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Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in Scottish humour community's LiveJournal:

Thursday, July 17th, 2008
7:15 pm
Hey all, found this community completely by chance whilst looking up Still Game randomness.

Thought I'd share this wee emailed complaint to police about annoying neds. It's fantastic.

Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service,
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Maryhill
police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the
idea and try e-mailing you instead.
Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this meassage on to your colleagues in Maryhill by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or ouji board.
As I'm writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments
(I think you call them youths) in Balfour Street which is just Off Kelvindale Road.
Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite.
This causes an earth shattering CLANG! Which rings throughout the entire building.
This game is now in it's third week and as I am unsure how the scoring sytem works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon.
The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins.
One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed.
I fear that it's only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of calor gas that is lying on it's side between the two bins.
If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it.
I would even go so far as to lend them the matches.
Unfortuneatly they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I've just
finished decorating the kitchen.

What I suggest is this.
After replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath
night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a
panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again.
This will of course serve no ther purpose than to remind us what policemen
actually look like.
I trust that when I take a clawhammer to the skull of one of these
throwbacks you'll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month
head start before coming to arrest me.

I remain sir, your obedient servant

Mr ??????,
I have read your e-mail and understand you frustration at the problems caused by youth playing in the area and the problems you have encountered in trying to contact the police.
As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an offer of discussing the matter fully with you.
Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details (address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.

PC ???
Community Beat Officer

Dear PC ?????
First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my original e-mail.16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for Maryhill Police station and rest assured that I will forward these details to Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.
Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has it's own community beat officer.
May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert skills.In the five or so years I have lived in Balfour Street, I have never seen you.
Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin? It's surely only a matter of time before you are
headhunted by MI5.

Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place in Maryhill such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using words of no more than two syllables at a time) to
these twats that they might want to play their strange football game
The pitch behind the Wrecky or the one at Cleveden Secondary are both within spitting distance from said street.

Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free
to contact me on ??? ????.
If after 25 minutes I have still failed to
answer, I'll buy you a large one in Harveys.

P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you
don't work for the cleansing department.

Monday, January 29th, 2007
6:17 pm
Need help with the Glaswegian accent!
I'm a NYC-based creative working on an internet show featuring a Scottish character. The American actress we're using has a talent for mimicry but no familiarity with an authentic Glaswegian accent.

Is there anyone raised in Glasgow (preferably female) who can answer some questions about the accent and the proper way to pronounce certain sentences? Will repay the favor any way you see fit (er, except for with actual cash, as we're all dead broke).

If by some chance you're an actor trying to get the New York accent down, I've got some "tutorials" on the subject here.

Thanks in advance, any help appreciated, and my apologies if this post doesn't fit the community!


- Rain
Wednesday, January 24th, 2007
3:54 am
i've been instructed to find a funny poem to read at burns night. help!
Wednesday, September 27th, 2006
7:03 pm

To: L Colin Wilson, c/o Luath Press Ltd., 543/2 Castlehill, Edinburgh EH1 2ND.

Dear Mr Wilson

I write to complain in the strongest possible terms. I recently purchased a copy of your book, the Scots Language Learner, from the Internet, because I was due to attend a business conference in Livingston. While visiting Scotland I thought it would be desirable to ‘interact’ with the ‘locals’ in their ‘native tongue’.

I applied myself to the language course in your book with all due diligence and felt, when it came round to the conference, that I had reached a tolerable competance in the language (or ‘leid’ – you see something of the fluency I had attained). After I had dispensed my business duties, I went excitedly into a nearby public house, the Paraffin Lamp, to try out my new-found language skills. The landlord saw me approach the bar and greeted me with a jovial, ‘All right?’

Recalling the conversation practice in the first chapter of your book, I responded unhesitatingly by replying, ‘Nae baud at aw, an whit like yersel? Whit a braw bonnie day tae be oot an aboot!’

To my surprise, he did not seem particularly happy with this, and asked me, ‘What did you say, pal?’ in a decidedly unfriendly tone of voice. I repeated my greeting, and explained for good measure, ‘A wis born and brocht up in London, but A'v bin lairnin yer ain Scots leid for a wee whilie!’, before ordering ‘jist a glaiss o guid whusky an watter, the noo!’

At this point, the gentleman beside me at the bar, who was drinking from a bottle of local Buckfast Tonic Wine, seemed to become agitated, and asked the barman heatedly why ‘this English prick is talking like a ned’, and whether I was ‘looking to get [my] head kicked in’.

‘A'm no that!’ I assured him in a conciliatory tone. ‘A'm no sae glaikit! A jist wantit tae meet a puckle local bodies tae hae a blether!’

Perhaps my pronunciation was at fault, but both men took this very badly. The barman became quite upset, and began to offer me what seemed to be a range of quite pointed suggestions, none of which I could find in the Glossary to your book. The other gentleman, perhaps sensing my incomprehension, accompanied him with a variety of illustrative hand gestures.

In an attempt get them back ‘on side’, I removed my overcoat with a flourish to reveal that I was wearing a full kilt and tam-o-shanter decorated in the McHardy tartan. I can only conclude from their violent response that Livingston is not a welcoming place for McHardys or that the pub in question is loyal to some other local clan.

I saw some irony in the fact that your Introduction suggests local Scots ‘really ought to be on their knees thanking you’ for using their language, when in fact it was I who was on my knees, having been punched viciously in the face by an irate barman. Instead of interceding, the other man chose to join in the violence, paying no heed whatever to my fluent cries of, ‘Are ye gaunae no dae that?’

Regrettably, therefore, I must request a refund of the £9.99 I spent on your language book, and I will be forwarding my hospital bill to your publishers in due course.

Wi best regairds,

John Mulchard (rtd.), Ward 4, Canterbury General Hospital

Wednesday, August 9th, 2006
10:54 am
I know this isn't much to do with Scottish humour as such but I thought I would post anyway.

Does anyone remember Glen Michael's Cartoon Cavalcade?? I remember watching it when I was just a wee thing and I was glued to it. Anyway, Someone alterted me to the fact that there was a DVD of this on Amazon! Anyone know anything about this? I tried to look for it but it doesn't seem to be there anymore. Remember the talking lamp called Paladin? Oh, and the robot called tottie? How epic and iconic. I want pictures of Paladin and tottie as I am slightly cracked and laugh at the most retarded things.

Current Mood: content
Sunday, May 7th, 2006
10:59 am
A Joke I Read
This I gleaned from interest in Cephalopods (Octopi)

Captain Queeg goes into a harbor bar with his pet octopus and says 'I'll bet $50.00 that no one here has a musical instrument that this here octopus can't play.'

The people in the bar look around and someone fetches out an old mandolin. The octopus has a look, picks it up, tunes it, and starts playing a few chords of 'Rawhide.' Captain Queeg quickly pockets the fifty bucks.

The next bar patron comes up with a trumpet. The octopus takes the horn, loosens up the keys, licks its chops and starts playing 'Stella By Starlight.' Yet another $50.00 is handed over to the smiling captain.

The bar owner has been watching all of this and disappears into the back room, returning a few minutes later with a set of bagpipes under his arm. He puts them on the bar and says to the captain and his octopus,

'Now, I'll bet you $100.00 your damn octopus can't play that!'

The octopus takes a look at the bagpipes, lifts it up, turns it over, has another look from a different angle and then starts the process over again.

Puzzled, the captain comes over to the octopus and says, 'What are you waiting around for? Hurry up and play the damn thing!'

'Play it, hell!' frowned the octopus. 'As soon as I figure out how to get her pajamas off, we're outta here!'
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