There are only nine challengers left.

Jeff Probst introduces the day’s challenge: “For today’s reward challenge, I’m going to tell you what you’re competing for first. We’ve divided you into three teams. The winning team will get a sit-down meal at Shecky Joe’s Rib Emporium — ”

[groan from two thirds of the contestants]

“And knowing that might not be enough inducement for tough competition, we’ve decided that the winning team gets to send one member of the losing team to Crucifixion Island.”

[utter silence from the contestants]

“Worth playing for?” he asks with a smirk.

[Judas whispers something to his team-mates for the challenge, Pontius and Barabas. They all cast meaningful looks towards Jesus. Jesus looks at his team-mates for the challenge, his mom and Mary, and a bead of sweat appears on his forehead, refracting the sunlight beating down on them.]

Alltop and humor-blogs.com are in an uneasy (funny) alliance. Volunteer for Xion Island here.

Number 110. What? That can’t be right, can it? I’ve done this 110 times? But that’s crazy isn’t it? Crazy? Enough questioning; here’s the depth of winter edition:

Beezard blows the lid off A Heritage of Hate

Madeleine Begun Kane marks the end of the Bush years with An Alpha-Political Farewell to Bush and Cheney.

Banquet Manager also has a look at the political spectrum with a major rethink of the vexing question: Why Did the Chicken Cross The Road? .

Melodyspaghetti has renewed faith in the young..

And lest you think the Big BO has been perfect so far, Kevin Brink explains Obama’s First Mistakes.

Ronald Pecorry is rightly worried about the green crisis in Ireland.

Happy Chinese New Year! In honor of the Year of the Ox, CS-Weekly presents this story about a doctor buying a donkey.

Did you know the world is going to end in 2012? Well according to the Mayans and Andrey Polston it will. And he has a 2012 Survival Guide.

Steve Shives presents “No, Mr. Obama — I Expect You to Die!”

Scott Davis presents Drunk Driving on a 2.4mph mobility scooter.

In the non-satire slot, Big Cajun Man presents a classic Canadian tale (and film): Banks and Humor .

And that’s it for the 109th edition. Thanks to these fine folks for helping us with webby-stuff: the Blog Carnival for their form; and the listings at the Ubercarnival, Ferdy’s permanent floating ping festival, and for the listings at the Blog Carnival too. Also, you may find some satire here if you poke around a bit. Here too. Thanks to Randihaousen for the chilly winter pic.

The Phrase Freak is a column in which The Skwib questions the phrases that we hear or read in the media, and encourages you, the gentle reader, to mock people who use said phrases. “Shovel-ready” is the most recent neologism that is causing my ears to bleed. (My eyes just roll when I read it.)

Apparently this phrase has been around for some time, but it reached the dim consciousness of the media when President Obama used it on Meet the Press in early January. Since then reporters and talking heads have been repeating it like OCD parrots after too much espresso. (Yes, I’m saying that parrots drink espresso.) Clearly, this is the big BO’s first major gaffe.

The loathsome phrase crossed the border and infected the Great White North in the run up to today’s budget announcement. CBC Radio has an especially bad case. I seem to be hearing it about every other minute on CBC One. (And yes, all of the blood gushing out of my ears is making a mess of my office.)

It would be more bearable if just occasionally a reporter explained what he or she meant by the phrase; if you do a little digging (sorry), you’ll discover that it means infrastructure projects that are prepared for immediate action — all they need is the funding. It’s a buzzword, and the reality is that most “shovel-ready” projects are going to take a little while to get going, even if governments do find a way to cut through some of the red tape that wraps up most public works projects like a straitjacket of crazy-making (and intensely itchy) bureaucracy.

You know what’s shovel-ready? The face of anyone who says it. Bong!

Freak Level on this phrase: 6 gobsmacks out of 10.

Other freakish phrases:

specific timetable | full patch | IED | on the ground| Thanks to tanakawho for the shovel pick.

