Joke thread

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The auld folks hame



The auld folks hame was a’richt

But life wis awfy droll

An’ the Matron o’ the hale shebang

Wis mair nor Jock could tholl

She wis a nippit little crater

Her life one long parade

As the heid an’ founer member

O’ the anti fun brigade

Every year midsummer

They got ta’en oot tae the park

Tae hae an “old folk’s picnic”

Well, ye can stuff that fur a lark

For a’ ye’d get wis sandwiches

A fine piece an some tea

Nae chance o’ a tin o’ lager

Or a dram - or two - or three

For the Matron wis T-total

A Brethren Quine frae Buckie

An’ as she nae langer bides there

Then wisnae Buckie lucky

She had nae truck wi’ alcohol,

Strang drink, like beer or whiskey

But Jock would get refreshit yet

Though his ploy was surely risky

The nicht afore the picnic

Jock had got his plans a’ figurt

Tae sabotage the enterprise

An’ see the hale thing jiggert

He’d use a bitty subterfuge

Tae liven up the shower

Aye - subterfuge - an’ picnic food -

An’ cask strength Aberlour !

He’d got a swap o’ an auld syringe

For a half pound bag o’ sweeties

Frae an auld soul cryit MaryAnn

Fa hid type one diabetes

Now, he crept into the kitchen

Like a Commando on a bridge

An’ tiptoed ‘cross the lino

And opened up the fridge.

Aye - there they were

Jist like last year

An’ fur mony years a’fore

A tray o’ orange ballies

A’neath the ice tray door

They were Matron’s contribution

Supposed to be a “treat”

A biled egg, an’ breadcrumbs

An’ some gie teuch sausage meat

Jock jist didna like them

In fact, it wis mair like hate

They clogget up his dentures

An’ got stuck a’neath his plate

Matron kent he didna like them

An’ frankly, didna care

She’d stan’ an’ watch him finish een

An’ then come back, wi’ mair

The aul witch !!

Time an’ again he fill’t the syringe

He kept a carefull tally

An’ skoosh’t a double whiskey

Intae iv’ry orange ballie

If Matron e’r jaloused his plan

She’d fairly hit the roof

For iv’ry yin o’ her picnic treats

Wis now o’er sivinty proof !!

The following’ morn

They headit oot

A weary brand o’ sojers

A crocodile o’ zimmers

Over twinty coffin dodgers

They foond a fine spot on the grass

An’ gradually settl’t doon

An’ sat in resignation

While the scran wis handed roon

The sandwiches - well whit can ye say

We’re much mair breed than fillin’

They’d obviously warm’d the juice up

Whiles the pot o’ tea wis chillin’

The Empire biscuits had gone a’ soft

The cake wis like asbestos

But Matron’s treats They a’ concurr’d

We’re totally Stupendous!!

They’re een went wide - They sat up straight

They said “woooo these things are rare”

An’ Matron wis dumfoonurt

Fin they a’ cried oot fur mair

The eens wi’ teeth, they champit doon

While she jist stood, an’ lookit

Files the toothless eens amongst them

Jist gumm’d the ba’s, an’ sookit

Now, naebody’s sure fit happen’t nixt

The Police report wis sparse

But the annual auld een’s picnic

Fairly turn’d intae a farce

They were swimin in the foontain

They were fechtin in the dubs

An’ one couple in they’re ninetys

Headed off intae the shrubs !!

A big fat dame cried Teenie

(Who manifestly wisnae)

Showed dimpled knees in a wild striptease

An’, let’s be fair, fa’ hisnae?

She scandalised the Matron

took the wind clean oot her sails

By usin’ paper hankies

Tae dae a dance o’ the sivin veils

They a’ agreed, as far as picnics went

It really wis the tops

An’ that the best o’ the entertainment

Hid been fechtin’ wi’ the cops

An’ foo Matron had been arrested -

Carted off - down til the Station

For tryin’ tae poison aul’ folk -

Chemical intoxication !!

That nicht as they sat contented

In the day room o’ the hame

To revue the day’s proceedings

And rejoice in Matron’s shame

Jock’s pal Tam asked

“Fit d’ye ca’ those orange ballies?

Aye they fair gie’d her a fleg”

An’ aul’ Jock smiled an’ murmured

“ Oh, they ca’ those things, Scotched Eggs”
 
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POSTAL BOWEL SCREENING
(A crapping good yarn)


I was crouching over the toilet bowl

Attempting to catch a poo

When the bloody phone began to ring

“Your PPI check’s due”

Keep the excrement out of the water

Says the leaflet in the kit

So this is where life's brought me

I’m a lifeguard for a sh_t

It shows in little pictograms

How to save your little motion

But squatting, pooping, catching

That needs physical devotion

Now I'm not averse to healthcare

I'm a switched on modern chap

But I imagined healthy exercise

Not poking about in cr_p

So with my favoured method

To keep the body waste from damp

I hover there expectantly

And my bloody leg takes cramp

But that's it done and dusted

I hope the results are clear

And I live to defecate again

In the postbox in two years.


By. Archie McKellar.
 
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