Replacement?

November is National Blogging Month or some such nonsense. Robert over at Skewed has already found himself in the spirit of the festivities, allowing the burro to write a blog post that blatantly offended everyone, and doubly offended the Welsh. In fact, the burro’s written antics were so over-the-top that readers have emailed me saying that they’ll never read Skewed again, and that they will stop reading the Right Wing if we don’t pull our link to Skewed.

Well, we at the Right Wing are proud to support Skewed View, even if one of their “former” employees is a psychotic murderer who has no problem yelling “Terrorist!” in a crowded casino, all while underhandedly stealing chips from the distracted gambler beside him. (That’s right, Fred, we got the security tapes. You’re going down!)

So all of that aside, I suppose the Right Wing should take résumés for a replacement for the late Sanjay. In fact, we received our first résumé today, although I’m not sure how this person knew we had a job opening. Hopefully we’ll be able to bring you a new prospective copy editor every week or so, until a suitable replacement is found… working, of course, under the assumption that Fred isn’t going to kill someone else. But don’t let that scare you.

Well, here goes. For your reading pleasure, I present to you the written stylings of Scott Ish MacDougal:
So I’m out walkin’ in the fields, aye.
And I see this bloke and I says, “Who are you?”
And he says, “I’m you, from the future.”
And I says, “You can’t be me from the future, we’re not there yet.”
And he says, “That’s what you think…”
So I says, “Well, if you me from the future, and I’m me from today… I think I’m gonna need a pint to wrap me head around this.”
So we goes to the pub I order a pint, he orders a pint. I’m thinkin’ if he’s me from the future, and I’m me from today, and if I’m drinkin’ and he’s drinkin’, is he getting double-drunk?
Then I think, maybe he’s an imaginary friend, I have been hitting the pure a bit hard lately. So I look over at him while he’s drinkin’, and I look down at the floor. Well, that could be beer, could be somethin’ else, I’m not really sure.
So I says again to him, I says, “Who are you?”
And he says, “I’m you, from the future.”
Only he’s a wee bit two sheeps to the wind at this point, and he actually says “Ahmyoo, fro da’ foosha.”
I stop drinkin’, hoping he’ll take the hint and begin soberin’ up. He does. I grab him by the arm and we walk outside.
I says again, “Who are you?”
He says, “I’m you, from the future.”
And I says, “If you’re me from the future, and I’m me now, what happens to me today?”
He says, “You get hit by a car.”
That’s when I realized we were standing in the road.