The Washington Post examines the etymology of shovel-ready. Alltop and humor-blogs.com and Christy Moore say “don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.”

Dr. Darth Jeremy waited impatiently in the studio, listening to his opposite — a bleeding-heart scare monger from some Liberal peace organization — ramble on about the evils of nuclear proliferation in South Asia.

“… and this is all in the context of the US and Russia with enough weapons to bring on a nuclear winter and end life on the planet,” she concluded.

The host thanked her, and it was Darth Jeremy’s turn to earn his pay.

“Dr. Darth Jeremy is a senior fellow with the Wing Institute, a think tank based in Washington DC. Welcome to The Raisin, Dr. Jeremy, what did you think of Dr. Cartune’s evaluation of the situation?”

“Well, she started off with some good facts about the proliferation of weapons in Asia, but then she just got all hysterical. There is no way that a full-on nuclear exchange between Russia and the US would end all life on the planet. That is just scare mongering. And hysterical,” he said. There that destroyed the peacenik’s arguments. She was a hysterical woman.

The host looked cross, but did not contradict him.

“The problem is that we have been thinking about nuclear weapons as a bad thing,” he went on. “In fact, our policy should be to encourage nations to develop their own nuclear weapons programs.”

“But isn’t there a big difference between India, which is a democracy and a state like Iran, which is a theocracy, led by a man who has stated he would wipe Israel off the map?”

“No, not really,” Darth Jeremy answered with glee. The host had led him straight to his main point. “The irony is that by not letting these smaller, less secure nations develop their own fluffy devices–”

“Sorry, did you just call nuclear weapons ‘fluffy devices’?” Continue reading…

Given his proclivities, it was almost a miracle that Dr. Tundra had kept his head on his shoulders.

But he could not thank Allah for the continued love affair between his torso and his head, it was all thanks to his medical degree (and his neck). A shortage of doctors in the European Caliphate had forced the ruler to import some from North America and South America, where the dawah had not been successful.

And where it never would, if Dr. Tundra, international infidel of mystery, had anything to say about it. Of course, the cause of the doctor shortage was something to give him pause. A large number of European physicians had considered themselves scientists first — some were atheists, and some followed one religion or another — but in the first flush of the Islamic Revolution in Europe, they had all been seen as atheists — apostates no matter what branch of Islamic law you wanted to argue from.

And therefore, had their heads removed from their torsos.

He sat in front of the Notre Dame, which now had an Arabic name that he could not pronounce; it didn’t really matter to the good doctor whether it was a cathedral or a mosque. It was still beautiful (except for the minaret they’d stuck on top, which kind of spoiled the building’s symmetry). He opened his sandwich, a nice baguette with cheese. It would be perfect if he could have a little ham in it too, but of course, that was not allowed either. Never mind the peyote milkshake that he’d been craving since arriving in Europe.

When his mission was done, and he went back to America, then he could indulge himself again. But how long would it take him to make contact with the European underground? Assuming there was an underground.

From what he could see, the revolution had been pretty successful. Women everywhere covered head-to-toe (and those who had not been inclined to cover themselves had already met the same fate as the physicians and other apostates). This was a shame; Tundra remembered Paris from the days when it was a secular nation, and the women had always struck him as stylish and beautiful. And even though shariah law allowed dhimmi, Catholics and Protestants, to continue worshipping in private (all churches and cathedrals had been converted into mosques), very few had chosen to do so. That was probably because of the heavy taxes and even more restricted freedom the dhimmi had to pay for the privilege.

The speakers bolted outside the cathedral/mosque came on and blared a call for prayer, and Dr. Tundra hurriedly ate the last of his baguette, while worshippers gathered.

The wailing reminded him of warning sirens.

This is another one from the archives, as the first few comments will show. This was written around the time of the Danish cartoon thing three years ago: Writers issue cartoon row warning. Thanks to everymosquito for the original photo. Except for the goofy athiests, Alltop and humor-blogs.com are members of the dhimmi [wiki] and have a lot to fear from the shariah [wiki].

