Tonight is Burns Night, and it's my tradition (see this post) to post in honour Robbie Burns - the Bard of Ayrshire.*
He's still the only poet** with his own feast day. I mean you don't have Yeats Year, Wordsworth Week, or even a Plath Afternoon... and lord knows what you would get up to in Motion Month. I am considering a Broken Biro Breakfast, but the details are still a little scrambled.
I'm not at a proper Burns Night this year (although obviously I'll be celebrating in my own way - perhaps the tartan pyjamas and a wee dram) but here are my favourite Scottish jokes that I would otherwise be spouting in my dodgy faux Scottish accent:
A woman goes into a butcher in Scotland and the butcher is standing with his back to the fire. The woman examines his meat and asks: 'Is that your Ayrshire Bacon?' 'No!' he replies. 'It's just my hands I'm warmin'.
~~~
- What's the difference between Bing Crosby and Walt Disney?
- Bing sings - and Walt disnae
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Did you hear about the Scottish trumpeter who found a weed in his garden?
He had to root it oot.
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- How many Scotsmen does it take to change a light bulb?
- Och! It's no that dark!
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Did you hear about the Scotsman who washed his kilt? He couldn't do a fling with it.
~~~
A woman goes into a bakers. She says to the assistant: 'Is that a donut, or a meringue?' The assistant says: 'No, you're right - it's a donut.'
(Did I mention you have to say some of these in a faux Scottish accent? I'm sure I did.)
~~~
- How do you tell what clan a Scotsman's from?
- Stick your hand up his kilt and if it's a quarter pounder, he's a MacDonald
As you will have noticed, I've avoided jokes which imply the Scots are mean. You should be careful about stereotyping. There was a recent letter to a newspaper from an Aberdonian which said "If you print any more jokes about mean Scotsmen I shall stop borrowing your paper."
Many more Scottish Jokes in the excellently-titled: Tartan Titters!: The Ultimate Scottish Joke Book
* for some reason the spell check objects to Ayrshire and wants me to change it to Yorkshire, Hampshire, Lancashire or Derbyshire. That's how wars start.
** unless YOU know differently
Thank you, I done at least 2 lols.
ReplyDeleteThink this makes me glad I'm English...
ReplyDeleteSee you Clare Kirwan...
ReplyDeleteI have a Keats joke, but I'll save it for the after Burns . . .
ReplyDeleteVicus - delighted to hear it... normally I just get lynched by real Scots.
ReplyDeleteJinksy - Glad you're glad. 8-D
Rog - See you too... although you are a little blurry after the Glenfiddich, Tobermory, Talisjer & Glenmorangie Sherrycask...zzzzzz
FFE - The afterBurns is always worth waiting for.
If I didn't follow your blog, I would have no idea what the big events were in the world! And all those new words to learn, too, like hurdie. Buttocks? Well, I guess it's to be expected when addressing haggis . . .
ReplyDeleteMontague wooed Vivian with all his heart and soul, bringing her to unimaginable heights with his command of the works of the Georgian-era English Romantic poets. As the words of Byron, Shelley, Wordsworth, Coleridge and Blake effervesced from Montague’s mouth, Vivian’s heart fast became his prisoner.
ReplyDeleteThe couple soon wed and their lives intertwined with a mutual desire to experience the visceral emotions of ‘Queen Mab,’ ‘Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ ‘The Prelude, ‘Don Juan,’ and ‘Prometheus Unbound.’ Montague’s unquestioned command of those verses sustained their romance in much the manner that nature sustains the essence of life.
But one day, Montague grew burdened with the effort of fulfilling Vivian’s enchantment. In an effort to renew his commitment to his love, he focused on the classic Odes. But his effort soon became repetitious and mechanical, to Vivian’s growing concern and, soon, consternation.
One day, as Vivian prepared breakfast, Montague entered the kitchen and launched into a recital of ‘Ode to a Nightingale.’
“Oh, shut up,” Vivian screamed. “I adored you as a man of letters and romantic sensibility, but now I fully realize you are nothing but a tedious, unoriginal bore!”
“Oh yeah?” Montague retorted. “If you can’t stand the Keats, get out of the hitchin’!”
Rainy - I bet a lot of people were wondering why Google had a 'red red rose' on its search page yesterday... and yet nothing for Australia Day today?
ReplyDeleteFrontiereditor - Haha! I love these shaggy dog stories with the dreadful pun at the end! - is that the right name for them?
People with history degrees take perverse delight in these kinds of stories. And I like the 'feghoot' nomer better than 'shaggy dog'
ReplyDeleteAha! Yes - I realised my error when I looked up 'shaggy dog' to check... and posted on Feghoots a couple of hours ago!
ReplyDeleteI can't take credit - I read ahead, heh heh.
ReplyDeleteIt's easy to become a poet....Just stand in front of the fire till yer Rabbie Burns.
ReplyDeleteHa ha! Thanks for reminding me about this post - it's about time to re-circulate it!
ReplyDeleteThanks these are just right.
ReplyDeleteMakes me feel good about being a Scot
So you should, Steve. I would if I was.
ReplyDeleteInteresting story, i missed a lot of Scotland, hope i will visit again.
ReplyDelete