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Okay, so I’m not Scottish or even that big a fan of his poetry, but it’s vaguely medically related and I’m a sucker for puns.  I did not write this, obviously.

Barack Obama Visits a Glasgow Hospital

A Glaswegian doctor leads The President to a ward of patients with no obvious sign of injury or illness.

Obama greets one, who replies:

Fair fa your honest sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin race,
Aboon them a ye take yer place,
Painch, tripe or thairm,
As langs my airm.

Obama is confused, so he just grins and moves on to the next patient, who responds:

Some hae meat an canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat an we can eat,
So let the Lord be thankit.

Even more confused, his grin now rictus-like, the President moves on to the next patient, who immediately begins to chant:

Wee sleekit, cowerin, timorous beasty,
O the panic in thy breasty,
Thou needna start awa sae hastie,
Wi bickering brattle

Now extremely troubled, Obama turns to the accompanying doctor and asks, “Is this a psychiatric ward?”

“No,” replies the doctor . . .

“This is the serious Burns unit.”

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