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TWATT, Shetland Islands (The Skwib) — Strong entries from both Scotland and Norway have led to a major upset here at the Delicacy World Cup.

Normally dominated by the French and Japanese teams, this year has proved a surprising one says Delicacy World Cup expert, Jean-Pierre Le Muscouse: “Both ze Norwegians and ze Scots have rare delicacies this year that have provéd a shallange for ze refinéd palates of the French team.”

And while the Japanese had no trouble getting past the Scottish entry — raw sea urchin gonads — they could not bear the smoked sheep’s head — smalahove in Norwegian — which is the very strong entry from Norway.

And not surprisingly, the famous French team was able to cope with eating sheep’s head (including the eyeballs), without batting an eye, so to speak, but the Scottish delicacy proved too raw and salty even for them.

This leaves the Scots and the Norwegians facing off in the final.

In this last round, each team must present only one diner. The one to eat the most of the delicacy provided by the opposite team wins. Eating for the Scottish team is Angus Mac Orpulent, a 326-lb glutton from Inverness, famous for nearly dying in the close-run 1996 World Cup, after he consumed an entire barrel of pickled Japanese sea cucumbers.

The Norwegians have another strategy entirely, as they have put their crack bulimic, Inga Vomgäar, on the raw sea urchin gonads challenge. (Purging is allowed in the final round.)

“Excitement is running very high, ‘ere in Twatt,” says Le Muscouse, “zis final is one for ze ages.”

‘Inspired’ by:
Sea urchin gonads — food? | Norway feasts on sheep’s head | Sheep by Duchamp

All Dr. Tundra wanted for Christmas was an election.

And really bad weather.

Nothing would make him happier than to watch the political classes forgo the festive season and slog through slush, sleet and the occasional snowstorm, trying to win votes. And the media having to cover the whole damned sloppy thing too.

They deserved it, the whole lot of them.

He kept hearing that “nobody wants a Christmas election”, but he thought that was the politicians speaking, not the electorate. The politicians and the media.

He had his own special wish list that he’d drawn up for the parties too:

• Liberals — rogue party officials donate their entire campaign war chest to The Centre for Practical Ethics at York University (the Liberals are nothing if not practical).
• Conservatives — a gold watch, which will make a nice going-away present, which they can give to Harper when they don’t win the next election.
• NDP — spine implants.
• Bloc — the threat of divorce, hanging over all the married members’ heads.

Uninspired by:
February election in works | Original photo by Scuddr

Harry woke up and knew it was going to be a rough day. His knee was a fiery mass of pain, so that meant it was raining, and probably windy too.

Ever since he’d been wounded at The Battle of the Scheldt, the joint had been a more accurate gauge of the weather than most meteorologists.

He pulled his 86-year-old carcass out of bed, and as always, was happy to be alive, even with the pain. Many of his war buddies did not enjoy the same luxury.

As he made breakfast, Harry listened to CBC radio, which he loved, even though it had become a bit intellectually threadbare of late. They were trying to leaven the political-heavy news with a man-on-the-street interview, asking people if they wanted a Christmas election.

Most people were indifferent.

It seemed to Harry that the only people who were reluctant to have an election at Christmas were people in the media and the politicians themselves. If it weren’t for the media’s reluctance, he doubted it would be a story at all.

“Lazy buggers don’t want to work during the holidays,” he muttered, as some asinine politician talked about how cold it would be to campaign in the snow, though winning would make him feel warm.

It was disgraceful, though Harry would never have said anything about it. The party in power was manifestly corrupt, the official opposition were gutless ideologues, and the NDP, whom he’d once supported with enthusiasm, now seemed morally bankrupt, only propping up the government while it could extort what it wanted out of them. He got too angry when he thought about the Bloc, so he didn’t factor them into the equation.

He thought about his best friend, Max, and how he’d died helping clear the Breskens pocket behind the Leopold Canal, and he sighed.

Campaigning in the snow, taking a couple of hours from holiday shopping to vote . . . it seemed like a minimal sacrifice to Harry.