A Scottish RSM in full dress marches into a pharmacy to speak to the chemist.
The Scot opens his sporran and pulls out a neatly folded cotton bandanna, unfolds it to reveal a smaller silk square, which he also unfolds to reveal a condom.
The condom has a number of patches on it.
The chemist holds it up, and eyes it critically.
"How much to repair it?" the Scot asks the pharmacist.
"Six pence," says the pharmacist.
"How much for a new one?"
"Ten pence," says the pharmacist.
The Scot folds the condom into the silk square and the cotton bandanna, places it in his sporran and marches out the door of the pharmacy, kilt swinging.
A moment or two later the pharmacist hears a great shout go up, followed by an even greater shout.
The Scot walks back into the pharmacy, and again speaks to the pharmacist.
"The regiment has taken a vote," says the Scot. "We'll have a new one."
The Scot opens his sporran and pulls out a neatly folded cotton bandanna, unfolds it to reveal a smaller silk square, which he also unfolds to reveal a condom.
The condom has a number of patches on it.
The chemist holds it up, and eyes it critically.
"How much to repair it?" the Scot asks the pharmacist.
"Six pence," says the pharmacist.
"How much for a new one?"
"Ten pence," says the pharmacist.
The Scot folds the condom into the silk square and the cotton bandanna, places it in his sporran and marches out the door of the pharmacy, kilt swinging.
A moment or two later the pharmacist hears a great shout go up, followed by an even greater shout.
The Scot walks back into the pharmacy, and again speaks to the pharmacist.
"The regiment has taken a vote," says the Scot. "We'll have a new one."
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