The Kooky Scots Are Screwball Crazier Than Any Wackadoodle Florida Man
I’ve no right to scoff at anyone, not when I see what my fellow countrymen get up to
“Is anything worn under your kilt?”
“No, doll. It’s all in perfectly good working order.”
The 18th Century
For nearly 100 years, thousands of Scottish prisoners were separated from the general population and sent to distant colonial territories, including Florida.
This may explain where Florida Man inherited his wackadoodle-ness.
It is not uncommon to see soldiers being led into battle by ginger-bearded warriors in kilts armed with just a bag of pipes and skirling a tune to terrify the enemy.
Skirl: (of bagpipes) produce a shrill, wailing sound.
The most unhinged of our Scottish ancestors were rounded up and exiled to far-flung regions. Today, Scottish Man can still raise an eyebrow.
Here’s why:
Stupidity knows no bounds
Two Scottish Men on holiday in Australia are driving through the outback when a kangaroo skips in front of them and collides with their car.
They stop to view the damage. The front fender is bent, the bonnet crushed, and there is a crack in the windscreen. All repairable.
The kangaroo is not so lucky. Its lifeless corpse lies by the roadside. The Scotsmen consider this a photo opportunity. They prop the kangaroo against the car and take turns photographing each other, posing with the beast.
Inspired by their frivolity, one numskull dresses the lamentable kangaroo in his denim jacket to take more snaps.
The kangaroo opens a dazed eye and realises he is being accosted by two laughing lunatics. Even in its confused state, it concludes the hootenanny is at his expense.
Still wearing the denim jacket, the kangaroo hops off the road and bounds away at a great speed. Although bashed and bruised, the kangaroo now struts among his fellow roos, sporting his dapper new apparel.
What he did with the Scottish passport, Australian visa, and traveller’s checks left in the jacket’s pockets is unknown.
Imagine having to explain that to the authorities.
Police sting
The night shift sergeant picked two rookie cops, fresh out of the box, sticky tape still stuck to their uniform.
“Guys, you will do foot patrol in the city centre this evening. For your information, the council removed the cone from the Duke of Wellington statue today. Can you bear that in mind when you are on patrol tonight, please?”
As dawn broke, the two rookie cops arrived back at their station.
“How did you get on?”
“Fine sarge.”
“Did you remember the statue?”
“Yes, sarge,” the two cops looked at each other, pleased with themselves, “we did.”
“Well done, was there any trouble?”
“No sarge, we just waited until it was dead quiet and put the cone back. Don’t worry, nobody saw us.”
There is a background to this story.
The next two are from the annals of Scottish policing folklore.
PC Gary Gorman
These days, a vasectomy is a minor procedure. In and out in a day, another day to recover and ‘how’s your father?’ Back to work you go.
PC Gary Gorman’s operation was a snip, in and out in a clip. Unfortunately for Gary, it didn’t quite go so easily after that. On returning home, he felt a minor discomfort. He presumed such twinges were normal.
A day later, that minor discomfort increased to regular shooting pain. There was a bigger problem. His right testicle had swollen to the size of a pear. Gary took painkillers and went off to bed.
He woke the next day and found his pear sized testicle had grown further. It was now the size of a Galia melon. Gary needed to do something about it. He put on his dressing-gown and went to see Shirley, his next-door neighbour.
Shirley opened her door to see Gary standing in his blue towelling gown. His anguished expression concerned her.
“What’s the matter, Gary?”
“It’s this!”
Gary opened his dressing gown, dropped his pyjama bottoms and out plopped the gigantic hairy sac — confronting Shirley with his bloated bollock. She recoiled in disgust, aghast and appalled by the swollen scrotum.
“That’s my problem in a nutshell,” said Gary. “What do you think?”
“It’s awful!” was all Shirley could muster. She pulled her eyes away from this horrible mammoth testicle and looked Gary in the eye.
“But why on earth are you showing it to me?”
“Because you are a nurse,” said Gary.
“I’m a dental nurse,” Shirley informed him. “I hand tools to a dentist so he can look after your teeth.”
Missing in action
Out of all other options, the police football team asked PC Penfold to cover for their injured goalie. Ten minutes into the game and he’d let in three goals. Clearing the ball from his goal line, he sliced it over the fence and out of the ground.
PC Penfold shouted, “I’ll get it,” climbed the fence and disappeared. He didn’t come back. Everyone thought he went to the pub. Nobody bothered because, without him, they only let in two more goals.
The next week, they were ten minutes into their game when PC Penfold climbed back over the fence into the ground. He raised the ball he was carrying above his head and shouted, “Found it!”
When Scots have had enough of the authorities
The best things in life are free
A shoplifter once told me that.
During a period of high unemployment, following the closure of the once-great local shipyard, the local newspaper reported that a chapel in Inverclyde put up a sign on their confessional that read, ‘8 items or less.’
Radio Scotland
A station that prided itself on its regular donations to its community by offering a monetary prize for the correct answer to their weekly quiz.
The quiz comprised one question, the winner being drawn from posted entries.
The radio presenter became somewhat of a legend when he asked, ‘Who sang “Boom Bang-a-Bang” in the Eurovision song contest?’ and asked listeners to address their letters to ‘The Lulu contest’.
Dear old Glasgow town
At a golf course in Glasgow, two visiting Scandanavians had a round of golf with two locals. They appear to have had a great day, finishing it off with several more rounds at the 19th hole.
Beer can loosen any Scotsman’s vocal cords and that’s what happened when one of the local guys serenaded their foreign friends with a song.
“Seeing as you are from Sweden, I’ll sing you an Abba song. He stood up and burst into ‘Abbalong to Glasgow’.”
(‘I belong to Glasgow’ is indistinguishable from ‘Abbalong to Glasgow’ in a broad Scottish accent.)
Scottish character
A memorable moment was broadcast on BBC Scotland TV. The fragrant sports presenter Hazel Irvine was doing a piece on rugby in one of Scotland’s northerly islands.
One of the Shetlanders played wearing a kilt and a Viking helmet. At the end of the game, Hazel took the kooky character aside and interviewed him in front of the cameras.
She had been informed that his nickname was Biscuit. Her first question, “Why do they call you Biscuit?”
Without hesitation, Biscuit lifted his kilt, confirming to Hazel he was a true Scotsman, and said: “Because it’s a cracker.”
If it’s Medium your doing, read Malky McEwan.
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