker jack ring to boot!  And stop with all the meme’s like “Save a Horse – Ride a Scot“, or the new series of “Hey Lassie…”  No real Scot or Scot wannabe would be caught dead saying those things. Id ana gunna hap (Gaelic to English translation: Yo Girl it ain’t gunna happen).  Ye ken wanna id, but I canna du id.

Seriously, I’ve been looking for someone with an evil trait, and Frank, I mean Black Jack fits just the bill.  Except why didn’t he question Claire about who the Bloody Mary mix was Frank?  You see I write fantasy, so I don’t have to tie my characters to history, I just make the stuff up as I go.  This saves on the research and travel budget, which has been stuck on a corn grinding 99 cents.

And really, a bunch of fairies dancing around a rock in the 1940’s?  Puhleeze… how ridiculous is that?  Change it to the 1960’s or current day Colorado and it’s totally believable.  Then there’s the subject matter of James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser’s hamburger helper torture scene.  I’ve withstood numerous paper cuts and bled worse than that!  Fainted too.

Finally, for a couple of weeks they’ve been building up this wedding scene of James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser unraveling of the kilt, only to see the shadows cloak little Jamie.  I bet you hussies were a little disappointed, weren’t you now? My wife, immediately took me by English garrison surprise that night, much to my happiness.  I thank you Diana.  I’ve recorded it and play it nightly.  It has saved my marriage from the pits of the Randall hell. Just keep the dialogue less moments coming, and coming, and coming.  But please, add a little fruit and protein to all that grinding, man canna survive on corn.

Long live James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser, who I now call “Bud.” Haggis McGoey Fernando Louis Ernie Hamish, who you can now call me “Ham”, thanks you too!


Famous Hamish Hot Rods and Hot Haggis To Go


Welcome to Famous Hamish’s Hot Rods and Hot Haggis To Go.  We want your buying experience to be pleasant, even though you are a peasant.  Take for example this 1932 Highland Hummer.  Aye, what a beauty!  It only has 3,000,000 miles and is only $4,500.  They don’t make beauties like this anymore.  Relive your drive-in movie days, fog up some windows. No more of those fancy schmancy cockpits separating you and your lover – ooh la la!

Need financing? Let Big Bobby of BBB Enterprises handle your financing, only 3% for 30 years, 30% for 3 years – we give you options!

Big Bollocks Bobby

Big Bollocks Bobby

Got three kids you say, no problem!  The back seat has the Famous Hamish Highland Hump that your luckiest kid can straddle – Yee Haw!

Come on in and while we prepare the papers and have a Haggis on us.

Haggis Scotlant traditional

Now sit back and relax to our soothing piped in music. (Think Daniel Boone Theme Song)

Big Bobby is dog,

but a gifted dog!

Big Bobby has some Bollocks,

Yes, Big Bollocks!

He was brave, he was fearless

and all the girls just said YES.

Big Bobby is a dog,

A very bow-legged dog!

With a whoop and a whimper,

He’s a winner and a natural born limper.

What a Bollocks! What a do-er!

What a car dream-come-er-true-er was he!

CONGRATULATIONS – you are approved.  Here’s your keys and and 30 second warranty.  Thanks for shopping Famous Hamish Hot Rods and Hot Haggis To Go.

Haggis Hurling Hogmanay


Haggis, Neeps and Tatties

I may have mentioned that I converse with British author Danny Kemp.  He is almost as insane as me. Today he mentioned the celebration of Hogmanay day in Scotland, the eating of Haggis and copious consumption of Scottish whiskey.  I admit to not knowing what Haggis was, so I joked around about a celebration over the state line in Arkansas, which I completely made up.  For any British person reading this just know someone from Arkansas is like someone who has genes from vikings, eskimos, french, picts, turtles and hogs.  In essence, they are severely genetically messed up.  There in Arkansas they chase hogs and cook them in a pit and call it barbeque.  Instead of whiskey, they drink moonshine, also known as Hillbilly Napalm.  Moonshine is so high in octane it can run a monster truck, Titan missiles or a Hog (a Harley-Davidson Motorcycle) also favorites of Arkansans. It can remove paint and neutralize nuclear waste, so it is not for the faint of heart.

