The Screams Of A Scotsman (1442 hits)
Category: HumorLabels: Psycho_Dave
Rating: 1.44 on 10 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Dan Hagar <internet.slacker.at.gmail.com> (View user info) at 2005-10-10 11:48:13 EDT
Scenes From A Horrible Youth: "The Screams Of A Scotsman"
The setting: mid 1980's. Location, a small Ontario town. Population: drunk.
I and my friend Dave are checking out the Glengarry Highland Games in Maxville, Ontario. Its an event held every year by the large Scots-descended population living there, and it draws a fair amount of tourists from, well, mostly Scotland. There's caber-tossing, kilt discussion, drinking, log splitting, drinking, spitting, and for the kids, more drinking. So the sheer amount of drunken people attending every year is frankly astounding. (Not that I'm saying that all Scottish people drink, of course. I'm just relating what I saw at the Highland games in this story, and that is every single Scottish person drank liquor with great repetition and enthusiasm; I suspect inebriation is their national sport).
My friend Dave (although not Scottish) is also pounding back the brews. I myself am pretty stoned; I can't drink much liquor due to a fucking horrible case of Crohn's Disease in my stomach - think of a bleeding ulcer and alcohol being poured over it - so I tend to smoke a lot of weed (ok, screw the 'tend to'; I smoke a lot of weed. It helps stop the pain, restores my appetite, and allows me to function instead of staying inside suffering gut cramps all day. I think it should be legal, so there.)
Anyways, back to the story: both Dave and I are pretty cut...but I wanted to smoke another joint. Knowing I'd need privacy (since marijuana is still senselessly illegal), I scan the country fairground with a practiced eye for a quiet area in which to smoke without interruption from any "normals".
The only spot I can see that looked somewhat private was just off the fairgrounds: a shady tree near what appeared to be a farmer's fence. No one was loitering around that area, so Dave and I slouch away from the crowd. Several cows from behind the fence look up at us bemusedly as I begin rolling a jay and Dave finishes off another beer.
Just after I had fired it up, and Dave had opened up another can of suds, out of nowhere a dark shadow looms over the both of us. I'm deeply annoyed, of course...can't a man smoke a joint in friggin' peace?
Turns out, the shadow is owned by a very unkempt and bullying Scottish rugby player. He's really drunk, weaving about with an unsteady gate. Let's call him Mr.Rugby, I think to myself, since he's wearing a sweaty rugby shirt and a kilt. Jesus.
"Sure smells nice around here, lads!" Mr. Rugby intones with (as the cliché goes) a shit-eating grin. Ah, yes, a phrase I'd heard many times before, being a hard-core smoker. Usually anyone who says that is strongly hinting they want a pull on the joint. So in the spirit of international world peace I offer the guy a hit on the spliff I had lit not a minute ago.
Well, goddamn if he doesn't pretty well smoke the damn thing right down to official 'Roach Status'. FUCK. Not only do I have a drunk Scottish bastard on my hands, he's gotta be a 'parasite' on my proffered herb. Obviously he didn't know one of the rules of Proper Joint Courtesy; to wit: Always Pass The Joint Back After The Third Pull. No, he has to smoke the WHOLE JOINT.
I'm deeply annoyed at this point, but Dave's so 'in his cups' he just laughs at the situation. As I'm stewing in my brain juices trying to figure how to assault this kilted fuck (which would be difficult, seeing as he was both physically larger and in much better shape than I was then, or currently am, or ever hope to be in my life), Mr. Rugby suddenly announces these sweet words to my ears:
"Where can a man take a piss around here, boys?"
Heh, yeah, whatever, 'boy'. While idiots propping up their fwail wittle egos by using the word 'boy' on others usually annoys the hell out of me, I'm too happy to let it phase me at the moment. For you see, I had just seen a sign. Or should I say, a Sign. A Divine Omen that both my friend Dave and the very rude Mr.Rugby had failed to perceive.
"Sure", I answer, pointing towards the nearby cow field. "Everybody at the Highland Games always piss on the big fence over there." I try my best to look nonchalant. Since the guy is having difficulty seeing through the alcohol 'n haggis fumes his body's generating, I have no problem appearing innocently helpful.
