Oh it's true, it's truly true.
It's the end of the earth, it's the new heart of darkness. There be an inke blackness and wilde beasts and a barbarian government that runs gulags, and there be many bogans, strange creatures in flip flops (let us not talk, in their primitive guttural snarls, of thongs).
Oh there are a few brave people in the west, shark killers, trying to bring civilisation to this remote, degenerate world, and a few more bravely digging it up and shipping it to more civilised shores. Have you not heard your warriors sing the Song of Gina, which is right up there with the Song of Roland?
A deviant foreigner, a mysterious American, is the chief singer of such songs, and does his best to spread enlightenment in this benighted land ... so remote, so ignorant, truly the end of the earth ...
Apparently there are some missionaries who have landed in this dark, deadly, remote land, more challenging than the hideous challenges faced by Dr. David Livingstone.
Apparently someone has exhumed Joseph Conrad to write the story, but in the meantime, we have to rely on Jeff Bleigh scribbling Baseball represents our countries' best shared values (behind the paywall because making people pay is the best shared value of all).
Sing your song, missionary man:
Indeed, indeed. And if anyone flings a bean ball at the pond, we promise to punch the shit out of them and indulge in an all out brawl.
And speaking of the Red Sox, are we speaking of the Red Sex Abuse Scandal, or the values on view in the story of Pitchers hooked on beer, fried chicken and video games and Francona on pills?
Or is this pettiness, like pointing out the way the NRL and AFL have been drug havens of late. Should we go back to the good old days when moral giants stalked the earth, and the Black Sox Scandal showed the world the very best of values? But if that involved men in white sox, how on earth did they get called black sox?
It's beyond the pond, but that's what happens when you live at the end of the earth:
And I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim, and the horse from Jerusalem, and the battle bow shall be cut off: and he shall speak peace unto the heathen: and his dominion shall be from sea even to sea, and from the river even to the ends of the earth. (Zechariah 9:10)
Is there any ultimate point to the pond's hysteria?
Well yes, the exceptional stupidity of the coverage of the loss of the plane, the fatuous headlines, the misleading stories, and now Tony Abbott joining in to keep the lather foaming and flying about.
The pond has resolutely refused to join in, though as a keen student of air crash investigations, we could mutter darkly about the Helios Airways Flight 522 with the best of them.
Enough already, because back in the real world - the heart of darkness at the core of New South Wales politics - there were a couple of interesting stories in yesterday's Fairfaxian rags.
First the ignorance defence was tested in Arthur Sinodinos told about donations to Liberal Party, says AWH investor (forced video at end of link).
And then came this masterful bit of understatement in Arthur Sinodinos' financial woes: Three children, two car leases and a harbour view to pay for:
The Obeid family excepted, politics is not a road to riches. When Sinodinos joined the Senate in late 2011, the salary for a backbencher was about $140,000.
The new senator had a problem. He was paying almost $100,000 a year to rent a house in Dumaresq Road, Rose Bay, which enjoyed panoramic views of Sydney Harbour.
He was paying leases on a Jaguar and a Mercedes, he had two children to put through private school and a socially ambitious wife, Elizabeth. Late last year Mrs Sinodinos, 39, already a director of Greek Young Matrons' Association, became a director of Betteroff Australia Ltd, which gives law firm Clayton Utz as its business address. Former state Liberal minister Ron Phillips joined the company on the same day.
Even with his superior financial skills, Sinodinos, 56, was only too painfully aware that the figures didn't add up.
Oh dear, it's a quintessential Sydney story. It's the harbour views of course. The pond once lived in an apartment with "harbour glimpses" - yes it's a genuine phrase amongst real estate people - and was proud to pay for the pleasure.
And so today Mike Carlton gives Sinodinos a blessing, a benediction and a farewell in No Martha defence for Arthur Sinodinos.
While naturally Peter van Onselen is aghast at this star chamber, ruining the lives and the reputations of the innocent, as he explains in Modern star chamber must be brought to account (behind the paywall so you might need to get a good directorship to pay for access).