I joked that anything with “Hog” in its name was just an excuse for public intoxication and for throwing things around, like kids, wives (yes plural),  brother cousins (don’t ask me to explain), mothers-in-laws and banjo players.  Anyone who has ever seen the movie Deliverance knows exactly what I mean about the banjo player, that jeepers creepers of a genetically altered boy playing that banjo. We older guys fear banjo players and immediately go into sphincter clinching mode.  I will not provide any more detail on that sore subject matter.  Watch the movie and you’ll understand. We love our hogs. We ride metal Hogs, with our Hogettes hugging us as we drive.

I was sure I would be able to connect with Danny on this topic. In order to have an intelligent, yet insane conversation with Danny about this event I looked up Hogmanay and Haggis.  Here is what Wikipedia had to say:

Haggis is a savoury pudding containing sheep’s pluck (heart, liver and lungs); minced with onion , oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally encased in the animal’s stomach and simmered for approximately three hours.

Yuuuuu-mmmmm-y!!!  I also came across Haggis Hurling which is a sport of tossing said sheep’s plucking.  Here’s the background:

“Haggis hurling is a Scottish sport involving the hurling of a haggis as far as possible for distance and accuracy from atop a platform (usually a whiskey barrel). The Haggis must be edible after landing.”

The last sentence just kills me.  It must be edible after landing.  What, do they cook it in mid-air?  Honestly, I’m not sure if Haggis is edible even during pre-flight mode. I can see an innocent walker look up at the last minute and scream “What the Sheep’s Pluck!” Here in America hurling has another meaning: projectile regurgitation.  After reading the description of Haggis and looking at it on a plate with surrounding Neeps and Tatties, I was crowned the American champion of Haggis Hurling, even though I had no Haggis in me.  Although I have found this a productive weight loss tool now at my disposal.  Unfortunately, the imagery of me in a Scottish kilt hurling a 500 pound Haggis from the top of a whiskey barrel, would strip me of my crown and be given to my wife, as she is a better hurler than me.  That hottie scottie outfit I had for Halloween is not near as sexy to my wife now that she knows about Haggis, Neeps and Tatties.  Thanks Danny, thanks a lot!

This also ruined my imagery of William Wallace.  I am sure when they started talking about the movie title; Bravehaggis, Bravehogmanay, or Bravesheeppluck lost out to Braveheart.  Now that I know more about the Scot’s, Arkansas hillbilly’s now seem cultured and sociably acceptable. I also ran across this video of the day after Hogmanay for those that binged on Whiskey, Haggis, Neeps and Tatties.

Disclaimer:  This is my attempt at international humor. I love all peoples, hogs, sheep, Haggis, Neeps and especially Tatties of the United Kingdom, in a platonic sense mind you. My last image is of a genetically mutated banjo wielding Scot stop playing and ask, “What’s Tatties precious, eh, what’s Tatties?” Should I ever visit Scotland please do not hurl me.  Any American looking for a little adventure, just try ordering Tatties at Hooter’s. You may not sue me for their reaction, or physical injury you sustain.

I am a mutt!

I love Twitter.  No where do I get as much writing material than I do from this one social media site.  Recently I was in a discussion with a British chap and we discussed lineage.  I have never contacted  I do not want to know my heritage, because I am afraid it will reveal a sorted history of gene mutations.  I do know this, my great grandmother was full blood Cherokee, who married a man of Irish ancestry.  That makes me an Irokee Okie.  However, the rest of my lineage I am unsure of, as my mother’s father was adopted.  He may have been German with his blond hair and blue eyes.  That then would make me a Germirokee Okie.  Are you getting the picture now?  I don’t want to know my heritage.

My British twitter friend has a thing for Viking’s and the terror they brought upon poor Anglo/Saxons.  He also mentions being surrounded by Eskimos and that I might be a Viking in disguise.  Actually I think I might be part Pict because of my love for watching Braveheart and dressing up in a kilt costume for parties.  That just might make me part Scottish.  Heck I don’t know what I am!  I have some red tint to my hair, and was born with blue eyes, which are now brownish-green. OMG – I am a mutant!  I now believe in ancient aliens.  Prometheus was a documentary, not a science fiction flick.  Which means I am mutated alien.  DNA is sure a nasty prankster.

If you ask me about my heritage, I won’t belabor the point as I have above.  You’d need therapy thereafter because you’d start questioning your own heritage and find out your mother was a hamster and your father an elderberry, and that you came from the isle of hamberry.  To keep you from going insane, I’ll just let you know I am a mutt born in Texas, now living in Oklahoma. Oklahoma is next to Arkansas where DNA testing has proved impossible and the term “kissing cousins”, well, I won’t go there, as that creates a new species – mutated mutts.