In which a confused pond turns to the bromancer and wombat Boris for entertainment ...

It seemed so clear cut, and only a short time ago ...

There was prattling Polonius, the Bolter and all the rest of the reptiles explaining how useless, inept, woeful, incompetent and silly the greenies were ...

And there was the pond recalling, with some sadness, how - not ever having any intention of standing for parliament - it was disappointed to learn that it had missed out by a generation on the chance to score an EU passport ...

But in these post-Trumpian relativist days, things can change ever so quickly, as the cawing Crowe hastened to explain this day ...

So much for the Bolter, so much for Polonius, so much for righteous certainty, so much for doing the ethical thing. Yah boo, sucked in again ...

The pond was reminded of that Eliot poem ...

And indeed there will be time 
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, 
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 
There will be time, there will be time 
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; 
There will be time to murder and create, 
And time for all the works and days of hands 
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 
Time for you and time for me, 
To berate mother and the dog about the homework,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions 
And for a hundred visions and revisions 
Before the taking of a toast and tea. (in full here).

And so to a word of explanation about the order of the day.

Usually on a Thursday the pond would forget the Kenny competition and spend quality time with the savvy Savva, whereby the pond would be reminded once again that the onion muncher was a naughty boy (hiss boo) and Malware was heroically struggling to right the ship of state (huzzah).

Imagine the pond's shock that this day a new Savva is not to be seen. Talk about shifting sands swirling underfoot ...

Oh sure, there were compensations. The urbane Urban was busy as usual tracking the war on Xians...

Now it's important not to take the urbane Urban literally. 

The pond has it on reliable authority that Jesus hasn't yet returned and wasn't evicted from a Queensland school yard and that the second coming is not yet at hand ... 

Should Christ actually return, it's possible he would be welcome in school yards around the land ... though not if he carries on with all that greenie socialist goody shoes claptrap about refugees, the meek, the rich and their camels and needles, and all the rest of the pinko pervert nonsense about tolerance, love and caring.

Meanwhile, pending his return to school yards, it's always wise to take precautions, as the Bible reminded all Queensland schoolchildren ...

Look, he is coming with the clouds, and every Queensland schoolchild eye will see him, even those who pierced him ... "Behold, I come like a thief! Blessed are the Queensland schoolchildren in the school yard who stay awake and keep their clothes with them, so that they may not go naked and be shamefully exposed when the rapture calls ...

Or some such thing ...

Meanwhile, the pond had to turn to the old world coming down under for its entertainment for the day ...

A storm? That's what they're calling a light drizzle these days?

Now the pond understands that the bromancer channeling the Boris is third rate entertainment at best, and the pond must take its ironies where it finds them, lo, even with the reptile advertising ...

The pond can recall the glory days when a visit from a Pom dignitary would send the likes of Ming the Merciless into a frenzy of supine devotion.

These days it's the bromancer who shows he remembers the glory days, and recalls the way to fawn and tug the forelock...

After all, Boris does resemble a wombat, so we must all hail the visiting wombat chief ...

It's splendid fun to read these words from the great flip-flopper, the scoundrel who cared so little for Brexit that he could swing both ways in the breeze like a prat on a zip wire ...

Sadly, the days when the pond lined up for Fleetways magazines, and books from Blackwell's are long gone ...

More data here, but if the pond was looking to doing a trade deal, and with a rising economic force, as opposed to a backward-looking stagnant island pond about to lose its power as Europe's financial base, it'd be looking to the likes of India ... rather than to a bunch of foolish Poms striking out on their own and imagining they could reconstruct the old empire of fellow travellers to bail them out ...

But it's great that the bromancer can be relied on to fawn and tug the forelock when a carpet bagger comes to town ... promising much, but in a position to deliver very little ...

Well yes, entertaining, it's certainly entertaining to watch the bromancer do an elegant bear hug with the wombat Boris, but it's equally true that the best British exports these days involve the trade in Boris cartoons. 

