/r/ScottishPeopleTwitter

  • Am Vor year

    SootHouseSootHouse

    Dauer: 8:18

    Dae ye wan anythin else from ScotHouse, mate??
    =====THE GANG=====
    Wilbur: de-film.com/us/WilburSoot
    David: twitter.com/SootDavid
    Jack: twitter.com/SootJack
    Matt: twitter.com/SootMatt
    Rhianna: twitter.com/SootRhianna
    =====THE MEDIA=====
    Music: incompetech.com/
    Discord: discord.gg/7pX48Cd
    Patreon: www.patreon.com/SootHouse
    Twitter: twitter.com/HouseSoot
    Twitch: Twitch.tv/SootHouse

Headless Genie
Headless Genie

(Fucking english but the accents too thick to understand) (Fucking english but its shorter than the last sentence and still cant be understood)

Vor 4 Stunden
Tinkle Ballsniff
Tinkle Ballsniff

Rhianna is the only one who nails the accent

Vor 8 Stunden
[[[ *Dragonier* ]]]
[[[ *Dragonier* ]]]

7:26 All jokes aside, I had no idea about this ‘till I watched this vid lmao

Vor 10 Stunden
Red is dead
Red is dead

As a scottish person, Awy ya we basterds need tae continye this series ya wanks Thank you for coming to my ted talk

Vor Tag
Jana Žáková
Jana Žáková

I am trying so hard to memorize who's who, but I only know Rhianna's voice 😅

Vor 2 Tage
Gul. 100 mill
Gul. 100 mill

As a non-native-english-speaker... This one was difficult.

Vor 2 Tage
Jana Žáková
Jana Žáková

I love this

Vor 2 Tage
FriedChickenAlt
FriedChickenAlt

this is my favourite video of yours

Vor 2 Tage
Morgan Hall
Morgan Hall

7:06 to 7:25 . . . Ugandan Knuckles is that you?

Vor 3 Tage
Cadan Kewn
Cadan Kewn

AH DUNT AVE A TARGET

Vor 4 Tage
Theo Crang
Theo Crang

yer scottish accents shite fudnuts bawbag mccunty tits

Vor 5 Tage
M N
M N

Of all things, I was not expecting this to be a source for sin'dorei memes wtf A N U B E L O R E D E L A' N A

Vor 6 Tage
[WUT] Fursey Rain Fidel
[WUT] Fursey Rain Fidel

Me: *Trying to sleep* My brain: FOOKIN BASTERDS TRYNA ROIN MAH FOOKIN SLEHP

Vor 6 Tage
Tovarăşu' DariusTheodor
Tovarăşu' DariusTheodor

*E*

Vor 7 Tage
Modi is my daddy
Modi is my daddy

A y e l a d s

Vor 7 Tage
Little Rat
Little Rat

i like to drink my irn bru while watching this 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Vor 10 Tage
Toxik Mewtwo
Toxik Mewtwo

AND I WOULD WALK 500 MILES

Vor 11 Tage
Auggusst
Auggusst

theyre so bad at the accents lmfao

Vor 13 Tage
sad squid
sad squid

*_Who's Masel?_*

Vor 13 Tage
CaptainCowboi
CaptainCowboi

Bloody hell

Vor 13 Tage
NinjaKnapp728
NinjaKnapp728

I don’t have a target

Vor 13 Tage
Dexter Törling
Dexter Törling

*A B S O L U T E U N I T*

Vor 14 Tage
Edgarfilms
Edgarfilms

GET IN MA BELLEH

Vor 15 Tage
Paradigm Juice
Paradigm Juice

this is amazing

Vor 16 Tage
Jonathan Peacock
Jonathan Peacock

these are the most Yorkshire Scots I've ever heard of

Vor 17 Tage
Murcia doxial
Murcia doxial

Judging by their tweets, scotts are the most glorious people in the entire world and they need to be protected at all costs.

