Douglas Soutter typed:

[snip name of physician]

Cheers. I have written to my mother's GP and hope he
will get in touch with me soon. Hmmmm.

> If there are any Glasgow/Edinburgh GP's lurking then now is the time to come
> out of the woodwork and save Hotch's mum.  If your mum is living in Scotland
> does this mean you have some tartan blood in you?

Well, the "L M" in Iain L M Hotchkies is
Livingstone Mackay. Does that offer any clues?
Both parents as Scottish as they come.
Indeed, my father was born in Bannockburn!

I cannot remember whether or not I have previously
posted this here. If I have, please forgive me...

                      T O   A   P E N I S

                        By Robert Burns 

                  Puir wee saft an' flabby penis,
                  A wheen o' pleasure you hae gien us. 
                  An hour or twa ago, puir thing,
                  Ye made a lassie's gled hert sing,
                  For then ye stuck oot firm and prood 
                  An' put Jean Armour in the mood.

                  She doted on the love ye geid,
                  An' lost wi' glee her maidenheid.
                  Her comely thighs, her erse sae braw 
                  Did answer mother nature's ca'.
                  She squirmit like a trimlin' jelly, 
                  As ye went scuddin' up her belly.

                  Fu' prood she wis o' hard worked penis: 
                  an' hoo ye jerked sae weel between us; 
                  She lay there, gigglin' wi' pleasure;
                  Lie doon, and rest - ye've earned yer leisure. 
                  For Ye geid yer a' tae satisfy
                  The urgent need o' Jean and I. 

                  Still ye did a guid night's work; 
                  Ye did yer duty, didnae shirk.
                  Noo, wee thing ye look sae sad,
                  You're just nae use tae Rabbie lad.
                  Ye're wabbit oot, an' saft as butter - 
                  But hoo ye made Jean Armour splutter. 
                  An' as I slowly puff my pipe
                  Ye look just like some wrinkled tripe. 

                  Noo ma Bonnie Jean's gang hame
                  Tae hing her heid in sorry shame. 
                  Ye ken gie weel ye did her wrang - 
                  I kept ye in her far too lang,
                  An' noo we'll hae tae wait an' see 
                  If Jean will hae a pregnancy.

                  Oh weel, we a' men, we tak oor chances, 
                  Let's saunter doon tae Poosie Nansy's, 
                  An' when I've had a dram or twa
                  I'll let ye piss agin' the wa'. 
                  Maybe ye'll pardon my abuses
                  I realise ye've ither uses. 



                        TAMS MUCKLE TURD. 

            Intae the wids amongst the trees.
            Tam bared his erse, his cheeks to ease. 
            Nae sinner hud his breeks gan doon.
            Than shitty flees were swarming roon. 

            Intae the wind he bared his baws
            and from his erse a big keech faws.
            The reek it curled amongst the trees.
            'twis enough tae make the birdies sneeze. 
            An' a' the bees on bended knees,
            Got sick a fricht o' Tams big erse. 

            Big Tam wis in awfy pain.
            It came oot his erse like a nine pund wean. 
            Thur wis a tear faw fi' his eee
            For a bigger shite you'd never see. 

            Big Tams erse wis raw an sair.
            Says big Tam I'll shite nae mair. 
            Yonder it lay amongst the grit.
            A dirty stinkin' muckle shit. 

            Yonder it lay si saft, si fresh.
            Nae een, nae teeth, nae bains, nae flesh. 
            I swear it never drew a breath.
            Tams Muckle Turd.



%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%