(Above: and more lovingly grotesque Rowe here).
There's more than a whiff out and about this morning of grapeshot and of what the British Labor party experienced with Jeremy Corbyn ... the ABB factor.
Which is to say anyone but Blair, closely followed by anyone but Brown.
Right now the country is in deep ABA syndrome.
Anywhere you look it's a serious affair.
But that's Fairfax and they don't count. How goes it with the reptiles?
Dearie me, what to do?
Yes, remember to share the popcorn.
Now as the pressure mounts and the popcorn pops - the pond suggests just a little oil at the base of a large saucepan and then apply a little heat while gently shaking, it's so much better than microwave, but remember to keep the lid on, and yes the pond prefers icing sugar to butter and salt, it's an old Tamworth thing - the game is on everyone's lips.
And so on and on and on, as the runes and the tea leaves are inspected on an hourly basis.
The reptiles even felt the need to give away a story about the impending rumble in the Canberran jungle:
Desperate stuff! A snap election to save his hide? By golly the reptiles must be shipping their favourite triple strength kool aid direct to the PM's office.
Now confronted with this sort of crisis, there are some that will resort to fripperies and frivolities, and there are plenty around to indulge the indulgent.
There's the chief stenographer giving her dad and his protege a boost:
So touching. And then there's little Timmie Bleagghh, out and about, trying to outdo the Dutton in classy mutton:
Where would the world be without little Timmie's wonderful sensa huma - please, gentlemen, bring your boob jokes in to inspire the boobies to laughter - and where would the world be without another Bolter rant about the danger of him losing the chance to drink a good red while listening to an opera on the radiogram and scheming to buy a really good painting, one that would go with the furniture:
But the pond is made of sterner stuff than cheap Bleaagh jokes and another racist Bolter rant encouraging fear, loathing, hate and paranoia on a Monday morning.
You see, on tough days like these, the tough get going, and naturally the Oz editorialist immediately issued an edict from the Surry Hills bunker.
Because that's what coaches do. They do their best with the dunderhead thickheads they have in their team, because this is finals season, and even though it requires much repetition, a good coach will just keep banging together noggins in the hope of producing a result:
How many times over how many months have the reptiles scribbled in hope ... and in vain?
It's like watching a squirrel on its treadmill, pounding away ... but watch the pond must, in the sure fire way a train wreck or a bushfire will catch the eye ...
Oh no, not the anti-Christ Krugman himself. What dangerous alarmist stuff.
Why, all that's needed is a reshuffling of the deck chairs on the Titanic, with the Captain - he's done so well - still doing the Captain's picks ...
Each time the pond reads the reports from the bunker, it marvels at the power of the kool aid, and what do you know, there's plenty more to flow ...
Now as any coach knows, it's always good to talk up the team ... none of that nasty nattering negativity.
Nope, nope, nope, none of that, let's get on with the positivity and the positrons ...
Yes, everything's for the best, everything is on the up and up, and there seems to be just one fly in the reptile ointment ...
That line "That message will take skilled selling ..."
Because the team's just superabundant with skill, and masterly jokes that produce laughs all around the world ... or at least in little Timmie's dinosaur brain ...
Though frankly the pond was torn and thought that other line was equally wondrous:
Governments must return to the liberalising project they have unfortunately neglected for a decade.
Now in case you're not fluent in reptilese, that means making Chairman Rupert and the rich even richer, liberalising money from the poor and pensioners and bloody unionists to do it ...
Poor, hapless, wretched, useless, foolish, bungling inept reptiles ... you wouldn't even given them the job of coaching South Sydney or Richmond in these elimination times, would you?
And there you have it. If you made it to the end, grab yourself another bowl of popcorn, and don't forget the kool aid, and so to a few memes, because it irritates the reptiles so ...
No, no, no memesters, get it right, he has the Oz editorialist ... and now speaking of selling upbeat messages with skill, how has that helped him?