Two
Scotsman went bathing in the sea and one bet the other 50 pence that he
could stay longer underwater than his companion, who promptly accepted the
wager. The bodies have not yet been recovered.
A
man who was about to pass away sent for his friends, an Englishman, an
Irishman and a Scotsman. "In my time" he said, "I've
been a pretty good friend to you all, and now I'm going to ask you to show
your regard for me in an unmistakable way. Before I'm taken to the
tomb, I want each of you to place £20 in my coffin. Do you
promise?"
They
promised, and in due time performed. First came the Englishman, who
respectfully deposited a twenty pound note: next, the Irishman, who
sorrowfully put in a similar bank note: and, finally, the Scotsman who
gently remarked, "just cash it when it suits you John," took out
the two £20 notes and dropped in a cheque for £60.
The Fake Bus Pass
In Edinburgh,
Scotland the bus is a popular form of transport and occasionally a passenger
will try to cheat. So when the driver's suspicions were raised by a pass he
took the pass and examined it more closely. The woman abandoned the pass and
quickly left the bus. It was a fake, made with a scanner and PC, but pretty
realistic.
The pass contained a photograph of her, so 2 days later the bus company had
the fake card, complete with photograph, 3 foot wide displayed upstairs and
downstairs in all their buses. A banner proclaimed to the city of Edinburgh
"This Woman is a cheat" Needless to say, the bus company has not
lost too much revenue lately.
Scotsmen in
the dock
Now that reminds me of the story of old Sandy who was in court for being
drunk and disorderly. He remarked to he Sheriff, "Yon big polis
Sergeant is jist a rotten big bastirt. Ah wisna daein ony hairm".
"Now Now, Sandy", said the Sheriff, "You are not allowed to
say what you like in court aboot the police". "Weel", said
Sandy, "Kin Ah think whit Ah like". "Yes , Sandy", said
the Sheriff, "No one can stop you thinking what you like".
"Aye, Richt", said Sandy, "Weel, Sheriff, Ah hae tae say Ah
still THINK yon big Sergeant's a rotten Bastirt".
Reminds me of
Wee Jimmy up in the dock for Drunk & Disorderly. The judge asks
how he pleads...Wee Jimmy stands up and says, "It wiz me, your honour,
hands up I was drunk as a judge". The judge taken aback and not a
little offended says in his best Kelvinside accent, " I believe the
term you are looking for is drunk as a lord, its SOBER as a Judge", Wee
Jimmy looks thoughtful. "Right enough M'lud". Frae
Auld Bob Poffers:
The story is told of a young Scottish lad named Angus who was sitting
with a wee lass on a low stone wall, holding hands, silently gazing out
over the loch.
Then finally the girl looked at the boy and said, "A penny for your
thoughts, Angus."
"Well, uh, I was thinkin'...perhaps it's aboot time for a wee kiss."
The girl blushed, then leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Then he blushed. The two turned once again to gaze out over the loch.
Minutes passed and the girl spoke again. "Another penny for your
thoughts, Angus."
"Well, uh, I was thinkin' perhaps it's noo time aboot time for a wee
cuddle."
The girl blushed, then leaned over and cuddled him for a few seconds.
Then he blushed. Then the two turned once again to gaze out over the
loch.
After a while, she again said, "Another penny for your thoughts,
Angus."
"Well, uh, I was thinkin' perhaps it's aboot time you let me put my
hand on your leg."
The girl blushed, then took his hand and put it on her knee. Then he
blushed. The the two turned once again to gaze out over the lock for
several minutes before the girl spoke again.
"Another penny for your thoughts, Angus."
The young man glanced down with a furled brow. "Weel, noo," he said,"my thoughts are a wee bit more serious this time."
"Really?" said the lass in a whisper, filled with anticipation.
"Aye," said the lad, nodding.
The girl looked away in shyness, began to blush, and bit her lip in
anticipation of the ultimate request.
