Disclosure Of The Where's Waldo Kind

21 June 2026

1172

R. Linda:

Up to now, it seemed I was being discovered by Scots at random through supernatural means. It was like I was being tracked by an entire nation when, in fact, it was one dedicated Scottish troublemaker with a smartphone and too much free time. Yes, who do I know that is the sort of man who could spend his time organising a covert Scottish tracking network simply because he thought it would be funny?

Who do we know that treats dignity like an optional accessory? That's exactly the energy needed to pull something like gaslighting off. For a quick moment, I did think Uncle Jamie, but nah, he isn't a Scotsman. But I do know a Scotsman who is more than capable of diabolical schemes.

Think about this: Everywhere I went in Boston, the current wave of kilted football warriors was everywhere for the World Cup. They drank quite a few pubs dry, and I found everywhere I went, I was accosted by these friendly foes for my Irishness. I felt, at first, persecuted, but it wasn't that at all. Though I was being aggressively befriended, only to become their Where's Waldo, or more accurately, Where's Gabe? 

At home, I looked in a mirror for a long time, wondering to meself, "What about me blares out IRISHMAN?" I even asked me wife, Mam, and kiddos about this. I said, "Say you didn't know me and were seeing me for the first time, what nationality would you guess I was?"

Three said Polish (boggles the mind), one said Greenlander, and one said Irishman (that would be me Mam). I questioned everything about meself. I even tried to ditch the accent, but not with much success. 

Then I received the photos, they were sent from Boston to me HOUSE! How did they know me address? And me full name? They were sent by one Angus Fergeson McDuff. I believe he was the giant of a Scot who wielded the camera, or in this case, an iPhone. When I looked at the snaps, I noticed signage I hadn't seen while I was there. They held up signs behind me back and pointed at me without me knowing! At first, I was like, what be up with that? The man who sent me the photos was the first one I met at the train station, and I tried to remember his face. Which one he was I be not sure because he was with his brothers, all triplets! I didn't recognise a one. This was maddening. Talk about confusion. He had come up just as I was leaving for home and asked me if I'd like the photos his "group of warriors" took of me with them. A sort of remembrance of the wild days of the World Cup in Beantown. Hum. I said, "Sure, I would." Ever suspicious of what those photos contained, but not curious enough to give me address, and I chalked his lack of sobriety up to forgetting to ask.

Imagine me surprise when I got them, not one set, but two! I posted the first set in the prior story, but there was more to them than what you saw. So without further ado, let me post the entire photographic evidence of the second set that will reveal not Where's Waldo, but Where's Weasil!!!

Look closely at the cone wearing wonder on the left. Look familiar?

Not only did I not know about the sign, but I didn't know Weasil was back there. Imagine me surprise when I opened that photo. Yup. I wanted to get at him immediately, but I have no clue where in Boston he is hiding out. No wonder he left me abode early. He went to Beantown to set all this up.

You'll remember how confused I was when this was taken. And yes, there he is with that dumb cone on his noggin'

I was still oblivious. I had no idea. Just confused as to what was going on.

There I was, commiserating with the barkeep, when I heard something behind me as well as people chuckling. I turned around, and when I did, all I saw were the men behind me holding a parking cone. What was under it had ducked down behind the bar.

Next one:

This was particularly disturbing. I couldn't even enjoy me meal that I was set upon, yes, R. Linda, set upon by the Celtic Army I thought was out to get me for no apparent reason, but that I was Irish.

Little did I know dumbarse was in the mix behind me, egging them on. 

And the next one:

At first, there was a gent playing bagpipes in me ear, who stepped back out of the picture. The reason was to photograph the rascal Weasil, who was also playing bagpipes behind us.

I couldn't hear two bagpipers for the loudness of the pipes, so I did not know how many pipers there were.

The last one:

I was told to hold that pose for a photo, and I thought I heard someone behind me, but the Scot with the camera was insistent that I not move. Now I know why. Standing behind me the whole time drinking SKULL SPLITTER, was The Weasil! 

I never knew until the photos arrived. I tell ya, if I get ahold of the blond scamp, he'll be toast.

Gabe

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