Yeah, something called love. Well, that's like hypnotizing chickens.

The thing is, well...

Montana. It is ugly. Just fugly.


You go out to grab a slim jim, and you are tempted to shield your eyes.


It is an assault on the senses.


Everywhere you look. Pollution. Overcrowding. Blight.


So why did I do it?

I could offer a million answers, all false.

The truth is that I'm a bad person, but that's going to change, I'm going to change.

This is the last of this sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already.

I'm going to be just like you: the job, the family, the fucking big television, the washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electrical tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mor tgage, starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing the gutters, getting by, looking ahead, to the day you die.

Nightclubbing, we're nightclubbing...we're walking through town.

Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?

It's SHITE being Scottish!

We're the lowest of the low. The scum of the fucking Earth! The most wretched miserable servile pathetic trash that was ever shat on civilization.

Some people hate the English. I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. Can't even find a decent culture to get colonized by.

We're ruled by effete assholes. It's a shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy, and all the fresh air in the world won't make any fucking difference!