Then he said, "Dae ye nae think it's aboot time ye paid me the first
three pennies?
Hardy Folk
40 degrees F - Californians shiver uncontrollably.
People in Scotland strip down to their vests and sunbathe
35 degrees F - Italian cars won't start.
People in Scotland drive with the windows down.
20 degrees F - Folk in Florida wear coats, gloves, and wool hats.
People in Scotland throw on a long-sleeved T-shirt.
15 degrees F - Californians begin to evacuate the state.
People in Scotland go swimming in the North Sea.
Zero degrees - New York landlords finally turn up the heat.
People in Scotland have the last BBQ before it gets cold.
10 degrees below zero - In Miami, mortality rate due to exposure
rockets.
People in Scotland enjoy an ice cream.
20 degrees below zero - Californians fly away to Mexico for a holiday.
People in Scotland relent and throw on a light jacket.
80 degrees below zero - Polar bears begin to evacuate the Arctic.
Scottish Boy Scouts postpone" Winter Survival" classes because it's
not cold enough.
100 degrees below zero - Santa Claus abandons the North Pole.
People in Scotland pull down the ear flaps on their balaclavas.
173 degrees below zero - Ethyl alcohol freezes.
People in Scotland get frustrated when they can't defrost their
porridge.
297 degrees below zero - Microbial life start to disappear.
Scottish cows complain of farmers with cold hands.
460 degrees below zero - ALL atomic motion stops.
People in Scotland start saying "Here it's chilly, you cauld an aw?"
500 degrees below zero - Hell freezes over.
PEOPLE IN SCOTLAND START TO SUPPORT ENGLAND IN THE WORLD CUP!
Cheerful Folk
Depressed Man Diagnosed as 'Scottish' - A 'true' story from a US newspaper...
Alistair McGregor, an expatriate Scottish man living in America, was
recently diagnosed as clinically depressed, tanked up on
anti-depressants and scheduled for controversial Shock Therapy when
doctors realized he wasn't depressed at all... only Scottish.
Mr. McGregor, a Scottish man whose characteristic pessimism and
gloomy perspective were interpreted as serious clinical depression,
was led on a nightmare journey through the American psychiatric
system.
Doctors described McGregor as suffering from Pervasive Negative
Anticipation - a belief that everything will turn out for the worst,
whether it's
trains arriving late, Scotland's chances at winning any international
sports event or even his own prospects to get ahead in life and
achieve his dreams.
"The satisfaction Mr. McGregor seemed to get from his pessimism
seemed particularly pathological," reported the doctors.
"They put me on everything - Lithium, Prozac, St John's Wort,
Ginseng", said Mr. McGregor. "They even told me to sit in front of a
big light for an hour a day or I'd become suicidal. I kept telling
them this was all pointless and they said it was exactly that sort of
attitude which got me here in the first place."
Running out of ideas, his doctors finally resorted to a course of
"weapons grade MDMA", the only noticeable effect of which was six
hours of
speedy repetitions of the phrases "mustn't grumble" and "not too
bad, really."
Mr. McGregor had six months of therapy but seemed to mainly want to
talk about the weather - how miserable and cold it was in winter and
later how difficult and wet it was in summer. The doctors felt he
wasn't responding to therapy at all and so recommended drastic action
- namely ECT or shock treatment.
"I was all strapped down on the table and they were about to put the
rubber bit in my mouth when the psychiatric nurse picked up on my
accent," said Mr. McGregor. "I remember her saying 'Oh my God, I think
we're making a terrible mistake'."
Nurse Alice Sheen was a big fan of Scottish comedy giving her an
understanding of the Scottish psyche. "Classic comedy characters like
Chick Murray, Will Fife and The Crankies, all hopeless cases with no
chance of ever doing well or escaping their circumstances," she
explained to the baffled US medics. "In Scotland, being depressed to
the point of suicidal is considered the norm and is not seen as
pathological at all."
