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Scottish? Not the Scottish at all. Come to think of it, I don't know who's eating my insides. If I knew I could stop it, couldn't I?
Not if they were really persistent. Say for instance they quit their job, so that they can spend every waking moment trying to gnaw on your insides. Well, assuming your an average joe and not born with a silver spoon in your mouth like those work-shirking inside-gnawing scottish bastards, you have to work for a living and can't allocate nearly the amount of time to preventing your insides being gnawed upon, as the gnawing scot can allocate to Operation Gnaw.
Fast forward to christmas 2011. You take a bite of plum pie, and look down to see that your napkin is folded into your collar just the way you like it. But before your eye can acquire its target, it by chance happens to wonder upon the 6 foot scot gnawing on your insides. All because you were too damn stubborn to use a couple of vacation days for scot removal.
I've had a stinky sheep herder chomping on my pancreas ought nought 20 years now. I waited too long and now if the doctors separate us, we'll both die. So lose the fuck before it's too late! Trust me!