Vor 18 Tage
Arthur da Costa Lima
Arthur da Costa Lima

D A S C O S T E N

Vor 18 Tage
Madeleine Dwyer
Madeleine Dwyer

it's 2017 and tadeh, a heard a dj plaey gangham style

Vor 19 Tage
THE Scottish T0X1CShark 9961
THE Scottish T0X1CShark 9961

I'm triggered

Vor 20 Tage
Milo0303 6
Milo0303 6

What’s Donald and Douglas saying this time

Vor 21 Tag
The Spider Plum
The Spider Plum

When you're actually Scottish and you still can't understand it :|

Vor 21 Tag
Cluck Norris
Cluck Norris

K A C H O W

Vor 22 Tage
Sighlencer
Sighlencer

Why does the thumbnail look like the guy from the goonies?

Vor 22 Tage
Tom [Eddsworld]
Tom [Eddsworld]

I’m Scottish- I hardly understood any of these tweets-

Vor 22 Tage
Joergen the 1st
Joergen the 1st

scottish music is amazing.

Vor 22 Tage
Kylo Ren
Kylo Ren

"You slipknot season ticket holder"

Vor 22 Tage
TCat Cornelius
TCat Cornelius

VIEW • VIEW • VIEW •

Vor 23 Tage
TCat Cornelius
TCat Cornelius

In Britain’s Isle, no matter where,     An ancient pile of buildings stands: The Huntingdons and Hattons there     Employ’d the power of Fairy hands To raise the ceiling’s fretted height,     Each pannel in achievements cloathing, Rich windows that exclude the light,     And passages, that lead to nothing. Full oft within the spacious walls,     When he had fifty winters o’er him, My grave Lord-Keeper1 led the Brawls;     The Seal, and Maces, danc’d before him. His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green,     His high-crown’d hat, and satin-doublet, Mov’d the stout heart of England’s Queen,     Tho’ Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. What, in the very first beginning!     Shame of the versifying tribe! Your Hist’ry whither are you spinning?     Can you do nothing but describe? A House there is, (and that’s enough)     From whence one fatal morning issues A brace of Warriors, not in buff,     But rustling in their silks and tissues. The first came cap-a-pee from France     Her conqu’ring destiny fulfilling, Whom meaner beauties eye askance,     And vainly ape her art of killing. The other Amazon kind heaven     Had armed with spirit, wit, and satire: But COBHAM had the polish given     And tip’d her arrows with good-nature. To celebrate her eyes, her air -     Coarse panegyricks would but teaze her. Melissa is her Nom de Guerre.     Alas, who would not wish to please her! With bonnet blue and capucine,     And aprons long they hid their armour, And veil’d their weapons bright and keen     In pity to the country-farmer. Fame, in the shape of Mr. Purt,     (By this time all the parish know it) Had told, that thereabouts there lurk’d     A wicked Imp they call a Poet, Who prowl’d the country far and near,     Bewitch’d the children of the peasants, Dried up the cows, and lam’d the deer,     And suck’d the eggs and kill’d the pheasants. My Lady heard their joint petition,     Swore by her coronet and ermine, She’d issue out her high commission     To rid the manour of such vermin. The Heroines undertook the task,     Thro’ lanes unknown, o’er stiles they ventur’d, Rap’d at the door nor stay’d to ask,     But bounce into the parlour enter’d. The trembling family they daunt,     They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle, Rummage his Mother, pinch his Aunt,     And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle. Each