Sure, we’re just like regular folk, except we have the resources of an entire galaxy or two at our command, so they tend to be a little more outré.

Its Intergalactic Royal Thing, Bill McReady, is the overlord of the Delle Caustiche and SagDEG galaxies (actually the latter is more of a dwarf elliptical galaxy than a real galaxy like mine — uh, I mean ours). He is a train enthusiast, but instead of using toy trains, he simply snatches actual locomotives from a variety of planets that use the same gauge track. (It’s surprising how many civilizations have opted for your standard gauge.) Unfortunately for said civilizations, and the unlucky passengers of these snatched trains, it took Its Intergalactic Royal Thing, Bill McReady, about 60 years to realize that he needed to add some kind of dining service on his hobby train network, or the passengers tended to resort to Donner Party-like behaviors.

Don’t worry, at the last Intergalactic Overlord Conference, I didn’t mention Earth.

Lady Shiva Deathbunny, the overlord of the Calabash and Rotten Egg Nebulas is an aficionado of butterflies, and has an extensive collection. I believe she likes them best deep-fried.

Personally, I collect buttons.

Next time: There’s a woman at work that I really like, but I think she might be put off by the alien proboscis growing out of my neck. How do I get her to go out with me?

Alltop and humor-blogs.com need to get a hobby.

TAIWAN (The Skwib) — Not content with the breakthrough in creating fluorescent pigs, scientists in Taiwan have produced glow-in-the-dark babies.

“Unlike pigs, babies are only green on surface — much easier to create than green-all-through pigs,” Principal Investigator (PI) Wo Mian, told The Skwib.

The team of geneticists say they are especially pleased that they think the babies will be able to cause themselves to glow, just like a firefly.

“Yes, we add jellyfish and firefly genetic material, so babies glow when they want,” Mian said.

Mian and the other researchers are all part of the Department of Messing About with Stuff Best Left Alone at the National Taiwan University.

To create them, DNA from jellyfish and fireflies was added to about 265 human embryos which were implanted in eight different women. Three women became pregnant and two male babies were born.

The researchers hope that as they grow into maturity, the two will become sexually promiscuous and engender an entire race of glow-in-the-dark humans.

“Think of it,” Mian said, “never again will mister pee on seat in dark and upset wife!”

I’m busy working on another book, so this is another piece from the archives, circa 2006. Definitely make sure you check out the comments on this one. The real story: Taiwan breeds green-glowing pigs. Thanks to solarider for the babies. Alltop and humor-blogs.com can also make you green.

The Gallant Captain Oates

By Mark A. Rayner

Titus hesitated before committing himself to the blizzard.

He knew what he had to do. It was his destiny. But knowing his fate did not make it any easier. He even knew how they were going to interpret this last act of his.

He would go down in the roll-call of human history as a brave man. A selfless hero, who knew that he was slowing down his comrades. He was going to sacrifice himself so that the others might have a chance to make it to the next supply depot. He could see it now, as if he was reading accounts of it years later.

The wind moaned in the force four gale, lashing the snow like sand against the bruised canvas of the tent. The snow had crystallized when the temperature dipped below minus forty. Dragging the sleds through it had been murderous, excruciating, and Titus could not stand the pain in his feet any more. They were frostbitten, and going to gangrene.

Scott was a foolish explorer, but it had been the weather that killed them as much as his bad planning. Titus understood that now; he could not blame, or resent, Robert Falcon Scott. But there was guilt. Enormous guilt. He staggered to his feet, and walked to the exit.

“I am just going outside and may be some time,” Titus said.

The others did not say anything, though the look in Wilson’s eyes was haunting. They were open, luminescent with fear, and liquid with admiration. Titus felt like a coward, and would carry it with him to the end.

