Friday, August 05, 2016

In which the grieving reptiles encourage a delusional narcissist, and it's not just former Chairman Rudd ... it's Moorice too ...

Usually Friday is a quiet day at the herpetarium, but this day the reptiles are in a right royal spin. 

If one were to grotesquely abuse the word "insightful", the insights revealed today say a lot about the reptiles and much less about the world.

First up there's an insanely long, grotesquely absurd interview with former chairman Rudd, put together at interminable length by Paul "Ned" Kelly and one Pamela Williams, who dubs herself an "investigative journalist" in Sydney, though what's investigative about sitting down with a notorious narcissist who can't stop talking about himself is something of a mystery to the pond ...

Never mind, the takeaway impression is probably not the one that Ned and investigator Pamela might have been hoping for. The man is revealed to be - yet again - a full-on delusional, as well as a snake in the grass and a back-biter, and out of all of the guff, the pond came away with only one richly comic line, presented with a straight face:

Mr. Rudd said he felt at this time his prospect of securing the post of UN secretary-general was "very reasonable".

Oh the jaffas rolled down the aisle with that one ...

Being a blog of record of reptile doings, the pond might get around to running the whole nonsense at some point, just to ensure the pond has as much readership as the reptiles, which is to say nada, zip and falling,  but first as a site dedicated to the analysis of reptile excretia - in the sense semper in excretia, solon profundum variat - the pond began to wonder what was going on.

What was the hidden reptile game, because the reptiles always play the game with some point. Confused, contradictory and ultimately self-defeating, but the dear things always think there's a point to it.

The google splash for the story gave no clue to the real point or purpose of the story ...

Well yes, Rudd tells all, and there was a breathless hush in the close at the thought of an interminable yammering about key details at four - count them, four! - meetings, but Rudd has been telling all, ever since he told all repeatedly and behind closed doors against hapless Julia Gillard.

In fact shutting him up is like trying to shut the gate after the entire contents of the back paddock has bolted.

What was the real point? Luckily there was a clue in the reptiles' digital splash ...

Look, there in the fine print, below the proud boast of EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW and Rudd tells all ...

It's a Moorice story!!

A "sink the boots into Malware" Moorice story. And only for the nth time ...

It suddenly became clear to the pond. The reptiles didn't really give a flying fuck about former chairman Rudd and his fate. Everyone knew the world had dodged a bullet with Chairman Rudd being given a red card, a pink slip, a "you're fired" notice ...

He was just a useless tool, or at best a useful fool, who could be used to give Malware's ears a good boxing, and that's why they called the master of the arts, the world's leading climate scientist, to have his say ...

And the real purpose became very clear in the google splash for the story, with the right header ...

What better way to prove that Turnbull wasn't up to being PM, what better way to prove that Turnbull was erratic, egocentric and divisive than to wheel out an erratic, egocentric, divisive former chairman, and then unleash the Moorice kraken ... 

Talk about being boxed in with nowhere to go ...

Naturally the pond understood that it was ultimately a fiendishly clever, diabolically cunning plan by the reptiles to whip up some sympathy for Malware, of the kind the pond routinely felt for Julia Gillard as the hounds ran close over the moors and the rabbit began to feel the snapping teeth and the hot breath on the back of the neck ...

But enough of The Hound of the Abbottvilles, a rare and now obscure work by Sir Arthur Conan Kraken, because it was time to get down and dirty with Moorice ...

Now the pond can hear the groans and the sighing, and readers rushing elsewhere, or perhaps a sympathetic reader providing interesting data on why newspaper readership was in a total dive to oblivion, but there's rich pickings in all this.

Look for a start at Moorice's definition of successful leaders. You know, onion munchers with empathy and a common touch, like restoring British knighthoods so that colonials might jump for joy around the barbie. And manage such genius with an appropriately humble touch, while willingly burying the hatchet ...

In the way that Moorice and the reptiles love to bury the hatchet in the back of Malware's neck. Forget the icepick, far too subtle. Only a decent sized hatchet ...

And so it's on with the rest of the hatcheting ...

Okay, the pond will confess. It almost worked. The pond did feel a twinge of sympathy for Malware ... at least until we checked our download speed and wondered when we might have broadband connected to the house.

What's astonishing is how long the grieving and the wailing and the sackcloth and ashes over the wall punching onion muncher still goes on ... 

It reminds the pond of its ancient grandmother, who in traditional peasant fashion, donned black the day her husband died, and stayed in black until the day she died ... well if it was good enough for Queen Victoria, it was good enough for the lumpenproletariat in Tamworth ...

It reminded the pond that this sort of reptile moaning and sighing and carry-on could go on and on for endless years ...

Nobody outside the cosseted, cloistered, indulged, mollycoddled world of the reptiles really cares. 

Does anyone want to read a psychotherapeutic session between two reptiles and the former chairman?

Even the pond blanched at the notion of so much quality time in company with such a profound narcissist.

Does anyone really want to read Moorice disgorging yet again his man love for the onion muncher and his man hate for Malware?

Never mind, the pond emerged thankful from the exercise.

At least the world dodged a bullet when Malware told former Chairman Rudd he wasn't going to be hired.

Besides, the world has other bullets to dodge, and much bigger and more potent ones, as astutely noted by David Rowe, and more excellent Rowe here ...


  1. The muse inspired me, DP and out popped this little thing:

    Day by day,
    In every way,
    The LNP's folly
    Is on display.

    I thought that, given his enduring contributions to the pond, it would make a grand wall poster for the Moorice - with gold frame of course - for his office (if he still has one), or maybe above his bed.

    1. Perhaps GB, the second verse should include a few lines on how only the onion muncher and his astute business adviser can fix it ...

    2. Umm, well ok, I importuned the muse, who contributed this:

      A veggie bruncher,
      The onion muncher
      But Fixit Tones
      Is a power luncher.

      And also this:

      Showing his balls
      By punching walls
      The Mighty Abbott
      He never palls.

      Would that be an elegant sufficiency for Moorice, d'you reckon DP ?

    3. Ooops, I forgot to include Moorice, didn't I. Oh well hwere goes:

      A wondrous plan
      To have the man
      Mysto-magical Moorice
      Reunite the clan.

      Though a little bent
      From whence he went
      Marvellous Moorice
      Is heaven sent.

  2. The bore Kelly does not deserve the knickname "Ned".
    Ned is an Aussie legend, Paul "Liver Spots" Kelly is just an old fart looking for an arsehole to escape from.


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