Why shouldn't the Obeids make out like bandits? What's wrong with snouts in trough if you need a harbour view? Where's the harm? How dare this star chamber make life difficult for genuine entrepreneurs helping the local pollies run the state in style! After all, it's a bipartisan effort, so let's not seek to make cheap political hay when there's real hay to be made ...
And speaking of benedictions and farewells, can it come soon enough for Cardinal Pell, as stories continue to flow like Royal commission: Pell instructed lawyers to fight Ellis claim 'tooth and nail':
An email from Dr Casey shows that in May 2008 Cardinal Pell approved the pursuit of Mr Ellis for costs, but wanted to "avoid any negative publicity associated with causing Ellis to go bankrupt or causing him to experience an exacerbation of his psychiatric condition".
What a sordid, sorry mess it was and is, yet no doubt the ignorance defence will be given a fresh outing on Monday ...
Is there any upside in this vale of tears, this land of darkness teetering on the edge of the end of the world?
Well of course you can always rely on the reptiles at the lizard Oz for comedy, and who better than chief knob polisher and hagiographer Dennis Shanahan?
It's so grim at the moment - what with the head barbarian doing a grand tour of his gulags and outer dominions - that Shanahan has hit the nostalgia button, and cranks it back to 2007 in Unexpected blow turned out right for the future PM (behind the paywall because hagiography shouldn't come cheap).
Look, look, first there's an EXCLUSIVE:
And naturally, having touched the hem of the great man, it's time to simper a few grateful words, inspect the runes and the tea leaves, and predict a grand future:
As always, the sole point of the reminiscence seems to be a chance for a little hagiography:
During the past 20 years Abbott has been consistent above all else, from his maiden speech in parliament and his time as a backbencher to the periods as minister, then opposition leader and eventually Prime Minister, his consistent themes have been a recognition of Christian values, support for the family, belief in small government and the idea of promoting business and the free market to boost the economy and create jobs.
What a bold, brave, consistent St. George. Now can anyone decode what the chief hagiographer really means?
... he is too conservative, too Catholic, inflexible, old-fashioned and, of course, a misogynist.
Oh okay, the pond did a naughty cut, just like a sub-editor or letters editor at the rag. So delicious, such a guilty pleasure ...
But you see, right at the moment, as things continue dire for Abbott, the chief hagiographer and knob polisher is already talking of a second Abbott government:
No doubt some have seen the consistency as inflexibility and being “too conservative”, but the Prime Minister thinks the basis for a second Abbott government is based on delivering on the promises of the election campaign, not taking anything for granted and not making further commitments until the electorate has given him a mandate. “I suppose the challenge often in these situations is to do nothing in haste because what you do in haste is often the wrong thing,” he says.
Sheesh, it must be grim, if the reptiles and Abbott are already starting to dream of the next federal election, which in the usual way of things, double dissolutions etc exempted, must be held on or before 14th January 2017 ...
But that's the way it goes for hagiographers. Talk about the future, go misty eyed about the past, but ssshh, don't mention the many fuck-ups of the actual present ...
And finally the pond is vastly relieved.
For a minute there, the pond had fancied that Gerard "prattling Polonius" had disappeared down a black Murdochian hole, but there he is, as bold as brass and sounding just as stupid as ever, as you can read in 'Freedom' marchers trample on hopes of real refugees (if you managed to score that directorship and can now afford a sub to lizard heaven).
Uh huh. As opposed to prattling Polonius blithely marching on in ideological rage and prejudice and Catholic zealotry.
There's no doubt that Henderson is a much reduced figure, now that he's just one of the cacophony of reptile voices at the Oz, one in a long conga line of sycophants and hagiographers.
What's bizarre is the way Henderson continues to parade his fixation, his obsession with the ABC and with Fairfax, his former home. There's something weird about this, but perhaps it was most poignant when it came to Henderson saying Aly seems blind to the horror involved in death by drowning.
Indeed, indeed, but what of Henderson seeming blind to the horror of being bashed to death in a gulag?
For that you might have to revert to Fairfax and read Manus Island: Reza Berati was struck, fell from stairs and was hit over head till he died, say inmates.
That's the way, teach these economic refugees a lesson about the heart of darkness ...
Can anyone conjure up the heart of the darkness?
Take it away David Rowe, and remember there's more Rowe here.