Posted on 04/24/2010 8:39:29 AM PDT by JoeProBono
One in five people in Britain thinks that haggis, the traditional Scottish dish made from the lung, liver and heart of a sheep, is an animal that roams the Highlands, according to a survey on Friday.
Commissioned by the online takeaway food service Just-Eat.co.uk, the survey found that 18 percent of Britons believe that haggis is a hilltop-dwelling animal. Another 15 percent said it is a Scottish musical instrument while 4 percent admitted to thinking it was a character from Harry Potter.
(Excerpt) Read more at reuters.com ...
LOL!! The rest of my collection is unsuitable for a family forum.
An English doctor is being shown around a Scottish hospital. At the end of the tour he is shown into a ward where the patients show no visible signs of injury.
He goes to examine the first man he sees, and the man proclaims, “Fair fa’ yer honest sonsie face, great chieftain o’ the puddin’ race!”
The Englishman, somewhat taken aback, goes to the next patient, who immediately launches into, “Some hae meat, and canna eat, and some wad eat that want it, but we hae meat and we can eat, and sae the Lord be thankit.”
The next patient sits up and declaims, “Wee sleekit cow’rin tim’rous beastie, O what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, wi’ bickering bl’attle. I wad be laith to run and chase thee, wi’ murdering prattle.”
“Well” says the Englishman to his Scottish colleague. “I see you saved the psychiatric ward for the last.”
“No, no,” the Scottish doctor corrects him. “This is the Serious Burns Unit.”
ping
ping
as you offer them some finger food.
No no no...
Haggis only becomes a scottish musical instrument about 30 minutes AFTER they eat it...
That is just not right.
I can’t believe no one else pinged you ping.
ROFLOL!
Most of us know what a “banger” is, at least I think so.
Address to a Haggis
Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm
The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads
His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich
Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles
Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner
Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist. the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit
But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He’ll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles
You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!
Excellent! I (literally) laughed out loud.
Oh, that was baaaaaaad.
You should try the Thai version.
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