Aye, laddie! 'Tis naught but a wee bit o' fun for this fine, frolicsome pig! His bonnie kilt and sporren reflect his gay heart. Still and all, I dinnae ken what this mad rocket thinks he's up to.
What's this heritage the bairn's on about? Is it a custom among his people to slap on a tam, kick up your heels, and toss yourself into the grinder? What kind of heritage is that then? These dunderheids don't see themselves as people. Not even as pigs. Nae, the haddies see themselves as mere stuff—nothin but whatever's left over after you've been killed. Yer whole life is just prelude to that grand moment when yer magically transformed into the substance called pork.
Stick to the caber, pig.