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Noun, as a sandwich dipped in scotch, whiskey or bourbon. Also defining a terrifically brutal session of binge drinking. A common occurrence for Nick Nolte.
A typical breakfast for Errol Flynn.
I got hammered last night, it was a fucking scotch sandwich.
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A clapped-out white van driven by miserable little security guards. These vehicles are filthy and frequently break down. The fat driver will often try to save a parking place for himself by putting a traffic cone in the road outside his house. This annoying practice is best dealt with by rescuing the cone from the fat guy's possession and installing it in the back of a Maltby lorry two streets away.
What do you call a toilet on wheels?
A Pork Scotch van.
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A small white moustache sported by bald security guards to prove they can grow hair. If the security guard is particularly old, fat and ugly he'll believe his moustache makes him good looking and suave.
Who's the gimp with the Pork Scotch Moustache?
That's Pork Scotch, the fat, ugly security guard.
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A gay dance done by fat old men when they get drunk at barbecues. The spectacle is greatly enhanced when the fat old man is wearing a buffalo-skin hat and strips down to his tartan boxer shorts.
Is that fat guy having a fit?
No, he's just doing a Pork Scotch dance. Ridiculous ain't it?
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A snot-coloured hi-viz jacket worn by fat ugly security guards who are terrified of rain. The Pork Scotch Jacket will be worn whatever the weather because the slightest bit of rain is a complete catastrophe to the fat bastard who cries himself to sleep wishing he was back in South Africa where his boyfriends live.
What's this fat old twat wearing? Looks like an overcoat made of snot.
Its a Pork Scotch Jacket. Although its a hundred degrees in the shade there's still a chance a drop of rain might come along to ruin the fat ugly bastard's year.
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A cone wrongly stolen by Pork Scotch that he once used to keep a space for his small white van outside his house while he went out in it because he thinks he is important because he's a security guard (EVEN more important than Shit Stained Schumachers you know). Because he had no right to do it, I moved it so that a car would park there. When he got back the look of shock on the ugly bastards face was phenomenal when he saw that a car had parked there. With a usual grumpy look on his face, he moved it onto the front of the house. He works from 6pm to 6am so at 10 we put it in a bin bag and took it onto another road an left it on the back of a Maltby lorry. In the morning, he was looking all over the place for his beloved cone with a mad look of disbelief. Looks like he'll never see his cone again. Poor Porky!
SWYTHEERBRIDGE: Whats that orange thing on the back of the Maltby lorry?
MONK AND DAD: That's Pork Scotch's Cone.
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Discusting Tartan Boxer shorts that smell like shit. The only reason anyone knows that he wears these is because he came out of the bathroom in the morning while I was witing for the toilet and he had nothing on besides these. He seemed very embarassed and ran as fast as the little man could. When I walked in I realised why he was embarassed and ran to his room. The toilet stank like the worst pile of shit ever created. I ran straight back out. I used a pint of Air freshener and could still smell it at the bottom of the stairs.
ME: You'll never guess what I just saw.
DAD: What?
ME: Lets call them Pork Scotch pants. He came out of the bathroom and ran to his room wearing Tartan boxers. The bathroom stank!
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