Those wanting to check out the trade can go to the home of manufacture, at the Graudian here, with these as an example of the sort of work still to be found in the old country ...

In which the pond considers more contenders for the Kenny award, with Dame Slap falling by the wayside, but nattering "Ned" a proven stayer ...

Even a broken quote has many authors, and the pond issues this timely warning for punters eager to bet on the weekly winner of the Kenny award ...

What if they're betting on Dame Slap up against sure-fire favourite Miranda the Devine?

Look at how the smack-down unfolded this day - the Devine barking climate science denialist mad as usual, and Dame Slap seemingly desperate to avoid the award, desperately trying to sound secularist sensible ...

Should the pond pay attention to Dame Slap when she proposes a worthy, perhaps even dignified, debate?

Well it's important for reptile lovers and students of form to study the reptiles even when they lag, and drop way back in the field ...

The pond can sense disappointed punters tearing up their betting slips and walking away shattered. This on a day when the HUNsters were lathering up into a frenzy ...

Nobody said that gambling on Kenny winners would be easy ... otherwise the pond would long ago have left for life on a tropical beach doing a Banfield ...

The devoted reptile student must note certain matters in the Dame Slap piece - including but not limited to churches, Xianity, and abortions - and store them up as hints, clues, as to how Dame Slap might perform down the track when she's restored to sound reptile mind ... and ready for another gallop in the Kenny stakes ...

There's no doubt it's a disappointing performance for Kenny award devotees, but in compensation the pond also offers this day a dose of nattering "Ned".

The case of nattering "Ned" suggests a difficulty for the Kenny award, which at the moment seems to have only one category, the barking mad howling at the moon. 

While there are many worthy contenders for the one prize, what of the stayer, the ultra-marathoner?

Surely there should be a number of prizes, with an ability to sound like a terminal bore intent on inducing a case of terminal existential ennui celebrated with a separate gong ...

The pond likes to think of these stayers - prattling Polonius would be one, the Caterists are game taxpayer funded triers - as Colonel Blimps salivating over the crispy bacon they had before the war ...

That script for the Goons' crispy bacon saga here,  and in the same spirit, drum rule - or even drum roll maestro - and a serve of nattering "Ned" ...

Now before we go banging the jingoist drum, the pond should remind stray readers that the pond's grandpappy did time on the Somme in the knee-deep winter mud in 1917 as a machine-gunner, a favourite target for the Boche, and returned a broken alcoholic to wreak havoc in his family ...

But that was long ago, and to brood about it too much would mean ... ending up as demented and senile-sounding as silly old nattering "Ned" ...

Now for personal reasons aforementioned, the pond remains acutely aware of the war, but whenever someone mentions the war, or starts banging the jingo drum, the pond doesn't try to shush them up ...

If they must mention the war, or crispy bacon, the pond always reserves the right to run a few Low cartoons ...

Now the pond doesn't have the foggiest clue what set nattering "Ned" off this day ...

The pond's grandfather could be set off by all manner of things, a car back-firing, or just an attempt to get to sleep, and inevitably he'd end up at the pub.

Somehow the pond has instead ended up in the company of nattering "Ned" banging on ...

And yet, while nattering "Ned" goes off the deep end and back into war mongering memories, it somehow fits with the entire rag's sensibility, and its daily talk of Xianity, western civilisation, Labor's NBN, and all the rest of the ratbag reptile nonsense ...

And at bottom? Well it's just another old fogey braying about the crispy bacon we had before the war, and the way that young people might refuse to join the senile angry old men shouting at clouds and brooding about long ago ...

Cicero should have added that, to draw the wrong conclusions, while banging on endlessly about events that occurred before you were born, is to risk sounding like a senile silly old fart ...

Fuck the pond is so over armchair warriors blathering on about sacrifice and incompleteness and inadequacy and all the other jingoistic flag-waving shit ...

