An old man walks into a pub in Scottland, his feet shuffling, his back bent. He drags himself onto a stool and orders a beer. Placing the full glass in front of him, the bartender inquires upon his sad face.
The man answers with a smoky and trembling voice and a Scottish accent:
Ah, tell ya man! This pub, this very pub we're just sitting in. I built it, with me own hands! But do they call me the Pubmaker? Naa! See the wall over there, that protects our town? I built it, with me own hands! But do they call me the Wallmaker? And the bridge, you know, that crosses our river, I built it, with me own hands! But do they call me the Bridgemaker?
But I tell ya, man! YOU FUCK ONE GOAT!
The man answers with a smoky and trembling voice and a Scottish accent:
Ah, tell ya man! This pub, this very pub we're just sitting in. I built it, with me own hands! But do they call me the Pubmaker? Naa! See the wall over there, that protects our town? I built it, with me own hands! But do they call me the Wallmaker? And the bridge, you know, that crosses our river, I built it, with me own hands! But do they call me the Bridgemaker?
But I tell ya, man! YOU FUCK ONE GOAT!
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