"Bastard Issue, One Pound"

I know, you all think I've got the name of the magazine all "ex"-junkies, alcoholics and generally homeless vagrants alike sell on the street for the meagre price of "nae quite enough change in my pocket, sorry..."

But No! Today, strolling through the Grey Toon - Aberdeen, for the uninitiated and/or unintelligent - with my brother Jamie, we were almost set upon by a Big Issue Manny when Jamie politely refused with his fuckoffanddie stare that gets even those nuisance Oxfam cunts out your road, perfected after many years of Princes' St walks by the BeamBeam man himself!

I thought nothing more of the event, assuming the soulless vendor was used to this sort of thing, what with his baby-scaring appearance and not-so-toothy grin. However, a mere 20 minutes later, as Jamie and myself bored of the shops and decided it was probably best just to get back to the car and beat the rush-hour traffic, we walk past the vagrant, still laden with 'Issues, and speaking to someone I assume was a friend of his. As is usual in city centres, I caught a brief glimpse of his conversation, unintentionally. And what I heard was this CONFESSION:

"Aye, I just haud loads a' 'em, so fowk 'hink Ah've nae deen sa'weel... It's the bist wiy ti' die it, min!"

That's broad Scots for this:
Yes, I just hold a considerable amount of magazines, so that people think I'm really skint. It's the best way to do it.

HE'S A HUSTLING BASTARD! GET HIM OFF THE FUCKING STREETS!

That's right, Jakies, I'm ontae ye!