(Above: and more Pope-ish insights here).
Every day in every way things are getting better and better.
At least if you cover the barking mad early morning beat in search of daily bouts of loonishness for the pond.
The fuss about education barely had time to skim the surface of the pond before it was whisked away, out of sight, leaving just a few memorials bobbing up like dead trees in Keepit dam:
What a good idea. Herd the rich into private schools, lavishly support them with taxpayer subsidies, and then cut back and back the second rate public system, which in due course will become the home of dropkicks and losers. And so a private institute thought bubble wins out once again ...
And this very day, while on education as a topic, who should bob up but the pond's old mate Kev?
By golly he looks stern and solemn, but he's consistent.
And then last night Steve Ciobo wasn't content to go the crypto-fascist. He went the full fascist and preened and strutted while doing it, as he showed exactly how a Liberal minister would behave when confronted by someone he didn't like. And let's face it - if a threat to kill is all that's needed for an eviction, there's going to be a lot of evictions.
Not that the pond has any direct knowledge of this as the pond resolutely refuses to watch the show - but a clip turned up on morning television, and bizarrely Fairfax now seems to think that journalism consists of getting an intern to sit down and watch Q and A, and write it up.
Neil McMahon was the intern given the job this day, and his piece - third from the top of the digital page as the pond writes - was headed Q and A's most startling moment, in best click bait fashion, with attached forced video which will feed you the ad you don't want to see.
McMahon was fully admiring of Ciobo's victory against the wicked alleged terrorist, giving the MP bragging rights, until perhaps remembering he was writing for Fairfax:
It was a startling moment among many odd ones on Monday night - an indication of just how odd it is that a man with the heroic air of a dry Salada came away with bragging rights. Ciobo had opened the night with an unintentionally amusing declaration that politicians did not manipulate words to stoke fear and reaction. "Very Orwellian" to suggest that, Ciobo said, butter melting in his mouth faster than he could swallow it.
So there you go. Sit down and watch a show where people bicker and argue, write it up with a snide amount of butter, and you too can call yourself a journalist. Or a TV viewer. Whatever.
But these pleasantries are just a distraction from the main game, because today is Caterist day, and slowly, slowly the commentariat are getting their act together and traducing the Pope:
Now this is a win-win scenario for the pond. The pond has no time for the Catholic church, thanks be unto the Dominican nuns that made it so, and the pond equally has no time for the chattering class commentariat working in an institute that scored a lavish hit of taxpayer money - while at the same time scribbling about loafers and bludgers and people rorting the government.
So let's get to it, and see the result of the wretched berating the wretched:
Indeed, indeed, Canberra excluded, but the pond has routinely noted how shocked and appalled it is that the reptiles of Oz would seek to put this sort of vital information behind a paywall.
Surely the Caterists should be allowed to run wild and free in their Canberra habitat, so that all might admire the plumage. Especially when the Caterists issue a cheery plea to waste as much plastic and paper as possible - remember, you can dump it into the Pacific ocean, the garbage dump which keeps on taking - and devour as much water as possible - please, not just the pool, cultivate an acre of lawn, it'll survive the next drought cycle - and whatever you do, don't use public transport, with all those working class grubs and losers, and be wary of carpooling - you might end up sharing with an Islamic terrorist - and whatever you do, never ever plant trees, because you might end up hugging them, and above all leave on all unnecessary lights all the time, it'll do wonders for your electricity bill, and please make sure you turn the amp up to eleven at 3 am, the neighbours will love your lifestyle, and visually pollute your environment with a great display of graffiti ...
Phew, great advice. How dare the Pope be so useless, how wonderful to be a Caterist with plenty of moola rolling in from the taxpayer and so able to afford a modern western lifestyle with its choice of abundant waste and needless extravagance.
Now please read carefully, because a test will follow:
Now for the test - did you read carefully and in detail?
Good, because it should be a doddle. Please recite the devastating paragraph in which the Caterists refuted the Pope and his fanatical medievalist adherence to climate science.
No, silly billy, you can't recite all the paragraphs where the Caterists resolutely avoided mentioning climate science.
That would mean you'd be reciting the entire piece, which is simply too tedious and mind-numbing to contemplate.
Now let's pause to celebrate the way that the Caterists have consigned the entire ABC religion and ethics department to oblivion.
The poor possums have been beavering away these past four decades or more - you can now find them online here - taking papal encyclicals, angry Sydney Anglicans, angry atheists and other odd bods seriously - is there anyone odder than Scott Stephens - and the entire apparatus and output has apparently been lost on the Caterists.
Now this could simply mean that Caterists are generally shallow thinkers best left to the shallow end of the pond, or it could be a sign that the Caterists are incipient angry atheists, ready to tear down the monstrosity known as the Catholic church ...
Either way, you have to think of it as a win-win. Sure the planet might be buggered if the Caterists have their way, but we have to admire the path to redemption now on offer at bargain basement rates ... live like rats, consume, consume, consume, buy up all the stock in your nearest two dollar store, devour coal, coal, coal, and all will be well ...
And now, as a mega blockbuster bonus, the pond is proud to announce that it has at last discovered what happens when the barking mad tackle the barking mad:
It's mano on mano and the first to break an arm wins.
Or they might simply be contractors, owning a one dollar company so they can make use of the tax break offered by jolly Joe - a hundred per cent write off, or a car written off in three large chunks over three years (quick, you can join the pond by racing to your friendly car dealer today).
Of all the sanctimonious blather of the unctuous kind, the celebration of small business has to be one of the bigger furphies, and it leads Newman into strange historical turf.
Especially the doozy about Britain achieving greatness as a nation of shopkeepers. Britain achieved greatness as a nation of looters, an imperial power which took in raw materials from its far flung empire, and processed same at home, then shipped the processed materials back to its colonies at a handsome profit.
To avoid this simple, plain truth perhaps helps explain why Moorice doesn't have the first clue about climate science, but the pond's in a generous mood, so here's a map to help him understand:
As for the phrase "nation of shopkeepers", it has a peculiar provenance which can be Greg Hunted here.
But back to Maurice for the wrap-up. No doubt there will be much about the glories of the Abbott government:
Actually delusion is on its side, not least in the way that Maurice celebrates and conflates entrepreneurial inventiveness with the business of shop-keeping, and then has the cheek to bolster his argument by reference to doing a search on the full to overflowing intertubes.
The internet is the future, indeed it's also the present, but history isn't on its side, at least not in Australia, because we already know that the Abbott government, aided and abetted by its quisling big Mal, has been instrumental in providing the worst possible solution available to wiring the country.
And the intertubes is the best friend of all of any small business with half a clue.
And there, redolent, and dripping with irony, is the manifest stupidity of the Abbott government and the chairman of its advisory council laid bare for all to see - at a pretty slow download rate, and at an abysmal upload rate ...
Truly, it's a national disgrace that the reptiles keep these kinds of insights behind their paywall ...
And so to a couple of Cathy Wilcox cartoons, and more Wilcox here.
Indeed, indeed. How did that Poe poem go?
A gallant Abbott,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old—
This Abbott so bold—
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied—
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
Or he could just take a day trip up to the Hunter Valley and the mountains of the moon and you'll find your Caterist El Dorado. That's where the finest small business activity can be observed from a plane: