Friday, November 24, 2017

In which, no thanks to the Caterists, the pond sets sail with Capt'n Flint hisself ...


It's impossible to imagine the pond's shock and consternation, how absolutely befuddled it was by the befuddling news ...

The Spectator's brave, stout-hearted local lads forced to drop a half mil to end a defamation case, and the future of the rag is now in doubt?

While there's no need to repeat the defamation - easily googled - the pond was reminded by the Currish Snail that a Caterist was involved ...


Dearie me, the Caterist is in a right old pickle, and the stout-hearted, brave British lads forgot Rorke's Drift and folded, and now, confronted with these sorts of stories in the lizard Oz on a Friday ...

 

Et tu Swiss bank account man?

... and this sort of hard left pinko pervert banter by the reptiles of Oz ...


... is it any wonder that the pond has increasingly come to rely on the Speccie for its TGIF lunchtime relief? And now it might all be in peril?

Imagine then the heart-stopping moment when the pond saw the word "cancelled" hinted at in "This week's issue has been ..."


Luckily, the plucky, insouciant lads were only having a joke, British to the boot heel or boot toe or whatever other British part ...

They did remember Rorke's Drift, the brave, defiant lads, and instead of bad journalism cancelled, there's a joke about good government being canceled and another endless argument about one or two 'l's' to follow ...

Please, brave plucky lads, keep serving up delicious feasts for the mind, not least of the Flinty kind ...


But first, before we enjoy Capt'n Flint's company, a reading of Flinty's sacred text ...

"One at a time, one at a time," laughed Dr. Livesey. "You have heard of this Flint, I suppose?" 
"Heard of him!" cried the squire. "Heard of him, you say! He was the bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed. Blackbeard was a child to Flint. The Spaniards were so prodigiously afraid of him that, I tell you, sir, I was sometimes proud he was an Englishman. I've seen his top-sails with these eyes, off Trinidad, and the cowardly son of a rum-puncheon that I sailed with put back—put back, sir, into Port of Spain." (here in full)

... and so to a word on Flinty's language.

Who else but Capt'n Flint hisself could move so smoothly from "aux bien pensants" to "dat's a nice bottom", a riff on notions of "dat's a man with a gat", as a way of establishing that the Capt'n is down wit it?

Who dat? Dat be Capt'n Flint. Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints? Dat be Flinty, dat's who, showing, in his usual way, his extraordinary sensitivity to what it's like to be harassed sexually ...



Tricky that ... it wasn't so long ago that Flinty was rambling - or ranting - about the way the fix was in and the entire postal survey was incredibly corrupt and the results should be treated with profound suspicion ... 

When told that nearly 80 per cent of voters had returned their forms, he asked, “How many of them are genuine?” Flint then alleged that there were fraudulent enrolments on the electoral roll which will have inflated the Yes vote and that new enrolments in the lead up to the survey were not adequately vetted for legitimacy. He also said that postal survey forms could easily have been copied, despite the fact that survey forms are uniquely bar-coded and could not be scanned twice. “The voting form, which hasn’t even been initialled by an official, is easily copied,” he said. “So, when the bar-code is read, will it be determined in the presence of independent scrutineers whether this is the original or a copy?” (here for the full Flint).

Hmm, and now suddenly we're talking of the noble Swiss and how conservatives trust the knavish, foolish, corrupt, devious people intent on skewing the result with fraudulent activity ...?

"Come away, Hawkins," he would say; "come and have a yarn with John. Nobody more welcome than yourself, my son. Sit you down and hear the news. Here's Cap'n Flint—I calls my parrot Cap'n Flint, after the famous buccaneer—here's Cap'n Flint predicting success to our v'yage. Wasn't you, cap'n?"

Now Jim lad, sail back and celebrate a fraudulent referendum, its terms contrived to ensure defeat, with brave Capt'n Flint ...



Fairfax wouldn't publish a monstrously silly letter from Capt'n Flint hisself, even though the Capt'n be down wit dat New Orleans discourse?

