The Haggis Page Also Entitled (Our Sqawtish Adventure)
The haggis, anyone will tell you, is a mixture of foodstuffs cooked in a sheeps stomach which resembles a slightly overweight sausage. Everyone in the world who thinks they know what they are talking about is in agreement on this. Everyone? Not quite.
Any native of the land they call Sqawtlarnd (and any sheep), knows full well that this absurd explanation is totally false (who would eat anything out of a sheeps stomach anyway). However, before you rush from your computer to find a genuine Sqawt and pummel the truth from him/her, be warned!
Firstly, most Sqawts will simply deny your accusation, thus leaving you appearing slightly foolish, especially if you happen to be a non-Sqawt. Secondly, there is also a high probability that you will take a beating, and therefore The Wondrously Random World cannot condone such an action. Instead, read on and the truth will be revealed.
We at The Wondrously Random World first suspected something was amiss when we recieved a guestbook entry from a gentleman claiming to be a "haggis hunter" and demanding our respect. Naturally we dismissed him as a lunatic and gave the subject little or no more thought.
However, many weeks later, as we sat around trying to find something amusing to pass the time with, we were confronted by the very same gentleman who had signed our guestbook. Dressed entirely in a yellowing tartan suit and clutching a visibly rusted blunderbuss and a large bag made of a strange brown furry pelt, he offered to show us the true haggis. After many hours of deciphering his strange accent we were decided, and so before you had time to blink had arrived in the middle of nowhere, Sqawtlarnd!
With beads of rain dripping freely from his frighteningly sturdy moustache, the haggis hunter dragged us deeper and deeper into the wilderness, stopping only at Tesco for some supplies and then at a Starbucks hidden deep in the undergrowth, next to a McDonald's. Moving amazingly quickly, we covered nearly three miles in the first day before our guide collapsed, exhausted. The next days followed a similar pattern until after many weeks struggle we hitched a lift from a family on their holidays, covering the last few miles in under ten minutes.
After waving goodbye to the kind family, who speeded away without looking back, the haggis hunter informed us that we were in prime haggis territory. He unpacked his bag, taking out many weird and wonderful devices designed to trap the cunning haggis. He also took this opportunity to brief us on our target.
Haggi were officially introduced into Sqawtlarnd in the early 19th century by a young layabout named Willy MacDoddjeenies after he discovered one asleep in his rocking chair, and so carefully threw it out of the window, along with the female who had been hiding in the place deemed safest, called the "Bathroom". Since then these small, furry, masters of disguise have thrived, with over two now roaming the vast Sqawtish plains. The males are easy to tell apart from the females as the males can be found sporting a tartan skirt and bobble hat at all time, even during mating. This happens rarely as the average haggis has the ability to hide but is also slightly less intelligent than a small rock so finding one another tends to be challenging. This is where the haggis hunter enters the fray, as this, also rare, species attempts to search out and capture "clutches" of haggi and force them to reproduce, thus producing a haggi army with which the haggis hunter can conquer the planet.
Happily accepting his bid for world domination, we asked about his method used for catching the haggi. He told us that he could not allow all of his secrets to be known, but revealed that his most succesful technique included sitting around for a long time with a piece of equipment called a "sack" before pouncing on an unsuspecting haggis and trapping it in the "sack". He revealed that to keep alert he drank a special potion known as "scotch", which he allowed us to sample, but would not share the secret recipe.
After many hours of sitting in almost complete silence, disturbed only by the odd bout of singing from the haggis hunter, a superonic jet and a herd of buffalo, we were treated to our first sighting. A haggis had unwittingly climbed a tree behind us and fallen onto the haggis hunters head, before staggering into the hunter in a violent fashion and dashing off, sniggering, into the bushes. Some twenty minutes later, when he recovered conciousness, the hunter revealed that haggis often fell from high trees due to having below average balance, although did grudgingly admit that they had superb aim and a fairly good kick. Clutching his broken ribs and limping slightly, the hunter announced that we would give chase, and crashed off in the other direction to which the haggis had headed.
Occasionally glancing behind in fear, the hunter often appeared relieved to see we were keeping up with him, as we covered many metres at a sprint, before stopping, gasping for breath. It was at this point we witnessed something truly remarkable. A "clutch" of haggi appeared in our midst carrying what appeared to be an aluminium baseball bat. After slugging happily away at the spine of our guide for several minutes, they turned on us, growling. Seeing how cute the little furry creatures were we felt inclined to reach down and fondle their soft fur, although after the third successive swing of the bat had swished past one of our groups skull by mere inches, we decided that the creatures show obviously not be messed with, er, disturbed, and so we sprinted away in a random direction, leaving the clutch of haggi to dance the hornpipe on our unconscious friend's buttocks. Thus ends our Sqawtish adventure.
So there you have it. The haggis is not in fact a weird dish, but in fact a cute and cuddly creature that inhabits deep forest glades in the remotest parts of the world and also in Didsbury. We accept no responsability for any injuries sustained in attempting to view these delightful creatures, and bid you good day.