hole and cupboard they explore,     Each creek and cranny of his chamber, Run hurry-skurry round the floor,     And o’er the bed and tester clamber, Into the Drawers and China pry,     Papers and books, a huge Imbroglio! Under a tea-cup he might lie,     Or creased, like dogs-ears, in a folio. On the first marching of the troops     The Muses, hopeless of his pardon, Convey’d him underneath their hoops     To a small closet in the garden. So Rumour says. (Who will, believe.)     But that they left the door a-jarr, Where, safe and laughing in his sleeve,     He heard the distant din of war. Short was his joy. He little knew     The power of Magick was no fable. Out of the window, whisk, they flew,     But left a spell upon the table. The words too eager to unriddle,     The poet felt a strange disorder: Transparent birdlime form’d the middle,     And chains invisible the border. So cunning was the Apparatus,     The powerful pothooks did so move him, That, will he, nill he, to the Great-house     He went, as if the Devil drove him. Yet on his way (no sign of grace,     For folks in fear are apt to pray) To Phoebus he prefer’d his case,     And begged his aid that dreadful day. The Godhead would have back’d his quarrel,     But, with a blush on recollection, Own’d that his quiver and his laurel     ’Gainst four such eyes were no protection. The Court was sate, the Culprit there,     Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping The Lady Janes and Joans repair,     And from the gallery stand peeping: Such as in silence of the night     Come (sweep) along some winding entry (Styack2 has often seen the sight)     Or at the chappel-door stand sentry; In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish’d,     Sour visages, enough to scare ye, High dames of honour once, that garnish’d     The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary. The Peeress comes. The Audience stare,     And doff their hats with due submission: She curtsies, as she takes her chair,     To all the people of condition. The bard with many an artful fib,     Had in imagination fenc’d him, Disproved the arguments of Squib,3     And all that Groom4 could urge against him. But soon his rhetorick forsook him,     When he the solemn hall had seen; A sudden fit of ague shook him,     He stood as mute as poor Macleane.5 Yet something he was heard to mutter,     ‘‘How in the park beneath an old-tree (Without design to hurt the butter,     Or any malice to the poultry,) ‘‘He once or twice had pen’d a sonnet;     Yet hop’d that he might save his bacon: Numbers would give their oaths upon it,     He ne’er was for a conj’rer taken.’’ The ghostly Prudes with hagged face     Already had condemn’d the sinner. My Lady rose, and with a grace -     She smiled, and bid him come to dinner. ‘‘Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget,     Why, what can the Viscountess mean?’’ (Cried the square Hoods in woeful fidget)     ‘‘The times are altered quite and clean! ‘‘Decorum’s turned to mere civility;     Her air and all her manners show it. Commend me to her affability!     Speak to a Commoner and Poet!’’ [Here 500 Stanzas are lost.]  And so God save our noble King,     And guard us from long-winded Lubbers, That to eternity would sing,     And keep my Lady from her Rubbers.