Oh the shame, the infamy ... tar and feather that outrageous John Hewson ...

...all of a sudden, a shrill voice broke forth out of the darkness: "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" and so forth, without pause or change, like the clacking of a tiny mill. Silver's green parrot, Captain Flint! It was she whom I had heard pecking at a piece of bark; it was she, keeping better watch than any human being, who thus announced my arrival with her wearisome refrain.


Well it wouldn't be a truly silly Flinty piece without some squawking about a crowned republic, as weird a juxtaposing antonym as any parrot might manage ...

And where would we be without a pompous ass, who tries to speak like a lord in his Queen's garters, blathering on about dangerous 'leets ... you know, the sort of pompous ass that talks of a "portfolio of indulgences" and imagines he's at one wit dat bunch of shearers taking a break in the shed ...



"Dead—aye, sure enough he's dead and gone below," said the fellow with the bandage; "but if ever sperrit walked, it would be Flint's. Dear heart, but he died bad, did Flint!" 
"Aye, that he did," observed another; "now he raged, and now he hollered for the rum, and now he sang. 'God Save the Queen herself' were his only song, mates; and I tell you true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was main hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old song comin' out as clear as clear—and the death-haul on the man already."

..The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me. Oxen and wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed Spectator; and the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts or start upright in bed with the sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears: "God save the Queen herself! God save the Queen herself, dat Queen be down wit it!"

Indeed, indeed, though  banishing the brave, stout-hearted Speccie lads seems a tad severe, even for good old RLS ...

Still the pond is happy to share in the sperrit ...

Well may we say, God, She of bountiful gifts, if it pleases, feel free to fuck Capt'n Flint ... oh and if She decides to take down the Speccie down under too, the pond will survive ... but please, think of the collateral damage for poncedom and ponces everywhere ...



And so to a Pope cartoon, observing despicable men doing despicable things, and not just to the NBN, with more papal encyclicals here ...



In which the pond abandons Keynes to spend its usual Friday with Sharri ...



The pond is wildly excited and pleased to announce a joint venture with the NSW Liberal state government involving an exciting new infrastructure venture.

The scheme will involve digging a vast hole ... and then filling it in, and it will cost a modest $2.3 billion, and have a CBR of close to 0.

Some cynics have already attacked the venture, but the pond knows there's a vast number of tourists who will pay squillions to travel to NSW to watch the hole being dug, while squillions more will turn up to see the ritual filling in ...

And thus are the people and John Maynard Keynes made happy, with the state government realising the plan is much more sensible than burying banknotes in the ground and digging them up again. Why soil banknotes, when the hole will do?

Forget all that talk about NSW infrastructure in need of repair; pay no heed to that recent story in The New Yorker about saving a 1931 bridge and making it accommodate a new generation of ships by simply raising the height of the road (currently outside the paywall in New York's Majestic Passage in the Sky ...revamping the Bayonne Bridge to make space for megaships).

Stupid extenders of infrastructure life ... we've already knocked down and rebuilt Darling Harbour, and the hole scheme will be a megatriumph. It will be noted that the Terror has already hailed the scheme, with its modest splash, "Revealed The Winner Is ... Sydney" ...

Don't mind that tuft of hair over the banner, that's just a thugby leaguer in a spot of bother ...

What's that you say? Instead of coming up with harebrained schemes, the state government should be allowed to get on with the business of splashing out $2.3 billion to knock down a couple of stadiums and re-build them, for the sake of thugby league without any insolent mockery?

We should ignore Fairfaxians scribbling furiously With perfect schools, hospitals and transport, why not spend on Sydney stadiums?

And instead the pond should just get on with the usual business of the day, reading Sharri's insightful political analysis?

Well it's true that the Terrorists couldn't rustle up an opinionista to celebrate the pond-state government joint venture, and somehow a secularist got into the mix too ...

 


And it's true that another tourist scheme - bunging on an exciting "parade of the fuckwits, NSW government ministers attending photo ops" - would probably attract as many tourists, but that sort of advanced thinking is for another day ...