Go down to the pub and get as pissed as a parrot nattering "Ned", then go home and bash your wife and rage at the pink elephants in the hallway and lock the family out of the house and then we can talk of tragedies and sacrifice, you useless gherkin ...

And when you're done brooding about 1917, remember all the other useless years of the first world war and all the useless years of the second, and throw in a holocaust too, if you like and want a singular sense of uselessness ...

It is sweet and fitting to die for your country? Fuck Horace, and while we're at it, fuck Cicero too, and yes, fuck all the Generals, especially the armchair Generals that litter the lizard Oz, and while we're at it ...

More Sassoon here,  more Owen here ...

Phew, and after that, what better for a little light relief than a trickle down Pope cartoon, with more trickling papery to be found here ...

In which the pond assesses the Wednesday form of the hot contenders, with the Devine essence of darkness leading the field ...

The pond was deeply indebted at reader VC bringing it up to speed on the Kenny contest being conducted by Mike Carlton via Twitter, here ...

That link led the pond to a few recent examples ...

Now the pond appreciates the measured, temperate way in which Carlton judges the Devine. Frankly, the pond finds it hard to be so restrained, but it was also delighted to see Carlton judge the latest Oreo as a steam of unreadable poo ...

Talk about an exciting weekly contest. No wonder devoted reptile followers want to splash a little loose cash on likely winners ...

Now the pond modestly suggests it has some form in terms of reptile observation, and for those anxious to have a flutter on who might win the weekly Kenny, here's a few tips.

The Oreo - always a sound investment. The odds will be short, but equally the chance of a win will be high. There are few reptiles who can regularly supply sheer lunacy at the level of an Oreo shout, as might be expected from one of the ten brightest minds in the known and unknown academic universe ...

Miranda the Devine - another good investment. But she does raise difficulties for the pond's pretensions about being a form guide, because the pond refused to run her last outing, so full of racist bile and bigotry was it. That assault on Black Lives Matter is best approached through Media Watch's Exploiting tragedy for column inches. Still, it explains why the Devine is a chance at winning every time she runs, though punters relying on her might well lose their soul, and certainly their sanity.

Dame Slap - up there with the two top female contenders, and a firm favourite, well worth the gamble. Anyone who can solemnly propose that the UN is using climate science to introduce world government must be considered a serious contender ...

Carolyn Marcus - a try-hard wannabe dropkick loser. She desperately wants to have the gravitas and form of the queen bitches, but doesn't have much of a clue. Only worth a punt if given a television make-over.

Turning to the men, it seems entirely wrong to allow the Bolter to enter. He should be retired to stud, but if he does race, there are few who can top his regular racism and capacity for vile and ignorant abuse. Again the pond fails as a form guide because it would rather feature a cockatoo screeching in a cage than turn to the Bolter.

The dog botherer himself is another top notch contender, but could the Kenny decently compete in a competition named after himself? Surely after his triumph in Iraq and his comb-over of the middle east, he should head to stud or to Valhalla ...

The bromancer ... mercurial, and intermittent. Some days he howls at the moon in the way that will see a punter score bigly, other days he attempts to sound vaguely human. He doesn't succeed, but the attempt always feels a little poignant and it takes him out of contention. A good risky bet for those who like longish odds.

Nattering "Ned" - a tremendous stayer, for anyone wanting to bet on an ultra-marathon. Sure he's a dull plodder, but when all the young 'uns have dropped by the wayside, Cliff Young and nattering "Ned" will still be pounding away ...

Prattling Polonius - like Ned, better at events involving pedantry and hysterically historical howlers. If the week's Kenny award is for getting it wrong, punters should risk a shekel on senility winning ...

The Oz editorialist - too often overlooked, but as the reptile at the heart of the madness, frequently produces an award-winning burst of form. The Daily Terror editorialist is also a strong contender, though the real competition here is between the Currish Snail, the Terror and the HUN for the most absurd front page (the NT News is frequently disqualified for trying too hard, so be careful with betting on this one).

