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Complete Nonsense of Stuart McLean
Poems, Songs, Limericks and Stories.

Stuart was born in Clydebank, Scotland during the Elizabethan Period of the Twentieth Century. Raised as an only child in a family of eight he eked out a lonely, solitary childhood. As a vehemently shy boy he struggled to make friends and even Basher and Slasher, his imaginary friends, shunned him. Stuart sought solace in humour and by the age of five was writing some of the funniest jokes ever written by a manically depressed five year old from Clydebank. Tragically most of his early work was lost in a fire that destroyed the small, derelict shed that had become Stuart’s bedroom. The following Knock-Knock joke is all that remains:

Small Boy: "Knock, knock."
Small Boy: "Knock, knock."
Small Boy: "Knock, knock."
Small Boy: "Knock, knock."
Small Boy: "Knock, knock."
Man: "Your parents have moved home – now bugger off and leave me in peace."

Leaving school at the age of sixteen Stuart plunged into the sordid world of electronics and computing. Moving from job to job he tried to find happiness and identity in the underworld of transistors, integrated-circuits and microprocessors. For a short time he even worked as an emitter-follower in a handsome cab lamp-fitting factory. He tried his hand as an inventor, coming up with innovative designs such as the inflatable dartboard, the solar powered pacemaker and the full scale map but for various reasons they all flopped - even his brightest idea, the cardboard tent, slumped miserably.

But his love of humour never died, and after many boring years as a slave to the computer industry, he finally returned to his only love – writing. Over the past eight years Stuart has had twenty-two books published – some translated into over twenty languages. Recently he left the tedium of computing to dedicate his life to writing He has, however, taken a job as a part-time Baxi-Burner Pilot Light so that he can still afford the occasional scrap of food. Stuart is about fifty-five, though his true age will never be known as, bizarrely, his birth-certificate was used by the arsonist who set fire the small, derelict shed that was once Stuart’s childhood bedroom.

Poems and Limericks by Scottish Poet Stuart McLean.

Tae a Backle

To a Vegetarian Haggis

Epitaph on Jack McMarra

On a Lass of Amazonian Stature

A Warning on Spontaneous Combustion

Ode Tae a Bumble Bee

To a Brussels Sprout


Target Practice

Humpty Dumpty

Epitaph For a Haggis

Tae an American Tourist


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