So Sharri it is ... and why not begin with a snap of Malware holding hands with a brutal, thuggish killer of a politician?


Yes, yes, but you said ScoMo was on the rise ... whither ScoMo?


Oh miaow with the pearls and diamonds ... and what was in the foreign policy white paper?


Don't you worry about that. Sharri isn't in thinking pose this week, Sharri is in a tabloid mood ...



Now let's get on with the ScoMo revival ... you see, together Sharri and Miranda the Devine might still manage to bring this political giant back to the leadership ...



Sharks?! Hmm, that reminds the pond of its scheme to fill Sydney harbour with sharks and block off Sydney heads with a giant wall. What an aquarium that would make. How the tourists would turn up in droves to marvel at the bright idea and the sharks.

Are you listening state government? The pond is alive with plans with the future ...

In the meantime, please allow Sharri to deal with a few dropkick dissenting backbenchers, creating leadership chaos and much confusion ...


Indeed, indeed, and happily the pond is exceptionally pleased to advise that the ministerial instability and speculation about the leadership has absolutely nothing to do with the reptiles' ongoing compulsion to publish stories about leadership instability and Malware the dud ...





What's that? Malware's a dud, ScoMo's a dropkick loser  with seven votes tops, and Jules the asbestos lawyer is a woman,  and so we need say no more, and we may as well all vote in Comrade Bill?

Damn you Bolter, damn you and your destabilising far left socialist reptilian kind ...

Is it any wonder that the pond always turns to the astute political analysis of a Rowe for signs of hope and life, with more lively Rowe here?




Thursday, November 23, 2017

In which the pond seeks protection from endless reptile protectionism ...



If the reptiles keep going with their desire to turn the lizard Oz into a fortress in the style of The Times, and take themselves completely out of the conversation, the pond might be spending more time with lesser lights of the Rachel Baxendale kind ...

But that too has its rewards, and possibly not before time.

Who knew that a wine science student would end up pounding the fundamental Xian beat for the lizard Oz?

There's a million stories in the naked, or even the clothed city, and setting up an entirely new RELIGIOUS PROTECTIONS category in the lizard Oz alleged news section is exemplary ...

Why even in the olden golden days, the reptiles never quite managed an ABANDON 18C FOR THE SAKE OF THE BOLTER category in the news section ...

Yesterday Rach lent her ear to the copious squawkings of the mysterious Lyle bird, a bold and brazen creature with not a shy feather to be found ...


Channelling the Lyle bird and typing down Cory talking about 'common sense' is as good a definition of silliness as can be imagined, and the pond feels a deep sense of pity for this Rach, trying her best to make a living in this difficult world.

Someone has to do it, but not everyone was buying the hysteria, with Ernie popping up in the comments section ...


Remarkably it seems some willingly pay for the pleasure of trolling the fundies who litter the comments section of the lizard Oz, but if the reptiles take themselves out of the conversation, will they end up only braying to their base like a bunch of Donalds?

Pandering to the Lyle bird doesn't seem like much of a business model, though the pond learned a new word for the day ...

It had thought totalism was a style of art music that turned up in the 1980s ... so little the pond knew ...


Et tu Erica? That only seemed to make Trev a little madder ...


Meanwhile, Rach was trying to produce balanced coverage by trotting out comrade Bill down the bottom of her piece ... by golly RELIGIOUS PROTECTIONS must now be more important than 18C ...


It's funny to think that earlier this day, there was the Savva assuring the pond and the world that the hugely expensive postal survey was a very good thing, because it reassured us that the moderate centre tolerant middle class still existed and had expressed a view and the Liberals would take care of it, when all that's happened is that the fundamentalists and the homophobic bigots have found a new way forward, which we might call RELIGIOUS PROTECTIONS ... and which now can keep the reptiles fully occupied, at least until the WAR ON XMAS calls ...

Truth to tell, they'll never give up on the culture wars, which carried on at full steam in the comments section ...


