I think people should have a chance to judge Macolm Buggeroll by his greatest accomplishment of all...his poetry. Here is a sample of it from 1997:

The 35th Marrisonade

Behold the verdant meadow!
Spilling its seeds in incomprehensible riot
Over the fair flanks of quiescent virgin
Niobes of orgiastic splendour.
Soft!
There comes a footfall
As of some fabled spirit queen
Her tresses unloosed to the rising shaft
Of dawn!
"Methinks," cries the bard, "the game is afoot!"
And was it merely yesterday that we knelt
You and I
Amid these primordial splendours
Our senses tickled by the bleating
Of distant farm animals
Our nostrils bedecked with the pollinated
Effulgence of the marrisonade
Our hearts as one
Engulfed in the puissant aroma
Of eros?
Nay! 'Twas an eon ago, or two
'Twas an epoch past
A space in time
A pause in creation
Upon whose naked limbs rested
The very grasp of all that is real
And all that is...a passing dream.

- a 1997 poem by Malcolm Buggeroll, the "Poet of the Highlands" (and just imagine it being read in a deep and rrrolling Scottish brogue! Sigh!)