2002 - Depravedheart
The KdV theme for this year was "Depraved New World." What could be more depraved than an homage to Mel Gibson? Clan McCRUDE broke with KdV tradition and engaged a bagpipe band to accompany it through the Quarter for the occasion. And what is it a Scotsman wears 'neath his kilt? Your sister's lips!
2002 LE MONDE DE MERDE
THE BALLAD OF DEPRAVEDHEART
There is a tale oft told at night
In Scotland’s stony keeps,
Of the brave lads of Clan McCRUDE
And Dolly, the cloned sheep.
It was the year of Longcrank’s reign
O’er the English throne,
That Highland lads and lassies
Were most oft to get the bone.
The English lords didst tup their maids
And if they raised a peep,
Wouldst turn around and from behind
Would give it to their sheep.
At last there raised a hue and cry
That rang across the moor,
And Clan McCrude bestirred itself
And headed off to war.
Among the clan there stood one man
Depravedheart was his name,
Who was most grieved his Dolly dear
Was subject to this shame.
Dolly was a comely sheep,
Her fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere Depravedheart went,
The sheep would surely go.
“This has gone quite far enough,”
they sang in voices true,
“tis bad enough you take our lass,
but ye must unhand our ewe.”
The Clan assayed from craggy fast
Like a tide upon the roll,
And planned attack down Royal Street
before the Superbowl.
The greed of some ignoble lords
Did cause their plan to splinter,
Instead they had to launch their raid
Deep in the dead of winter.
With a heart brim’d full of anger
and nothing ‘neath his kilt,
Depravedheart strode alone to where
The English fort was built.
An English wizard to fool the bairn
some magic potion mixes,
And caused poor Dolly’s sheepish genes
to multiply by sixes.
Depravedheart killed with ax and sword
and punished their follies,
When he found to his surprise
an entire flock of Dollies.
Lightning struck, he stood stock still,
then to his knees did fall:
“How can I tell these sheep apart,
unless I screw them all?”
Hitching up his tartan plaid,
his manhood did its duty,
It toiled long into the night
To separate his booty.
Next morn the lasses of McCRUDE
found the warrior sleeping
They gently lifted up his kilt
And beneath it they were peeping.
A mighty stalk of Scotland’s pride
was beneath there planted,
And gazing on with heaving breasts
The lasses were enchanted.
“Here swells erect a monument
to Freedom, a fitting totem.
Take these ribbons from our hair
And decorate his scrotum!”
A ribbon blue wound round his crank
Was the view that met his eyes.
“I know not where ye been,” he said,
“but at least ye took first prize!”