Scottish-Americans tell you that if you want to identify tartans, it’s easy – you simply look under the kilt, and if it’s a quarter-pounder, you know it’s a McDonald’s.
Oh aye…my Father would thrash me every now and then. He’d talk while he did it too! He’d hit me and shout, ‘Have ye had enough?’ Had enough? Whit kind of question is that? ‘Why, Father, would another kick in the balls be out of the question???’
People who are willing to get off their arse to search the entire room for the TV remote because they refuse to walk to the TV and change the channel manually.
