If It’s Not Scottish, It’s Crap

The Scottish, still reeling from the failed “Edinburgh is the Center of the Literary Universe” campaign, are now planning a Scottish dictionary. Since no one here seems to have the vision of James A.H. Murray and there’s no VC to speak of, “secret scribblings” are being auctioned off instead: a poem by JK Rowling and a draft version of what may or may not be the last Rebus novel. Chris Robinson, the leader of this project, claims that she used “sheer brass neck” to get these drafts. And this might be the problem. Anyone even remotely familiar with the Sunday morning hangover knows about sheer brass necks and how this physical condition often leaves one clamoring out of the bed around noon. Brass balls, on the other hand, go well beyond Alec Baldwin and are generally good when paired up with ambition and a focused plan. Had Robinson offered say a date with Irvine Welsh rather than turgid tetrameter quatrains from Ms. Rowling, we’d be more in her corner.

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