Lumber yarn
A RECENT diary tale about a tree-felling fella reminds comedy icon Andy Cameron of a five foot two Glasgow "giant" who emigrated to Canada in the 1950s and applied for work as a lumberjack. Glancing at him, the firm’s head honcho told the diminutive bloke he wasn’t burly enough for the job. The Wee Weegie, refusing to give up, argued that his in-depth knowledge of trees was qualification enough.
So the gaffer asked what kind of tree they were standing next to. The Wee Weegie strolled round it, appraised it thoughtfully, then said: “It’s a really big wan.”
The gaffer asked if there was any more information he could supply. Whereupon the Wee Weegie said with authority: “Well pal, ah can tell ye that we ur stonnin’ at the front o’ the tree.”
“How d’you know this is the front?” asked the boss.
To which the Wise Wee Weegie concluded triumphantly: “Cos somebody’s hud a sh**e at the back of it.”
Saucy sausage
WITH Valentine’s Day fast approaching, Ken Johnson has received a message from a certain store publicising their meal-deal offer for the romantic occasion. The menu features a "Love Sausage". (Available as either two nibble-sized sizzlers, or a bigger, bendier banger for sharing.) “The marketing for the menu doesn’t actually say: ‘Surprise your sweetheart with a Love Sausage,’” says Ken, “Which does seem like a bit of a missed opportunity.”
Sizzling underwear
OUR quest to collate amusing stories about kitchen appliances gathers pace. Russell Smith tells us that many years ago he was in a Glasgow department store waiting to be served by two female assistants with their backs to him. Our man overheard one lady say to the other: “She says she puts her knickers in the microwave cos it sterilises them.”
We’re guessing that was how hot pants were invented.
I? Spy?
FUMBLED phrases continued. It’s possible that Brian Chrystal’s late mother had connections to one of Britain’s super-secretive spy networks. On occasion she would slip up and divulge this classified information by talking about buying furniture from MI5.
She also believed that bus drivers had to obtain a PVC licence. And perhaps they do. (We’re guessing it’s a special permit that allows them to burn rubber when they’re late getting to the next bus stop.)
Quaking quackers
VISITING a local restaurant, reader Denis Bowden asked the waiter how they prepared their duck. “The usual way,” said the waiter. “We just tap it on the wing and say: ‘Your time’s up, little buddy.’”
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