Somehow that reminded the pond of a Golding cartoon ...
The pond isn't so sure about that ... apparently there are no gay farmers in Australia, in much the same way as there are no gay footballers in the AFL ... and certainly not any gays in the Catholic church, except for the gay priest in the pond's extended family ....

Meanwhile, poor old Rach now had to pay attention to the Mayor of Hornsby, a desiccated hornblower of the old school ...who will certainly manage to reduce the discussion to outright tedium and dire ennui ...


Somehow the pond ended up brooding about luddites and medievalism and wondering if the reptiles in their new google fortress world might at last be offering the pond release, or at the very least, enlightenment ...


The pond has been thinking in recent times how tedious and stale it is to keep tracking the reptiles and their obsessions.

Instead of a herpetarium, why not an aquarium stocked with clown fish? Can looking at Nemo be that bad as a hobby? Perhaps it's time to shake up the business model, get out and about, avoid all the usual reptile offerings ...

You see, following on from Rach, the reptiles were at it again today with an EXCLUSIVE ...


What a shining example 'Becca is to Rach, good biblical names and all ... (Rachel, it will be recalled, was the favourite of a Biblical patriarch, while Rebekah was involved in all sorts of complicated business ... the pond only mentions this because every day it seems it's back in Sunday school fearing homosexuals and deviant socialists and anyone not in the DLP) ...

And sure enough dashing Donners was on to it like a flash ...


And at this point the pond had to make a pre-emptive strike, recycling that old joke Woody joke about the way that the intellectual content in the lizard Oz was served up pretty weak ... and in such small portions too ...

In the current climate referencing Allen isn't good for the health, in much the same way that dashing Donners isn't good for fundie Xian paranoia ...


That's it? That's the best Donners has got this day? And the reptiles pay him for it?98

Fucketty fuck, speaking of Dumbing Down, does anyone believe, outside dashing Donners, that calling Victoria the Albania of the South is the way to win an argument?

Hysteria, moi?

We're now expected to believe that Donners is living and working at the Education Standards Institute in Tirana, Albania, otherwise quaintly known as Melbourne, capital of Victoria?

Of course Donners use of the word "institute" has copped a bit of ire  when actually ESI is a trading name for Impetus Consultants Pty Ltd, ABN 73 737 609 643.

Hmm, is it time to set up the Loon Pond Institute for Reprehensible Word Abuse?

Never mind, there's always a place for Donners, because he manages to troll almost everybody, as when he got Guy Rundle going some months ago at Crikey ...


Well yes indeed, careful what you wish for rhetorical Donners, and speaking of multiculturalism, the real Pope had a splendid idea this day for a diverse workplace, with more genuine papal encyclicals to be found here ...







In which there's a great unravelling ...

Mood: tense; humour: bilious; temper: fraught; outlook cloudy.

Keep reading Robert Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, and wondering if I'm choleric. Those lines about the centre not holding keep running through my mind. Damn you Yeats, surely some Gina is at hand, with a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun ...

Oh okay, the pond could only guess at the contents of the savvy Savva's diary this day, and must instead resort to her column for a full dose of the gloom ...



Wherever the pond looked, at Savva, or the NY Times here, or Krugman, it was the time of the great unravelling ...

Socks, cardigans, jumpers, Malware, all unravelled, and even worse, as things fall apart, people spending endless hours gazing at navels, gathering fluff and arguing whether it should be 'unraveling' or 'unravelling' ... and so a rough beast, by name Comrade Bill, slouches towards Canberra to be born ... and who can stop him?

Oh heartbreak, oh existential despair direct from Malware's desk to the readers of the lizard Oz ...


Not one journo! 

Instead what do we get on a daily basis? The braying of Bolter donkeys ... look, there he is again in the Terror this day ... giving counsel, advice and kind words to Comrade Bill, comparing him to the onion munching master in a way that can only elevate the Kenyan born devious Marxist in the eyes of conservatives ...


