So, er, whar was ah now? Ah yes, walkin' intae ma favorite hang oot spot, the Green Lion. Well, thar ah was, in ma Donald Duck Halloween costume, an' ah war lookin' fer a wee lady friend ah mine, Cindy, posin' as Cinderella fer the party later oan. So I was all curious like, stridin' in, beak a flappin', peerin' roond the great oaken slab o' a door, intae the Green Lion. Ah looks roond, hopin' tae find the wee lassie, when all of a sudden, this gorgoeus mid-thirties lassie wi' dyed black hair an' boomin' cleavage looks aw embarrassed, an' pipes up, wi' "Hi". Ah turns roond in ma duck outfit, but before ah can reply, a red-faced alcoholic-type shouts "R'you sccoby doo?"

"No, ya daft twat, Ah'm fuckin' Donald Fuckin' Duck, ye ken frae thae cartoon, radge?"

"D'ya like Scooby Doo? 'E supports Villa. D'ya support villa?"

"Listen," Ah says, all fixed in mae intentions, "Ah'm gonnae count tae three before ya apologise faer talkin' tae me in that manner. Ya dinnae go askin' Donald Duck if 'e's SCOOBY FUCKIN' DOO, d'ya hear?"

So the cunt looks a bit lost faer werds, an' the lassie starts tae shake. She starts makin' faer the door which ah've just appeared through five minutes ago. "SIT DOON!" Ah bellow. "Nae cunt talks tae me like that!" just then, some cunt dressed as Dracula walks over and moves in tae see what's goan on. He looks like he'd be a Dracula even if he was dressed in a pair o' Birkenstock loafers n' slacks. "Can I help?" he asks in posh London lilt.

"Ye can start by steppin' over thar, where yer further away frae meself, ya fuckin' ape!" Ah roars, an' the twat moves over, keepin' his eyes fixed oan me. The music's died doon tae a thin jukebox rendition ah "Lighter Shade O Pale" an' aw eyes r' lookin' over at the commotion by thae door.

Thae wee lassie changes her toon, an starts fumblin' wi' her skirt, takin' off her bra an' throwin' it intae the crowded room. Shocked, thae alcoholic type starts sweatin' throwin' his arms roon his lassie, but she shakes him oaf, startin' tae wail, scream and cry up at the gold-painted ceiling of the Green Lion. Well, the whole group o' oanlookers look a wee bit baffled by this. She jumps up oan the table, swingin' her arms roond, throwin her bus this way an' that, then starts tae peel oaf her clothes. At this point ah've lost concentration oan the altercation which before was aboot tae happen. She throws her black dress up in the air, above her heid, an' straddles the table ah' drinks beneath her, swayin those monroe hips as she starts tae dance.

The landlord walks in, gobsmacked, but he's so far behind the crowd that no one takes any notice of his pleadin'. Our fair lassie starts lettin' her abdomen relax, pishin' aw' over the half full glasses o' cider as the table's occupants put thar hands over thar mooths. What in McKenzie's Kingdom is aw' this? Ah wonder, an' then, as ah see her eyes turn white, I remember...

Back in the boonie glens o' McTulloch, ma mam's tryin' tae keep the bairn quiet, thae stone walls o our smaw' cottage whistlin' wi' thae wind, thae rain beatin doon oan our tin roof, a replacement faer thatch after ma pa set fire tae it after a binge wi' thae fishermen. There's a knock at the door, an' ma ma answers it, an' there's sorta' a cold draft as she tries tae hide what's oan the other side o' thae door. "No, no," I hear her cryin' as the darkened figure comes nearer, "No, go away", an' then the begraggled, skeletal figure creeps intae the middle o' the floor, on aw fours, likean insect, grabs the bairn frae the cot an' bites intae the flesh. Ah remember hearin'a  sound like ah've never heard before, the crunch ah' bone an' muscle under thae teeth o' this ridiculous barbaric creature. Neither me or me mam can move, an' ma mam lets oot a yelp an' then a scream as she tries tae pull thae crazed maniac woman off of her child, but all in vain.

The woman looks my way, an fixes her eyes upon me as if she's known me faer time, green-white eyes, mud all over her face, like she's just crept from the loch. She grabs thae bairn an' leaps ontae the table wi' the energy o' a gazelle, blood drippin frae her infected, almost reptilian jaws, hold the bairn tae the sky an' starts tae wail. Ah cannae remember more, but ah remember wakin' up the next day wi' a feelin' in me baws like ah've been castrated...

As ah get ma grip back oan reality, thae naked woman oan the table turns tae me an' beckons. Ah start tae undo ma flies, and then she jumps doon, after she's relieved herself good an' proper. She starts caressin' ma todger an' ah'm aw wairm as she pushes me ontae the bench an' starts tae work herself oan me. Eyes pure white, like two coals in thae fire, she's spitting an' shaking like a lighting bolt. Ah quiver as a start tae get hypnotised, grabbin' hold ah thae stool an' followin' through, then suddenly the windows start tae break, ther whole Green lion starts tae pulsate, an' people are all joinin' in, takin' thar clothes off an' celebratin' this queen ah the witches. The lassie grabs hold o' ma Donald Duck beak an' takes a bite...

Outa nowhere, a group o' armed officers appear, an' a recognise me old friend Sergeant McClellan, no less the man who tried tae break ma fingers back in '82 fae throwin' eggs at the Prime Minister. "YOU!", he snarls, barely heard under the din o' heavin' an' moanin' in this newly turned haven for witchcraft. He points a finger but gets knocked over by a couple o' twenty stone post office workers frae thae housin' estate. "Stoap This!" he yells, but already the other bobbies're bein' driven oot with sticks an' glassed with empty pints. "Mother ah goad!", ah yells as a shoot me load intae thae lassie, an' she starts takin' chunks oota me neck, shriekin' like she's bein' burned with hot hydrochloric.

Ah wake up aw' sore, the rain's comin doon, ah notice ma shoulder seems tae seized up, blue-red dried blood still seepin' frae a rust-coloured scab. Cars are passin' me by, oan thar way tae what looks like Heathrow airport, but ah cannae be sure. Airoplanes fly overhead, screamin' jets. Bruised and beaten, ah try tae move but it's impossible. Ah cannae properly see, as ah'm bleedin' frae the eyes. The witches hat by ma side, but no lassie. Grippin' ma can a Red Bull, ah groan as a sip oan another dram ah the finest. Crows swoop doon, lookin faer thae worms in thae fair soil o' this stretch o' turf. "Cheers", ah mutter tae the sky as a pass oot.