Vor 23 Tage
TCat Cornelius
TCat Cornelius

“As he crossed toward the pharmacy at the corner he involuntarily turned his head because of a burst of light that had ricocheted from his temple, and saw, with that quick smile with which we greet a rainbow or a rose, a blindingly white parallelogram of sky being unloaded from the van—a dresser with mirrors across which, as across a cinema screen, passed a flawlessly clear reflection of boughs sliding and swaying not arboreally, but with a human vacillation, produced by the nature of those who were carrying this sky, these boughs, this gliding façade.” Jose Saramago, “Blindness.” 97 words.  “On offering to help the blind man, the man who then stole his car, had not, at that precise moment, had any evil intention, quite the contrary, what he did was nothing more than obey those feelings of generosity and altruism which, as everyone knows, are the two best traits of human nature and to be found in much more hardened criminals than this one, a simple car-thief without any hope of advancing in his profession, exploited by the real owners of this enterprise, for it is they who take advantage of the needs of the poor.” Vladimir Nabokov, “Lolita.” 99 words. “My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.” Laurence Sterne, “The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy.” 107 words. “The French are certainly misunderstood: — but whether the fault is theirs, in not sufficiently explaining themselves, or speaking with that exact limitation and precision which one would expect on a point of such importance, and which, moreover, is so likely to be contested by us — or whether the fault may not be altogether on our side, in not understanding their language always so critically as to know “what they would be at” — I shall not decide; but ‘tis evident to me, when they affirm, “That they who have seen Paris, have seen every thing,” they must mean to speak of those who have seen it by day-light.” E.B. White, “Stuart Little.” 107 words. “In the loveliest town of all, where the houses were white and high and the elms trees were green and higher than the houses, where the front yards were wide and pleasant and the back yards were bushy and worth finding out about, where the streets sloped down to the stream and the stream flowed quietly under the bridge, where the lawns ended in orchards and the orchards ended in fields and the fields ended in pastures and the pastures climbed the hill and disappeared over the top toward the wonderful wide sky, in this loveliest of all towns Stuart stopped to get a drink of sarsaparilla.” W.G. Sebald, “The Rings of Saturn.” 107 words. “All I know is that I stood spellbound in his high-ceilinged studio room, with its north-facing windows in front of the heavy mahogany bureau at which Michael said he no longer worked because the room was so cold, even in midsummer; and that, while we talked of the difficulty of heating old houses, a strange feeling came upon me, as if it were not he who had abandoned that place of work but I, as if the spectacles cases, letters and writing materials that had evidently lain untouched for months in the soft north light had once been my spectacle cases, my letters and my writing materials.” Saul Bellow, “The Adventures of Augie March.” 110 words. “But it was the figure you cut as an employee, on an employee’s footing with the girls, in work clothes, and being of that tin-tough, creaking, jazzy bazaar of hardware, glassware, chocolate, chicken-feed, jewelry, drygoods, oilcloth, and song hits—that was the big thing; and even being the Atlases of it, under the floor, hearing how the floor bore up under the ambling weight of hundreds, with the fanning, breathing movie organ next door and the rumble descending from the trolleys on Chicago Avenue—the bloody-rinded Saturday gloom of wind-borne ash, and blackened forms of five-storey buildings rising up to a blind Northern dimness from the Christmas blaze of shops.” Margaret Atwood, “The Handmaid’s Tale.” 111 words. “She’s too young, it’s too late, we come apart, my arms are held, and the edges go dark and nothing is left but a little window, a very little window, like the wrong end of a telescope, like the window on a Christmas card, an old one, night and ice outside, and within a candle, a shining tree, a family, I can hear the bells even, sleigh bells, from the radio, old music, but through this window I can see, small but very clear, I can see her, going away from me, through the trees which are already turning, red and yellow, holding out her arms to me, being carried away.” Virginia Woolf, “Mrs. Dalloway.” 116 words. “It was not to them (not to Hugh, or Richard, or even to devoted Miss Brush) the liberator of the pent egotism, which is a strong martial woman, well nourished, well descended, of direct impulses, downright feelings, and little introspective power (broad and simple–why could not every one be broad and simple? she asked) feels rise within her, once youth is past, and must eject upon some object–it may be Emigration, it may be Emancipation; but whatever it be, this object round which the essence of her soul is daily secreted, becomes inevitably prismatic, lustrous, half looking glass, half precious stone; now carefully hidden in case people should sneer at it; now proudly displayed.” William Faulkner, “That Evening Sun.” 118 words. The streets are paved now, and the telephone and electric companies are cutting down more and more of the shade trees–the water oaks, the maples and locusts and elms–to make room for iron poles bearing clusters of bloated and ghostly and bloodless grapes, and we have a city laundry which makes the rounds on Monday morning, gathering the bundles of clothes into bright-colored, specially-made motor cars: the soiled wearing of a whole week now flees apparitionlike behind alert and irritable electric horns, with a long diminishing noise of rubber and asphalt like tearing silk, and even the Negro women who still take in white people’s washing after the old custom, fetch and deliver it in automobiles. Jane Austen, “Northanger Abbey.” 119 words. “Her plan for the morning thus settled, she sat quietly down to her book after breakfast, resolving to remain in the same place and the same employment till the clock struck one; and from habitude very little incommoded by the remarks and ejaculations of Mrs. Allen, whose vacancy of mind and incapacity for thinking were such, that as she never talked a great deal, so she could never be entirely silent; and, therefore, while she sat at her work, if she lost her needle or broke her thread, if she heard a carriage in the street, or saw a speck upon her gown, she must observe it aloud, whether there were anyone at leisure to answer her or not.”