He's like the onion muncher? Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold, the falcons are in the field, mere anarchy is loosed, the blood-dimmed tide drowns the innocent, poor Malware lacks all conviction, while the Bolterish worst are full of passionate intensity ...

Only cricket has the power to unite us all? Why then we're truly stuffed ...

See, see how the insouciant Bolter brays and mocks and leaks ...




How can a single savvy Savva stand against this sort of carry-on? Free passes handed out willy-nilly, free kicks given by one-sided refs, and it was ever thus ...


Indeed, indeed, and speaking of the drollest of ironies, isn't it a marvel that the savvy Savva scribbles for a rag which has a commentariat currently in a unity ticket with Islamic fundamentalists on social matters ...

No wonder there's an uneasiness, and the second coming is at hand. Spiritus Mundi reptilians!

There are only a few Spartans left as the hordes gather ...

Oh stranger, tell the dinkum that we lie here, and lie often, obedient to their words ...


The government will disintegrate, and so will whatever semblance of unity remains ...

The splitters will spit and split ...

A Monty Python sketch about splitters looms ...

Defeat guaranteed, a fracture precipitated, the onion muncher shattered in his own back yard ... and who knows who will be left to pick up the fragments, perhaps it will be a raving loon of creationist young earth stock slouching in from the west ... and twenty centuries of stony sleep are vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle of savvy despair ...

Frankly the pond has no idea where all this gloom is coming from. Didn't Barners just win a spiffing award, and didn't Rowe celebrate it this morning?

Buck up, Ms Savva, cheer up, and enjoy more cheery Rowe here ...



Wednesday, November 22, 2017

In which the pond engages nattering "Ned" to act as ancient mariner party bouncer and pooper ...



The pond has been enjoying a bit of a surge of late in terms of hits, and that simply won't do. 

It might give the reptiles some kind of whiff of hope, that they might yet find redemption in the arms of google and achieve a FANG-like triumph ...

The pond isn't a killjoy - oh what a lying hypocritical wretch the pond is, of course it's a trolling killjoy - and the surest way it knows to ensure there'll be no dead cat bounce or fang-like surge is to bring on nattering "Ned", especially late in the day when any likely readership is already likely to be bored and restless and irritated by the travails of work ...

If ever there was a party you wanted to fail, surely the thing to do is to have nattering "Ned" outside stopping three of three, and imitating the ancient mariner with an endless harangue ...

As soon as "Ned" talks "hope and confidence", everybody will nod off to sleep ...


Uh huh, here no solution, no solution here, just a lot of blather and endless, mindless tedium, a step too far even for the pond, even if desirous of inducing a zombie-like trance and mute indifference in passing stray readers ...

How to keep their eyelids open until the bitter end? Perhaps a tax cartoon from another country?


Oh sheesh, it's golf and taxes, there goes the readership, and yet Ned's only cranking into second gear ...


Um, isn't that the Liberal-implemented NDIS? Oh never mind, perhaps another cartoon from a different country ...


The good news is that there's only one gobbet of nattering "Ned" to go, and soon people will be able to take their hands from their eyes, and stop noisily chanting "lah, lah, lah, lah" like a Krishna overdosing on "Ned" ...


Actually, Malware has the serious problem. He's surrounded by white ants, busily doing what termites must do, and the talk of tax cuts, unspecified, undetermined, and undescribed, was received with all the credibility of a Donald Trump tweet doing its best to distract from more pressing current problems ...

The pond appreciates nattering "Ned's" leaden attempts to take the unknown and the unspecified seriously, but in view of the fact that not a hint of a whit or a jot of what might be proposed was unveiled, it's all so much specious, boring garbage, delivered with unmitigated tedium and the usual ponderous solemnity ...

The pond knew right from the get go that any stray passing readers would quickly start dropping like flies, that the reptiles would be reminded yet again that their business model is doomed, and the pond along with it, and that the only thing left to do was to reward hardy survivors with another tax cartoon from a different country... it having as much insight into Malware's unproposed, unspecified tax plans as nattering "Ned's" endless wittering ...