A group of Scots, driven from the highlands in the clearances, emigrated to America. After some years of enduring the voyage, the trek to the middle bit that was empty at the time, and then the struggle for survival that comes with moving to the wilderness, they had set up a stable community. The first thing they did after meeting their survival needs was set up a whiskey distillery. They were happy with the result, but as it had been so long since they had had any they sent a sample back to their friends in the home country with a note telling them they would like a opinion on the whiskey. After many months they received a response:
Spoiler:
Received sample, no note. Shoot the horse, it has diabetes.
Everyone who flies knows we do not know how wings work, right? It could be fairies holding up the planes, and they will stop if we upset Gaia too much.
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