My Declaration of Arbroath

Here is my translation of Scotland’s most important document, said to be the basis for the US Declaration of Independence. I paraphrased a bit. Jesus didn’t say “awesome” all that often. To read my fascinating pre-translation ramble on the topic of Tartan Day, click here.

Dear Pope,

We are a posse of Scottish blokes.

The Scots are awesome! Loads of people think so. Before stumbling upon Scotland, we were all sorts of cool places – sorry we forgot to send you postcards. We were in Greater Scythia for a while, had a blast at the Pillars of Hercules, then hung out in Spain for ages and beat up everyone who mocked our accents. We had a great time, raining destruction down upon anyone that stood in our way. Yay, destruction!

When we found Scotland we were bloody delighted! After just a wee bit more bloody destruction, we managed to fling oot all the locals – those pesky Britons and Picts with their stupid painted faces — and made ourselves at home. It’s brilliant here! We love rain and midge-bites. We liked it so much that we’ve now had 113 kings telling us on whom to rain destruction. All our kings were 100% Scottish – not one drop of nasty foreign blood. Ick, foreigners. This makes us completely awesome. Even Jesus thinks so. Um, he told us so. Yeah, sure, we live way up here in an irrelevant backwater that you will never visit, but we joined his club pretty early on and Jesus told his minion Saint Andrew to keep an eye on us. Andrew is the man.

Lots of Popes have been nice to us, you know, because of our awesomeness and destruction-raining capabilities. But when we were just minding our own business, skipping about the damp heather and frolicking in the relentless rain up here, that English scunner Edward rained destruction down upon us. Honest, we didn’t do anything! Like, major destruction. Luckily, our King Robert sorted him out. We will never let any English bloke rule us. Never. Not a chance. No.

Please tell the King of the English to leave us alone in our damp wee land at the end of the earth. That greedy English scunner has stacks of land already. He doesn’t need our measly wee dod of earth, too. Holy Father, if you don’t sort him out it’s going to make you look really bad. People will talk about you after you’re dead and say that you were totally rubbish. But, if you sort this kind of thing out, we’ll all help you rain destruction upon heathens. We know that you love a good bit of heathen-destruction. We can’t go right now because any time we nip out to the shops, Edward comes by and rains destruction on the place. It’s getting really old. Don’t believe whatever Edward’s been telling you, by the way — he’s a lying git.

Anyway, Pope, we’re leaving this up to you and God to sort out, thanks very much. But are obviously still on hand to rain down destruction on anyone that looks sideways at us.

Hope you’re well.

xxx Scotland

(Click on the photo for the best ever selection of obnoxious Scottish stickers I have ever seen – this was at a Highland Games in Oregon.)

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