Monday, January 05, 2015

In which the pond takes to the Freudian couch with a gadfly ...




The pond doesn't usually indulge in psychotherapy, on the principle that any career path that begins with a "p" - police, priest,  pope, prison guard, psychiatrist, Murdochian pornalist - should be avoided.

But it's time to get little Timothy Bleagh on the couch.

Last year was a terrible year for the frightfully ratty man, and it looks like the mindless gnat is lining up for another lightweight year ...

The pond routinely wonders whether 'gadfly' is the precisely accurate term to define the attention-seeking of Bleagh, though there are certain parts of the definition that surely apply:

1. A persistent irritating critic; a nuisance. 
2. One that acts as a provocative stimulus; a goad. 
3. Any of various flies, especially a warble fly, botfly, or horsefly, that bite or annoy livestock and other animals.

And then there are these variations:

1. (Animals) any of various large dipterous flies, esp the horsefly, that annoy livestock by sucking their blood 
2. a constantly irritating or harassing person 
1. any of various flies, as a horsefly or warble fly, that bite or annoy livestock. 
2. a person who persistently annoys or stirs up others, esp. with provocative criticism. (all in the dictionary here).

Maybe if we combine some of the terms we can get closer to the mark ... like a blood-sucking warbler ...

This is all by the way of getting to the real point, which is why the crazed right-wing commentariat routinely fail at humour.

It's Bleagh's peculiar burden that he thinks he's blessed with a sense of humour and is a wickedly clever satirist full of outrageous thrusts and parries (Rowan Dean suffers from the same delusion, but that's another story).

Yet when you actually look at what Bleagh thinks is funny, the best thing to do is reel away in horror.

Here's a sample:

Mark Scott.

Hey, bet that got you laughing fit to die. Want another zinger?

The ABC.

By golly, we're on a roll here. Anything else we can do to keep the cascade gag rolling?

Fairfax.

And so on ...



Now you might think the pond is over-stating the case, but here's an actual example from Bleagh's humorous projections for next year - the pond uses the word "humorous" in a gadfly way:

DECEMBER 
Myer reviews its Christmas hiring practices after an elderly in-store Santa Claus shocks children and parents with angry, abusive comments aimed at the Fairfax media group, northern Sydney councils and native birds. The man, described as a retired naval historian, is escorted from Myer’s Chatswood outlet by store security. 
ABC managing director Mark Scott apologises following an entertaining, tasteful and technically flawless New Year’s Eve broadcast. “This is absolutely against established ABC practice,” admits Scott. The ABC boss is later hospitalised due to severe finger injuries induced by counting his tax-funded millions. “At this stage we are treating it as a lone wealth attack,” says a police spokesman.

Yes, just the mention of Mark Scott, the ABC, Fairfax (and Mike Carlton) sends the Bleagh into wild guffaws, into howls of tear-inducing guffawing, into cataclysmic gusts of thigh-slapping hysterical laughter ... with bonus convulsive chuckles, chortles, giggles, titters, sniggers and fits ...


Let's wind back to January for another exemplary bout of satirical mastery up there with Dean Swift:

JANUARY 
Happy Everybody Everywhere Day replaces Australia Day after the Human Rights Commission rules that the national holiday is discriminatory, exclusionary and racist. “It’s also probably heteronormative,” adds an HRC spokesperson. 
Authorities call for calm after hundreds of Islamic State extremists hack and bludgeon their way through central Sydney before establishing a military and communications base at the ABC’s Ultimo headquarters. “At this stage we are treating it as a lone wolf attack,” says a police spokesman.

Uh huh. Do go on:

February: Mike Carlton, the UN, Jacqui Lambie
March: Dannii Mingoue, lone MILF, disability pensioners (always great for a laugh, crips are soooh funny).
April: Mike Carlton, Turks,  Mark Scott
May: Frightbats, Fairfax, Clementine Ford, Bill Shorten
June: Mike Baird and a lone shelf attack, Malaysia disappears and Tony Abbott acts (that's for balance folks)
July: Mike Carlton, the ABC, Ramadan, Mark Scott sliding to the floor in a dead faint
August: disability pensioners  (cripples are soooh funny), human rights lawyers, Clive Palmer
September: ABC, Fairfax and Sydney shut down because of a lone Beowulf attack
October: Sarah Hanson-Young, Tim Flannery and Mike Carlton
November: Julia Gillard, Kevin Rudd and Ray Meagher and a lone Alf attack.

Now you might think that the pond has provided an unfair summary of the blazing wit of the Bleagh, in which case you're invited to impale your eyeballs on The future's so bright, I'm gonna need shades ...

But don't come whining back saying you weren't warned.

The humour's so small, you're gonna need a microscope ... and maybe some tweezers for the gadfly handling ...

So why is it that Bleagh is so unremittingly unfunny, and why are his targets the kind that used to stimulate school yard bullies?

You know, crips, the different, the other, Mothers Bleagh Would Like to Fuck, Mark Scott, the ABC, Mike Carlton, Turks etc etc, yadda yadda  ...

Well that's where the psychotherapy couch at last comes in handy ...

You see, Bleagh is a bear with very little brain, but his blog requires constant attention-seeking, of what might be called the lesser Bolter kind ... and he has very few bees running around in his noggin, and when he lets the bees loose, they give a very good guide to all the Bleagh's fears and phobias.

What Bleagh thought was some form of comedy turns out to be an actual functioning Rorschach test, handy because the original ink blots test didn't work half so well ...

It's possible to imagine little Timmy retiring in his PJs to bed and waking up in a cold sweat at the thought of Mark Scott, Fairfax, Mike Carlton, the ABC, Turks and wild-eyed Islamics.

