[Transcript begins.]
Professor Quippy:
Welcome to The Skwib’s first ever presentation of the Pre-Columbian Interpretive Dance Olympics, held here in sunny Southwestern Ontario, where the humidity is hovering somewhere near 90%, the air-quality index is “tubercular” and where I’m sharing the announcer duties with the lovely Dennis Travesty and her biographer and the last Dadaist, Toulouse Le Grandfig.
Welcome all. Now what can we expect to see today Dennis?
Dennis Travesty:
I’m hoping to see that hunky Cro-Magnon I saw hanging around the sausage vendor!
And then I’d like to see him dance. Oh, yes!
Professor Quippy:
Monsieur Le Grandfig, I’m told that you actually won this competition when it was held in Calakmul in 910 AD? Putting aside the issue of your longevity, what exactly will the competitors be feeling right now?
Toulouse Le Grandfig:
It depends a little bit on where they have done their training.
Some of the artists will have been to the Abstract School in Schenectady New York, in which case they will be feeling a sense of confusion and intestinal cramping–
PQ:
Cramping?
TLG:
Yes, their food handling techniques are notoriously lax. If they’ve gone to the Camus School, then the dancers will no doubt be feeling a sense of ennui and their own futility–
DT:
I’m feeling ennui right now!
PQ:
You seem strangely excited by it. Ah, here comes the first dancers.
DT:
It’s the hunk! And some kind of overweight tourist…
PQ:
Yes, our first dancers are the cave man Thag and Dr. Maximillian Tundra, performing: “Thag blog funny.” Thag is wearing some kind of fur loincloth and Dr. Tundra is wearing a Hawaiian Shirt, greasy jean cut-off shorts, and what appears to be a tiny bowler hat.
Toulouse, do you know where have they done they’re training?
TLG:
Thag is self-taught. It is clear from the way he’s carrying himself to the performance area. Do you see the way he’s dragging his knuckles? That is a sure sign of an amateur. Dr. Tundra has been to the Timothy Leary School. Or he might be a science fiction writer who thought this was the way to the Con Suite.
PQ:
Well, whatever the case, he seems to be getting ready to dance by limbering up. Do you see him touching his toes? Oh, no, sorry … it’s probably a case of nerves. I know that I threw up before the Oral Defense of my thesis.
DT:
Me too!
TLG:
He said “thesis” Den.
DT:
They’ve started!
PQ:
Now, what would that mean? It seems as though Thag is opening his arms to the sky, and Dr. Tundra is lying down.
DT:
Look at his arms!
TLG:
Ah, I see what they’re going for here. The Classic pre-Columbian Duality Dance. Thag is the positive force, and Tundra the negative. Do you see how he’s hopping from one foot to the other? And how Tundra is now turning over, as though he awoke and then fell back asleep?
PQ:
And he’s rolled in his own vomit.
DT:
Ewwwwww!
TLG:
It means that a successful blogger writes something new every day. The lazy ones roll in their own filth. Or it could be something about soup.
PQ:
Soup?
TLG:
Yes, baby fricassee too.
DT:
Oh Toulouse, you’re too much.
PQ:
Now what are they doing?
DT:
Look at Thag’s calves. Yummy!
TLG:
Yes, he’s kicking Dr. Tundra, repeatedly, to show how a good blogger isn’t afraid of doing the same thing over and over. Now, do you see how he varied that kick, with the heel instead of the toe — he’s saying that even if you do the same thing, you need to make it new and interesting. Newts and bowling, by the way.
[Professor Quippy stares at Toulouse Le Grandfig]
DT:
Oh, Dr. Tundra is getting up! He’s covering his privates.
PQ:
So is he saying that a bad blogger hides his personal life?
DT:
No, Thag is kicking him there.
PQ:
I don’t think we should be airing this in prime time.
TLG:
No the kids should see this. Do you see how Dr. Tundra is now huddled next to the bleachers, hugging himself and crying? They’re saying that too much self-love is not funny. You have to make fun of yourself if you’re going to refer to yourself, that’s why Thag is beating him with the sturgeon?
PQ:
Actually, I believe that’s a wiffle bat.
DT:
I love wiffles! With ice cream!
TLG:
Exactly, Den! They’re saying that puns can be humorous too!
PQ:
Now, why are there a troop of large apes entering the dance area?
DT:
Well, duh — monkeys are hilarious! And those are über-chimps.
PQ:
But why are they wearing tutus and fezzes? And why do they have tubas?
TLG:
Custard?
PQ:
Is that little one wearing a tiny Napoleon outfit? He’s adorable.
DT:
Wow, Thag is really laying into those über -chimps.
PQ:
Yes, the little one can’t seem to keep them in their ranks. He does a lot of shouting, doesn’t he.
TLG:
You see how Dr. Tundra is crawling away, hiding under the bleachers? And how Thag is wading in, knocking the über -chimps unconscious? That’s a metaphor.
PQ:
For what?
TLG:
Writing. The key to successful writing is never letting the critics get you down. Just wade into the crowd of monkeys and let fly. Only a failed writer will crawl away.
PQ:
I guess most of the crowd are failed writers too. They’re really emptying the bleachers quickly. Oh, look, some of the chimps —
DT:
Über -chimps!
PQ:
Über -chimps, are bringing the mouthpieces of their tubas to their lips. That can’t be good …
TLG:
Yes, yes, yes. This is great. Every pre-Columbian Interpretive Dance should end in some kind of catastrophic bloodshed. And onions.
[Catastrophic, Tympanic membrane-busting, sound. Transcript ends.]
The preceding was a dramatization; no actual tubas were hurt during its production, though Dr. Tundra did throw up. Its production was in answer to a “non-meme” created by the Menacing Brent Diggs, proprietor of the Ominous Comma, Lord of the Baleful Apostrophe, and Master of Threatening Punctuation. If you would like to participate in this “non-meme”, all you have to do is:
- Write a funny post that includes an actual and helpful technical blogging tip or educational material helpful to new bloggers.
- Challenge five other experienced bloggers of funniness.
- Post it.
- Link and badge up if you so desire.
I’m sure that most of the other funny blog writers at humor-blogs.com and alltop have seen this challenge, so I will “not-tag” the following bloggers: Mark, Archer,Ellison, Jon and Leslie. Now, if you have a humor-blogs account (or would like one), please express your joyous need for soup and tell everyone you loved this post.
Is it possible to play bocce ball with a crowd of inebriated Welshman?
Satire is destroying the world. There. I’ve admitted it, and now you know the secret desire of everyone here at The Skwib is to bring about a humorous apocalypse. A humockalypse, if you will. And we’re a week late to chime in on the New Yorker fiasco — an example of failed satire if ever there was one — so we’ll let some of our participants this week can do it for us.