Since they’d lost the race to the South Pole, the fight had gone out of them. They were putting up a good show, naturally, naturally. Jolly brave and all that, but they were going to perish. So now they all knew that Titus was going to be next.

He had long since stopped noticing the raw grandeur of the place. The relentless cold they’d suffered for the past three weeks had torn the last shred of awe from him. That was for the best, now. There wasn’t really anything to see except for the swirl of the blizzard. He closed the tent flap behind him, and staggered out away from the other explorers forever.

It had been a tough mission, and he was glad it was almost over. He was as afraid to die as the others — more. Their collective resilience and stupidity amazed him. He’d only born the suffering because he knew he would get out, in this final gallant act. A light cut through the whiteout, spilling on the ground. A brief lull in the wind. And he was gone.

#

Back in his own time, the gangrene was easily regenerated. But he never did field research again.

The End

Originally published: Would That It Were, July 2002

More on the real Captain Oates, who stepped out into the cold 105 years ago. Alltop and humor-blogs.com also stopped doing field research after their toes fell off.

A major breakthrough at the University of Salami* could lead to sausages that won’t kill you!

Oh, the fat content, the high salt levels, and pure tastiness will still be there, but now it is less likely there will be undesirable ingredients such as the bacterium Listeria monocytogenes. (Which recently had a very successful run in Ontario, courtesy of Maple Leaf Foods.)

How will the crack deli scientists achieve this, you ask? Through bio-warfare! That’s right, just add anthrax and your sausage problems will go away. I mean your tubular meat problems will go away . . . er, there will be less infectious material in your lunch.

According to the New Scientist:

A computer model of the battles between bacterial colonies could lead to salamis that are safer to eat and have longer shelf lives. The model could also help food scientists devise new ways to tackle the growth of dangerous bacteria in food.

Apparently some sausages are fermented. That’s right. Fermented. That means that bacterial growth is encouraged and even needed to create the food. Alessandro Giuffrida (at the University of Messina** in Italy) and his team have developed the model which shows how good bacteria (tasty) fight the bad (crapulence). They hope that this will lead to better ways of producing the food and lead to longer shelf lives.

Oh, and fewer cases of l’asino selvaggio.***

*not the actual name.
**actual name.
*** literally, “the savage ass”.

New Scientist story: How Bacterial Warfare May Lead to Safer Salami. Too much Alltop or humor-blogs.com may also lead to l’asino selvaggio.

Certain death awaits the skip unless these sweepers slow down the skeleton-rider

We love the Winter Olympics. They are much more fun than the Summer Olympics. Except for General Kang, who was the competing in the “One Meter Pistol Event”, we pretty much ignored the Summer Olympics here at The Skwib.

But the countdown to the Vancouver Winter Olympics is on — just one year to go. In honor of this, we have a few minor tweaks to make some sports a bit more exciting.

Our first suggestion is to combine Curling and Skeleton — the most fascinating and most dangerous competitions in one sport.

Instead of rocks, curlers will now use live human beings on their skeletons. Instead of increasing their speed with brooms, curlers will be responsible for slowing the skeleton-rider down with their specially designed “ice-roughening” devices — a kind of polearm with ice picks and crampons. The secret? Not roughening the ice too much, or the skeleton-rider may become airborn.

Instead of launching the rock, the skip’s new job is to lie immobile in the “target zone” at the end of the skurlington run (a new form of sheet that is as steep as the traditional skeleton run, but with a large flat surface at the end, painted with a bull’s eye). Skips will not be allowed to wear any protective gear of any kind. Sweepers are allowed helmets, and the skeleton-rider can have full body armor.

As in curling, the consumption of beer is allowed — nay, encouraged!

Note: to give this new sport an extra edge (and increase the TV ratings), the sweepers and skip must stop the progress of the skeleton-rider before he or she hits the explosive-laden wall at the back of the skurlington ice sheet.

Next time: ice hockey dance.

Alltop and humor-blogs.com are also more fun with beer.