Vor 23 Tage
TCat Cornelius
TCat Cornelius

I hope that a study of very long sentences will arm you with strategies that are almost as diverse as the sentences themselves, such as: starting each clause with the same word, tilting with dependent clauses toward a revelation at the end, padding with parentheticals, showing great latitude toward standard punctuation, rabbit-trailing away from the initial subject, encapsulating an entire life, and lastly, as this sentence is, celebrating the list

Vor 23 Tage
Y SO MADD
Y SO MADD

I will have yer jaw wee man

Vor 23 Tage
Beeba K Smith
Beeba K Smith

“Scottish people, according to us, talk in one long breath.” I mean, I do. It’s a problem sometimes, I get to the end of my sentence and I’m puffed 😂😂😂

Vor 23 Tage
Lil Doomer
Lil Doomer

Imagine unironically using the word normie

Vor 23 Tage
LaidBackStreams
LaidBackStreams

“Who’s mesel?” That is a English if I’ve ever seen one

Vor 24 Tage
Hellleon
Hellleon

Scottish people are amazing. Always savage AF. I really love them.

Vor 24 Tage
DankMemeMasterRace
DankMemeMasterRace

They have possibly the worst Scottish accents ever spoken by a human.

Vor 24 Tage
Thrown Sword Pommel
Thrown Sword Pommel

You've never heard mine.

Vor 23 Tage
Hermann Fegelein
Hermann Fegelein

These people should be making the dialogue for Sword and Shield.

Vor 25 Tage
ChemicalCheezWhiz击
ChemicalCheezWhiz击

Thanks a lot guys I spat out my tea infront of my Nan and mom and mom got angry

Vor 26 Tage
Umbra
Umbra

0:59 shrek.mp3

Vor 28 Tage
epic gamer moment
epic gamer moment

in awe of the size of this lad, *A B S O L U T E U N I T* in awe at the size of this lad, *_AbSoLUtE UNitTT?_*

Vor 29 Tage
Brie The chees
Brie The chees

Im actually dying. I really want to laugh bit i cant cause my parents are gonna kick my ass if I'm still awake by now. Satan help me

Vor Monat
aphrican boi
aphrican boi

Read the comments in a Scottish accent

Vor Monat
Ryan Brown
Ryan Brown

rhianna had a significantly better accent than most of the guys and every time "whY IS IT PUNJABI"

Vor Monat
Ajc 7575
Ajc 7575

Anyone who uses normie unironically makes me sad

Vor Monat
SonicGlitchmaster1
SonicGlitchmaster1

Did Matt say anything this video or am I just crazy?

Vor Monat
mitchell dowie
mitchell dowie

Him tryin take day a Scottish accent makes me want the top me self

Vor Monat
WhatTheFridge 1o1
WhatTheFridge 1o1

7:30 oh my god my grandad who is scottish ALSO JUST FIGURED THIS OUT LIKE A WEEK AGO

Vor Monat
HeKilledTheCat
HeKilledTheCat

I’ve got a Scottish boyfriend and I know that one of the best ways to annoy him is try to do a Scottish accent

Vor Monat
Purple Zoroark
Purple Zoroark

Great video, I cannae say I agree wee what some of these people are talking aboot in their tweets

Vor Monat
Allix the Slendytubbies fan
Allix the Slendytubbies fan

At the mall Me:*sees a pikachu plushie* Also me:Aww it’s a pikachu plushie My mind:ABSOLUTE UNIT

Vor Monat

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