A Scottish old-timer in Scotland, in a bar, talking to a young man.
"Lad, look out there to the field. Do ya see that fence? Look how well it's built. I built that fence stone by stone with me own two hands. Piled it for months. But do they call me 'McGregor, The Fence Builder'? Nooo.."
Then the old man gestured at the bar.
"Look here at the bar. Do ya see how smooth and just it is? I planed that surface down by me own achin' back. I carved that wood with me own hard labor, for eight days. But do they call me 'McGregor, The Bar Builder'? Nooo..."
Then the old man points out the window.
"Eh, Laddy, look out to sea. Do ya see that pier that stretches out as far as the eye can see? I built that pier with the sweat off me back. I nailed it board by board. But do they call me 'McGregor, The Pier Builder'? Nooo..."
Then the old man looks around nervously, trying to make sure no one is paying attention.
"But ya screw ane wee goat . . . "
This is of course a complete work of fiction and has nothing at all whatever to do with Aberdonian virgins.