In Lieu of Content, We Have McTavish

I told my third-favorite joke to my two coworkers in the car on the way back to Austin from San Angelo. They can testify that it's better if I write it out than tell it to you in person. This way you don't have to squirm through my unpassable Scots accent.

(I really feel like writing, but can't think of anything interesting to write about. At least, not that I'd publish on the Internet for God-n-everybody to see... hello!)

So this Scotsman walks into a bar and sees his old friend moping dejectedly over his pint. "Why, McTavish," he exclaims, "whatever is the matter?"

"Och!" cries McTavish, "it's a sad life I lead!

"Look how much I do for this town," he says. "Look out at the village square, there, the center of village life. I cleared that square, I did, cut down every tree with me own two hands. But do they call me McTavish the tree-cutter? Nooooo!

"And look yonder," he continues, "at the well in the center of that fine square. Without that well, where would the villagers get water? And I dug that well, dug it with me own two hands! But do they call me McTavish the well-digger? Noooooo!

"And see that handsome church on the other side of the square!" he cries, warming to his subject. "That church has saved every soul in this village! And I built it, I did, from the ground up, with me own two hands! But do they call me McTavish the church-builder? Nooooo!

"But fuck ONE GOAT..."

Don't joke and drive, y'all. Peace out.