Identifying Mr.McGregor as Scottish changed his diagnosis from
'clinical depression' to 'rather quaint and charming' and he was
immediately discharged from hospital, with a selection of brightly
colored leaflets and an "I love New York" T-shirt.
From the Personal column of a Scottish newspaper:
Grossly overweight Buckie turf-cutter, 42 years old and 23 stone, Gemini, seeks nimble
sexpot, preferably South American, for tango sessions, candlelit dinners and humid nights of screaming passion. Must have own car and be willing to travel. Box 09/08
Aberdeen man, 50, in desperate need of a ride. Anything considered. Box06/03
Heavy drinker, 35, Glasgow area, seeks gorgeous sex addict interested in pints, fags, Celtic football club and starting scraps on Sauchiehall Street at three in the morning. Box 73/82.
Bitter, disillusioned Dundonian lately rejected by longtime fiancée seeks decent, honest, reliable woman - if such a thing still exists in this cruel world of hatchet-faced bitches. Box 53/41
Ginger-haired Partick troublemaker, gets slit-eyed and shirty after a few scoops, seeks attractive, wealthy lady for bail purposes, maybe more. Box 84/87
Artistic Edinburgh woman, 53, petite, loves rainy walks on the beach, writing poetry, unusual sea-shells and interesting brown rice dishes, seeks mystic dreamer for companionship, back rubs and more as we bounce along like little tumbling clouds on life's beautiful crazy journey. Strong stomach essential Box 12/32
Chartered accountant, 42, seeks female for marriage. Duties will include cooking, light cleaning and accompanying me to office social functions. References required. No timewasters. Box 23/45
Bad-tempered, foul-mouthed old bastard living in a damp cottage in the arse end of Orkney seeks attractive 21-year old blonde lady with big chest. Box 40/27
Devil-worshiper, Stirling area, seeks like-minded lady for wining and dining, good conversation, dancing, romantic walks and slaughtering dogs in cemeteries at midnight under the flinty light of a pale moon. Box 52/07
Attractive brunette, Maryhill area, winner of Miss Wrangler competition at Framptons Nightclub,
Maryhill, in September 1978, seeks nostalgic man who's not afraid to cry, for long nights spent comfort-drinking and listening to old Abba records. Please, Please! Box 30/41
Govan man, 27, medium build, brown hair, blue eyes, seeks alibi for the night of February 27 between 8pm and 11.30pm
The English strike back
The English, the English, the English are best:
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest!
The rottenest bits of these islands of ours
We've left in the hands of three unfriendly powers.
Examine the Irishman, Welshman or Scot;
You'll find he's a stinker like as not.
The Scotsman is mean, as we're all well aware,
And bony and blotchy and covered with hair.
He eats salted porridge, he works all the day,
And he hasn't got bishops to show him the way.
The English, the English, the English are best:
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest!
The Irishman, now, our contempt is beneath,
He sleeps in his boots and he lies in his teeth,
He blows up policemen (or so I have heard),
And blames it on Cromwell and William the Third.
The English are noble, the English are nice,
And worth any other at double the price!
The Welshman's dishonest, he cheats when he can,
And little and dark, more like monkey than man.
He works underground with a lamp in his hat,
And he sings far too loud, far too often, and
FLA-A-A-T.
And crossing the Channel, one cannot say much
For the French or the Spanish, the Danish or Dutch;
The Germans are German, the Russians are Red,
And the Greeks and Italians eat garlic in bed.
The English are moral, the English are good,
And clever and modest and misunderstood!
And all the world over, each nation's the same,
They've simply no notion of Playing the Game:
They argue with umpires; they cheer when they've won;
And they practise beforehand, which ruins the fun.
The English, the English, the English are best:
So up with the English, and down with the rest!
It's not that they're wicked or naturally bad...
It's knowing they're FOREIGN that makes them so mad!
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