On the upside, the pond presumes it will now be some time before we'll be seeing Peter Cosgrove appearing in ersatz television commercials flogging beer as the spirit of choice for the spirit of ANZACS.
You know, this sort of thing, the kind you find at vbbeertv.
Yep, it was a classic, nauseating mix and match of jingoist patriotism with charity and flogging beer.
No wonder the pond daily wakes in fright, ready for the next six o'clock swill. And it turns out, the pond isn't the only one, judging by YouTube comments:
Tell you what Cosgrove, I'll spend the day sober and give the money I would have spent "raising a glass" straight to Legacy instead of Carlton United Breweries. Then, I'll do what I've done every year since I was a school boy and write a letter to the PM asking why our veterans have to rely on charity at all? Then, I'll visit Grandad's grave and tell the poor bastard, who lost his health, half his mind, and nearly all his mates, what a wonderful job you and VB are doing for the boys. Sound good?
This ad is appalling. How dare someone use Anzac Day as a tool to make money. I'm never buying VB ever again.
Hear, hear. If only the pond bought VB in the first place ...
Of course the bouffant one is wildly excited:
But let's face it, the bouffant one is so uxorious, shortly after the news that the sun shines out of Abbott's arse, supportive Shanahan would be rushing into print with Abbott is already winning congratulations from astonished and supportive witnesses at the wonderful sight of the sun shining out of his arse.
Meanwhile, "bash a black" day continues amongst the commentariat reptiles in the Murdoch rags.
The Bolter was first out of the blocks, but now little madam echo, Miranda the Devine, joins in the chorus:
Now the pond has little knowledge of Goodes, because apparently he's a footballer, in an arcane game which involves some kind of aerial ping pong. But it seems he's never played for Carlton or Collingwood, so at least he's not eternally doomed to a life in hell amongst the Pellists and the angry Sydney Anglicans.
That said, the pond wonders if the Devine, the Bolter and the others making hay with Goodes bashing understand just how mean-spirited and downright racist they sound?
Juxtaposing their sobbing about a victimised powerless 13 year old girl from a disadvantaged background, with a nasty mean black footballer?
Seeing as how Goodes himself, according to his wiki here, had a troubled and restless early family life.
You see, you can always chose to tell a story two ways.
It goes without saying that the nasty, mean-spirited types like the Bolter and Miranda the Devine will always tell it in the black-bashing way - yet even the reptiles at the lizard Oz saw a way to propose that at one point Goodes himself might have had difficulties early in life:
Horsham, 300km north-west of Melbourne, 1994.
Lisa May was a single parent raising three sons, the Goodes boys, Adam, 14, Jake, 12, and Brett, 10. Lisa May had separated from the boys' father 10 years previously, and had recently chosen to escape from an abusive partner. She chose not to be a victim, not to wallow in a past that saw nine of her 10 siblings taken from their parents; saw her removed at the age of five from her parents at Point Pearce, an indigenous town on the Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, 70km from Wallaroo where Adam Goodes was born on January 8, 1980. She chose to devote her life to her sons.
"I'm very grateful to have a mother who wanted something better for her children than what she had growing up," says Goodes. "There were sacrifices she made to make sure we went to school. To make sure we did our homework. To make sure we were well fed. I have no doubt she's proud of us, but we're forever indebted to her for those sacrifices she made for us."
At 14, Goodes had a room filled with posters of the black US basketball star Michael Jordan. There was a time when he was climbing out his bedroom window to run to the local phone box to call the police to report domestic violence. But he could relax in his room, fantasise about "air", hang time, the wonder and grace of a Jordan slam dunk.
On his first day of high school he passed a bus shelter where some kids offered him a puff on a joint; he politely declined. (Adam Goodes and the 'matter of choice')
You know how the rest of the story goes. Instead of a toke, he picked up a football, thereby ensuring the pond would have absolutely no interest in his future career. But how to get to this?
Adam Goodes is a terrible choice as Australian of the Year. A respected sports celebrity, he is being rewarded for victimising a powerless 13-year-old girl from a disadvantaged background.
Luckily in its pre-Oscar celebrations, the pond watched Twelve Years a Slave and came to an understanding.
Surely Goodes is an uppity black, and we all know what that means ...
You see, it's all very good to improve yourself, and give yourself airs and graces and swan about as a free man, but a year of a black talking about racism?
Why it's simply too much to for a Miranda to bear ...
Happily the Devine piece is behind the paywall of the least trusted newspaper in Australia, so there's no need to reward the race-bating with a link.
Meanwhile, the reptiles thoughtfully balanced their talk of Goodes' difficult childhood with another rant from Maurice """ Newman, Abbott right on prosperity path (behind the paywall because research has determined that taking more than one Newman a month is bad for your health).
Perhaps the most interesting thing about this is the new disclaimer added at the bottom:
Maurice Newman is chairman of the PM's Business Advisory Council. The views expressed here are his alone.