Of course all the poor dear can do is exorcise his demons, and how better to do it, than by way of a large spread in the Terror, where he can rage against the feminine other, which routinely sends him wild-eyed into fits of the sniggers, like a furtive schoolboy with a copy of a Victoria's Secret catalogue.

Yes, mothers, that's what toilet training will do to young lads, and next thing you know, all they can do is take their revenge on feminists ... little realising how much it reveals about them and their potty humour, and how little about feminism.

In a way, the pond has rewarded little Timmy with exactly what he requires ... which is attention, and a pat on the head, and a "good boy, good boy", even though the waggish dog has just shat on the carpet yet again ...

But hey, it provides a change of pace from the reptiles at the Oz, and with everybody cranking back to work this day, the world needs a good laugh.

Just don't expect it from the Bleagh or the Terror, except in an unconscious, Freudian way ...


But speaking of the Oz, the pond was reminded of old reptile behaviour when looking at the old posts in John Quiggin's blog here, back in August:

The last time I heard news of Stephen Parker, Vice-Chancellor of the University of Canberra, he was standing up to the Oz and its editor Chris Mitchell who had threatened to sue journalist and UC academic Julie Posetti for accurately reporting remarks made by a former Oz journalist in a public conference. That episode is worth remembering any time anyone suggests that the Oz is a newspaper (in the traditional sense of the term), let alone an advocate for free speech. It is, as I’ve said many times, a dysfunctional blog that is, for some reason, printed on broadsheet paper.

Indeed, indeed. So what momentous matter, what crucial nation-stirring event is the dysfunctional blog dealing with today?


Yes, on your bike, Mr Abbott ... or better still, have you thought of hopping off your bike and into your maroon Pontiac Parisienne, and going for a swim  at Cheviot Beach near Portsea?

Just don't try getting there by way of South Gippsland roads, you might suffer a real injury ... (don't get the pond started about another broken windscreen...)

Never mind, today came some news of great joy for little Timothy Bleagh, a staunch monarchist, and Tony Abbott, fawning worshipper of knights and dames ... but only one tabloid dared to live up to the spirit and the name of Murdochian gutter merchant.

Yes, while Tony Abbott fled the country to crank start the year with a surge of patriotism, the HUN got down and dirty. Well played HUNsters:


Ah yes, and only a few more sleeps until March and the next flurry of knights and dames:




12 comments:

  1. “Keep pedalling Prime Minister………Yes, the Prime Minister could be injured if he toppled off his bike…..Life is not risk free”.

    Life is definitely not risk free, but then we don’t want a repeat of the Leo McLeay incident of 1990 when the Speaker of the Parliament fell of his bike on his ride through Canberra and sued the Joint House Department. He was swiftly awarded $65,000. Mr McLeay broke his arm and suffered facial and hand injuries. Wow, Tony, today compensation must be at least $150,000. Break a leg, Tony Abbott.

    http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/canberra-speaker-skids-into-scandal-1470753.html

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  2. It is a quite straightforward equation really..: " If an Australian citizen sheltering under the priveledges enjoyed by his country's passport, takes payment from a foreign national and works to bring benefit to that foreign national contrary to the interests of his own country (regardless of his own opinion), then he is guilty of payment for betrayal of his own country"...erg-bloody-o , ; He is a traitor...it's as simple as that..no arguement, really.
    All Murdoch's journo's are traitors.
    jaycee.

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  3. "Fuck Foxtel !..I want my NBN.!"

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  4. Abbott & Sancho in Baghdad, DP, there's a delicious thought worthy of extension. The question, surely, is about the impending knighthood. Should it go to Kevin, as defender of the Faith, or to Dapple? Not long to wait.

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  5. I saw a report that upon his hand-shakning introduction to the President of Iraq, Abbott had to quickly clasp his hand over Kevin Andrew's mouth before he uttered the standard fundamentalist Christian affirmative ..; " mfeesus muves mou..."

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  6. I like the thought of little timmeh as a botfly. It sounds, you know, right!

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  7. Much like the person who looked upon a Picasso before smearing the walls with their own shit, Tim Blair once read a PJ O'Rourke book

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  8. Either it was photoshopped or we have a new flag with gold fringing. But then Abbott will stand in front of anything and act dumb. Act?


    https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B6js8lRCYAAYAbK.jpg

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    Replies
    1. Actually that's a lovely touch, and the pond immediately began to think of running up some cushions for the lounge, provided we can get that lovely shade of blue and red and gold ...

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  9. Re 2nd cartoon, it's about time some kind of cat was belled as no dog ever was: "Pavlov never held such views, according to “Ivan Pavlov: A Russian Life in Science” (Oxford), an exhaustive new biography by Daniel P. Todes, a professor of the history of medicine at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. In fact, much of what we thought we knew about Pavlov has been based on bad translations and basic misconceptions. That begins with the popular image of a dog slavering at the ringing of a bell. Pavlov “never trained a dog to salivate to the sound of a bell,” Todes writes. “Indeed, the iconic bell would have proven totally useless to his real goal, which required precise control over the quality and duration of stimuli (he most frequently employed a metronome, a harmonium, a buzzer, and electric shock).”"

    However, a stray such as myself may well salivate in expectation of the next loonpond post. Onya Dorothy!

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  10. Tim Blair investigates Islam(AKA quality investigative journalism)
    I caught a cab to Lakemba. I want to the pub. Me and the publican drank and whinged how moslems don't get drunk. I then went outside, and, whilst waiting for a cab home, leered blearily into the window of a shop that sold mats and books.When I got home I drank some more then typed out my story. The end.

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    Replies
    1. Are you sure little Timmy scribbled something so deep? That sounds a tad too sophisticated for little Timmy...

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