"Thanks, lad!" And off he trundles over to the nearest fence post. Heh, fuck you, 'Willy the Gardener', I muse as I watch him turn around and lift his kilt in order to pee...
Dave leans over; he too had just spotted the "Sign": "Ummm...don't you think you should tell..." but I wave him into a quick silence with the classic, eternal hand signal all guys give to their buddies when someone is about to get really, really hurt; that signal is: "Wait. This Is Going To Be Good." It's kinda like an abrupt half-wave, half-pushing motion, and only men can do it.
The "Sign" happened to bear the words: "Warning! Cow Fencing! Medium Electrical Current!" with a small icon of a stick-figure man going diagonal from a lightning bolt entering his body. I wasn't surprised Scottish Dude hadn't seen it, since both the sign and the post were covered in mud...but I wasn't responsible for his perceptual failures.
So Mr. Rugby lets go with a strong, manly column of urine...which doesn't strike any of the metal electrified wire initially but merely splatters a supporting wooden post. Due to his inebriated weaving, however, he soon pees directly straight onto a bare wire strand.
It Happens: his whole body suddenly and horribly freezes like a statue, except for his vocal chords, which were making this odd "EEEEEEAAARRRGGGGHHHHHH" noise. Thinking back on it, I suspect the electricity was of a DC, direct current, nature...since that type of amperage tends to paralyze the electrocutee's muscles quite rigid, unable to move, unable to let go.
But enough about physics and how it pertains to Scottish physiology. For about seven eternal scream-filled seconds this poor bastard can't seem to direct his penis-laden hand away from the fence's direction, or stop his electrically-clenching bladder from draining in a very vigorous, almost insanely-wrong, manner.
"EEEEEAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH" Mr. Rugby continues. "Holy Shit!" says Dave, almost dropping his beer but having the presence of mind not to (I've seen him not drop his beer while steering his car inadvertently towards a truck carrying bridge parts, but anyways). "HAHAHAHAHA" says me, literally rolling in the grass in great and sincere joy.
Thanks to the eventual laws of nature, though, Mr.Rugby's supply of urine runs out and the stream weakens enough to end the flow of electrical current into his 'nads. To this day, I still remember how quiet it got after he stopped screaming in abject agony, the silence only broken by the sound of his neck tendons creaking as, with a completely murderous look on the his face, the drunken Scotsman turns his murderous gaze in our direction.
Dave and I get the fuck out of there, fast. Very fast. Blur fast.
Fortunately both of us (laughing like hyenas on crystal meth) manage to evade the now completely berserk Scottish gentleman by running into the midst of the fairground crowds. Mr. Rugby, suffering shock, inebriation, and mild electrical burns, eventually gives up trying to find us, even after attempting to enlist a whole lot of his buddies to help him. It's pretty funny when Dave and I see all his buddies laughing as he tells them what happened (this hilarity does not help Mr. Rugby's composure in any way, mind you). Dave and I leave, 'cause there's no topping the sight of a kilted, electrified drunken Scotsman...it'll hold us for the day, at least.
Maybe.
User Reviews
Submitted by ticklish_squirrel (user info) at 2007-05-14 14:31:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
hope this works
http://www.snopes.com/photos/medical/electricfence.asp
Submitted by DirtyHarry (user info) at 2007-05-14 13:47:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2005-10-10 15:42:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by mikethescottish (user info) at 2005-10-10 15:21:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/50825
Nothing wrong with the rugby shirt/kilt combo.
Submitted by HadToBeDone (user info) at 2005-10-10 14:16:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by hostileapostle (user info) at 2005-10-10 11:57:03 (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm almost positive that you can't electrocute yourself by pissing on an electric fence...they proved it on Myth Busters...
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I concur. But I'm leaving off the part about the decent story because it isn't, since it's 150% impossible.
Submitted by cuberat (user info) at 2005-10-10 14:09:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Droz (user info) at 2005-10-10 13:22:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Chinaski (user info) at 2005-10-10 12:41:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
unoriginal, yet humorous.
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2005-10-10 12:14:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
legalize it
Submitted by hostileapostle (user info) at 2005-10-10 11:57:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm almost positive that you can't electrocute yourself by pissing on an electric fence...they proved it on Myth Busters...but even if it's not true, it's a decent story.