Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader reads on the news wire that the birth rate in Scotland was up last quarter. Indeed, it seems as though those wacky Scots are doing what they can to make sure the last Scot doesn’t die in 3021 (as currently projected). The article goes on to state the marriage rates were down. Death rates seemed to be down slightly or the same.

So this means that fewer old Scots are dying of surprise when their granddaughters come home and announce that Angus knocked her up a few months ago. Well, that and the fact that Fat Bastard must be out of the country.

Of course, if there are any nice Scottish lasses out there who want to have a baby they should contact your Maximum Leader… (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)

Carry on.

UPDATE: This is a good day for Scottish blogging. Your Maximum Leader discusses Scottish birth rates. Robbo the Llamabutcher discusses the anti-kilt state of Missouri; and the Colossus tells us that soon Scots will not be able to smoke in their homes.

What should we make of all this? Well… As best your Maximum Leader can tell it means that the last Scot will die in 3021 of exposure since he was no longer able to wear his kilt. After his death the last Scot’s very healthy lungs will be transplanted into the chest of a chain-smoking Chinese bagillionaire who would otherwise die of lung cancer.

The Scots will have begun written history as wild picts who scared the Romans into walling them off; and will end as an undersexed naked nanny-state dweller… A sad end to a noble race.

Carry on.