This article pertains to Scottish things, dae nothin tae to fix this. It is recommended that while reading this article you wear a kilt,
drink Irn-Bru, eat Jock pies and sing Auld Lang Syne loudly.
Failure to observe these precautions could cause you unexpected distress and a life of misery in Falkirk.
The ScottisH InsTitute for Scotland (SHITS) continues to exist simply because mathematicians have claimed that it is more likely to exist than God. This same logic, attributed to Charles Babbage, is also responsible for the existence of boats, dancing, small children with the name Eric and God.
The Institute was founded in 1124 by a Franciscan Monk who was known throughout Scotland as Father Mulligatawny on account of his rather disturbing odour. It has been speculated that his true name was Keith McAnusol.
|“||This place smells of shit, looks like shit and gives me the shits.||”|
The King knew that if the Pope found out what the country was actually like then all he would likely be paid a dozen rosaries, two statues of Saint Diverticulitis of Verona and all the nuns he could eat. He required the Pope to pay larger sum to fund his offline poker addiction.
He asked his most trusted bum-wiper, Father Mulligatawny, to create:
|“||Something that will convince that wee Italian poof that he's no buying a pig in a poke.||”|
Bum-wiper was a highly respectable position in the court, just below dog abuser and just above the Queen's own Highland Buggerer.
Mulligatawny later told a confidante (Mrs Agnes Spleen) that the idea for the institute came to him in a dream which mostly featured monkeys playing a lute except they didn't know the melody and had to keep asking the goats for help but the goats were from Holland and were angered by the word lute as its meaning in Dutch is 'he who asks his mother to eat custard for breakfast even though his mother has already had cornflakes and is well known throughout the village to have an intolerance of custard which brings her out in a rash of Daily Express headlines'.
So the Institute was born with the aim of promoting all that was good about Scotland and fabricating the evidence about everything else.
The institute failed in its initial task - the Pope eventually sent the heretics to the villages of Cleft Palette and Oven Chips, Ireland. However due to a clerical error (someone forgot to carry the one when doing the end of year accounts) it remained in existence.
Over the years it has allegedly been responsible for the following
- The belief that the Scots walk upright even though they are naturally quadripeds.
- The idea that tourists are safe in Scotland when they are in fact the natural prey of the Lesser Spotted Plum Wolf which roams the country in packs looking for people in man made fibres holding maps.
- The lie that Whisky (and note the correct spelling rather than the americanised 'Bleach') is made from malt and barley when it is in fact made from Soylent Green.
The Institute currently has many responsibilities. It guards the library of all the literature written in the Scottish languages (Swearing, Shakespearian Drama and General Lowland Bollocks and That Bizarre Airy Fairy Pish That You Get On Shit ITV Sitcoms). It also uses the threat of violence to stop people other than appalling actors from Beith learning these languages.
The current ubercommandant of the Institute has the responsibility of hosting the dodecaennial Scotland National Games in their back garden. The games currently consist of three sports; vomiting, shouting at trees and 350km egg and bucket race. The current ubercommandant, Sir Nora McGanna MC, CBE, BSE, Bams has no garden, so the games will take place in her window box, next to the petunias but not as far as the geraniums - that would just be stupid.
Former Notable Members of the Institute
Note that it appears at first glance as if none of the above are Scottish, to which the Institute's Press Officer replied
|“||So fooking wha, yer fooking fook?||”|
The institute is located in a small room, next to a slightly larger room, 3rd floor basement, Robert Oppenheimer House, 12 Rutabaga Street, Whitatool, Ayrshire.
It phone number is 4.
The Institute will explode if exposed to light, airports, or Dihydrogen Monoxide.