Now there are many other contenders - the pond has studiously overlooked Mad Dog Latham because of the stench involved and the risk to taxi-driver arms, or Johnsie or others who left the Labor party because they found Genghis Khan too leftist.

Others will want to celebrate Dashing Donners and the many others who grace the pond's pages celebrating Judeo-Christian western civilisation in its many splendid war-mongering forms...

A few other tips because there are many ambitious reptiles anxious to compete for the Kenny.

Today no doubt there are a few anxious punters expecting the commentariat to line up and demand that Canavan must go.

What was right and proper for the Greens must also be right and proper for Canavan, and his protestations of ignorance simply don't cut it up against the simple requirement of the Constitution to be informed about citizenship status ...

Oh dear, all the pond can suggest is that anyone innocent enough to think that the reptiles would be in a rage about Canavan should remember it's wise to gamble in moderation, and perhaps not at all ... though anyone who bet that the story would produce a trifecta of mindless reptile tree killer front pages would have scored bigly ...

Mamma mindless Mia!

And what about rank outsiders like the fast-racing Klan, given to writing specious tosh in this age of Malware's actual NBN? Is there a story about how Malware should now own his very own crappy NBN?

Again the pond fails as a form guide. The Klans man might well have produced a fatal stroke if the pond had bothered to read his story ...

But here we must distinguish between the routine absurdity of life at News Corp and the valiant hacks serving their time in the trenches maintaining faux outrage, which can, like a storm on Jupiter, run for years, or decades ...

This sort of distraction shouldn't lead the expert punter away from the genuine professionals, some of whom turn up on a Wednesday and as noted, are always willing to mine, in the manner of zealots and bigots, tragedy for the sake of cheap political point-scoring ...

This is as contemptible a routine as the Devine managed in relation to Black Lives Matter, but for once the pond decided to go there ...

This is of course deflecting, dissembling nonsense. 

Anyone who looks at Media Watch's splash on the subject here will see that the program, and anybody who watched it, will know exactly what the Devine wrote ...it's there, as bold as brass and as dumb and as thick, in the splash ...

Well yes and columnists don't let the facts get in the way of returning to the well to score exactly the same cheap political shots ...

Now Media Watch has already gone over all this ...

But it's important for punters wanting to assess form to understand how barking mad zealots and bigots can return to their vomit like a crazed dog caught out in the noonday Tamworth sun ... they'll do anything to score a Kenny, and the Devine frequently does ...

Um, was that the European regulatory framework which reportedly banned the flammable cladding?

The point of course is this, as noted by Media Watch, when considering the Devine as a Kenny contender:

But if the Devine has already done it once, why not do it again? 

Why not keep trading on a tragedy to push a set of nasty, cheap, tasteless political shots?

It's despicable, but that's the entire aim of contenders for a Kenny. The lower they go, the hotter they get ...

And now, please allow the pond to remind punters of the inspiration for the award, the Kenny himself, known affectionately at the pond as the dog botherer because of his intimate love of hounds. 

As well as helping reform and improve the middle east by warfare, the dog botherer is one of the world's top climate scientists ...

Crikey  provided this form guide on his scientific abilities in How denialists Kenny and Bolt royally screwed up reporting of climate paper.

An excerpt for a piece luckily outside the Crikey paywall ...

Follow the link to get the example, but it's a reminder of the way that all the galahs - the Devine, the Bolter, the dog botherer and the reptiles of Oz - flock together as expert climate scientists ...

And so to a final pond tip. Forget sticking pins, don't bother with magic balls ...

Punters wanting a whiff of inspiration while trying to pick a Kenny winner should splash on a little parfume to stimulate the senses ...

Alternatively punters could swear off gambling and reptiles altogether, or perhaps try a different parfume, thanks to Rowe, with more sweet-smelling Rowe here ...