A Scottish old timer in Scotland, in a bar, talking to a young man.
Old Man: “Lad, look out there to the field. Do ya see that fence?
Look how well it’s built. I built that fence stone by stone with me own two hands.
Piled it for months. But do they call me McGregor-the-Great-Fence-Builder? Nooo..”
Then the old man gestured at the bar. “Look here at the bar. Do ya see how smooth and polished it is?
I planed that surface down by me own achin’ back. Carved that wood with me own hard labor, for eighteen days I worked.
But do they call me McGregor-the-Great- Bar-builder? Nooo…”
Then the old man points out the window. “Eh, Laddy, look out to sea. Do ya see that pier that stretches out as far as the eye can see?
I built that pier with the sweat off me back. I nailed it board by board, hands blistered and swollen by the salt.
But do they call me McGregor-the-Great-Pier-Builder? Nooo…”
Then the old man looks around nervously, trying to make sure no one is paying attention. “Ya screw one little goat . . . “