Ya maw’s a beetroot.
Yer bums out the windae, ye fuckin bampot.
Ye’ve got a face lit a melted welly.
Ya wispy-haired, leather-faced, bawbag-eyed, huffy wee fuckbumper.
There is a theme developing here, long term exposure to the fumes from your underkaks cause people to seek out a hermit like existence away from civilisation.
It’s pretty telling that Bruce cannot keep a friend even by giving him a motorcycle. Perhaps next time he gives something to someone he should just leave it in a prearranged place to save the recipient the trauma of actually meeting the twat. Clive was probably counting the days until he was outed for the blowjob.