Yes, but he's the chairman of the PM's Business Advisory Council, so let's give his opinions the gravitas they deserve - right from the horse's mouth, so to speak, or the horse's arse, if you will, along with the sunshine.
But there's a difficulty. You see, Abbott was speaking at Davos, surrounded by celebrities and ... gasp ... Europeans.
Why the lad even went to France for his holiday. These are dangerous Europhile, Francophile tendencies. The next thing you know the lad might be tempted to have it off with an actress on the side.
You know how it is with those European degenerates (and speaking of same, in its pre-Oscar reverie, the pond also watched The Great Beauty, the best Fellini film since Fellini stopped making them, and full of nuns. There's a lot to be said for degenerate Italian films, even if Newman wouldn't have the first clue about them).
Never mind, how to correct these dangerous, degenerate tendencies?
Well wisely Maurice points out that the way forward is to embrace the treatment of workers doled out by Communist China, because there's nothing like a totalitarian one party state as an admirable model:
Migrants are attracted more by welfare than work, but job seekers find inflexible workplace laws restrict employment opportunities, forcing them on to welfare. These laws are creating social unrest in many British and European cities. An objective commentary on Europe's workplace rigidities was given during the GFC by Jin Liqun, head of China's state investment arm. He described European workers as "slothful" and "indolent" and blamed Europe's outdated labour laws and welfare systems. He was right. These laws encourage poor work practices, low productivity and, for employers, a preference for machines over humans.
Yes, those slothful and indolent Europeans. What they need is a one party state, and a Communist party and the Chinese military and complete censorship to produce a servile population willing to work like machines so the machines can get done out of a job ...
Because, you know, the whole world is determined to replace machines, and heck, if we can manage it, get back to the good old days before Henry Ford started building model-T Fords ...
Next thing you know, there'll be workers jumping out the higher levels of the Apple plant, and all will be well, with flexible workplace laws ensuring workers are treated like battery hens.
Is there anything else?
Well yet again we're treated to a member of the elite - he's chairman of the PM's Business Advisory Council, don't ya know - railing against elites:
Despite demonstrable policy failure, belief among elites that a handful of senior people in government, collaborating with business and labour leaders, can command faster growth and more socially equitable outcomes, endures.
Say what? So what's Newman doing and why the fuck does the Business Advisory Council exist, if not to provide perks and status to a handful of senior people in government collaborating with business leaders?
There's plenty more comedy, and as usual Newman's rant is full of diatribes about socialism and collectivist thinking and the WEF being a private UN with a lofty, feel-good agenda, balanced by even more uxorious talk of the wonders of a refreshing Tony Abbott, so lofty that the bubbly beaded Abbott quaffing ale ended up sounding higher than the Matterhorn:
... in the five years since the GFC, rather than prepare the world for a sustainable future, policy responses have further concentrated risks, entrenched vested interests and all but exhausted fiscal and monetary ammunition. It is to be hoped that the G20 in Brisbane will be more Abbott and less WEF.
Yes, it's a Tony Abbott led world economic recovery, followed by a Tony Abbott led economic boom.
No doubt because Maurice's favourite sock puppet will soak up the wisdom of Maurice, embrace Chinese Marxist labor practices, with a Chinese tendency, and we'll all step forward into the light ...
Finally the pond got its news yesterday from mX, the Murdoch throwaway guaranteed to waste no more than one minute of your life before providing handy train litter, and was disturbed to learn, courtesy the front page of the rag that there were trained individuals who had headed off to war offshore, and on returning to Australia could pose a significant national security risk.
Apparently they'd be filling the hospitals with PTSD sufferers and thoughts of suicide and possibly they'd join bikie gangs and run wild and free and terrorise Campbell Newman and perhaps even join unions ...
Oh wait, it wasn't about the poor bastards returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, it was about "up to 120" aliens and warriors who might return from Syria and who might do something though no one seems to have done anything yet...
So it goes with fear-mongering. It's a never ending, thankless task, and how lucky we are to have the tireless George Brandis, always ready to take an hour away from his library and to step up to the plate.
Never mind, the only reason the pond mentions it at all is to note that Janet "Dame Slap" Albrechtsen is back:
Yep, she's baaaack, and it turns out that Dame Slap adopts the same sort of hours and working conditions as the cardigan-wearers at the ABC, and has only turned up at the very end of January to sort out the world's problems.
Strangely, she wasn't missed at all, and it seems to be a safe bet to say that her squawkings for the rest of the year will do diddly squat for said problems of the world ...
But isn't that the way with the commentariat? Just spreading FUD, and instead of doing it in a blog, they get paid for the privilege by mug punters who pay for the pleasure ...
Yep, it's a strange world, no doubt about it. The pond feels the need for a beer and a bit of that ANZAC spirit coming on ...
(Below: the pond shares a drink with Cathy Wilcox, more Wilcox here)