Ma rings oan fire ahn mha broo’s pappled wi perspiration, ahm reirdin ahn riftin ahn plaisterin the pan wi keech in ways unkent tae man.
Ahn still they’re roarin through the door – “mind the cludgie post-curry rules o conduct” – the cook inaw – hae they no pity.
Translation:
rift: belch.
My anus is burning and my forehead is covered in bubbles of perspiration, I’m farting thunderously and belching and splattering the bowl with excrement in ways unknown to man.
And still they are bellowing through the door – “remember the water closet post-curry rules of conduct” – the cook as well – have they no pity.