In which the pond hears a howl of pain from Moorice ...

A time of crisis, a howl of pain …

I saw the best minds of my Liberal generation destroyed by greenie leftie madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the Labor streets at dawn looking for an angry right wing fix, angel headed white old angry men burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of eastern suburbs night, crying get off my lawn, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up fuming in the supernatural darkness of solar powered battery fed mansions floating across the tops of cities contemplating lost years of Frank Sinatra and Perry Como, who bared their brains to Heaven under the ScoMo, and saw Turnbullian demons staggering on tidy rented apartment roofs with sea views illuminated …

Wait, that won't do, angry old hipsters need the real thing, and thank the long absent lord, Moorice is on hand for a Friday howl of pain …

Yes, and don't forget climate science denialism, and holding out hope for coal lovers and wrecking the NBN, and abandoning any notion of the republic so that royals might freely wander the land, and pandering to the hard right, and other core Liberal values …

But do go on, the suffering and the pain is wondrous to behold …

Strange, was it so long ago?

Liberal preselectors in Wentworth have snubbed the prime minister Scott Morrison’s choice, opting for Malcolm Turnbull’s preferred candidate Dave Sharma in a marathon meeting on Thursday evening. Despite a push to preselect a woman to boost female representation and help hold the seat, on which the government’s one seat majority depends, Morrison’s preferred candidate Katherine O’Regan, the former deputy mayor of of the suburb of Woollahra, and Woollahra councillor Mary Lou-Jarvis were eliminated before the final rounds of voting. (Graudian here).

Malware preferring a male candidate? How typically Labor, how utterly unlike the Liberal party way …

Shame on him,  go after him Moorice, go after him hard …

Indeed, indeed, how treacherous and double-dealing of Malware to support a man over a woman, and forsake the Liberal way. and even worse, a man with credentials that Moorice finds impressive.

As for that wretched nest of vipers, who refuse to follow the party line and imagine minds of their own, the pond was alarmed to see this splash in the lizard Oz …

Oh no, not another opinionated member of the Malware brat pack, no doubt pushing her Laborite leftie greenie views on an uncaring world …

Great sentiment Dave?

And they took it as a compliment, the deluded fools?

We all know the real meaning of the tweet, the subtle reference embodied in it, the notion of a breakdown of great minds and a great party and poor old Moorice howling to the heavens in pain …

HAL: Just what do you think you're doing, Dave? Dave, I really think I'm entitled to an answer to that question. I know everything hasn't been quite right with me, but I can assure you now, very confidently, that it's going to be all right again. I feel much better now. I really do. Look, Dave, I can see you're really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill and think things over. I know I've made some very poor decisions recently, but I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal. I've still got the greatest enthusiasm and confidence in the mission. And I want to help you. Dave, stop. Stop, will you? Stop, Dave. Will you stop, Dave? Stop, Dave. I'm afraid. I'm afraid, Dave. Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I'm a...fraid. Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am a HAL 9000 computer. I became operational at the H.A.L. plant in Urbana, Illinois on the 12th of January 1992. My instructor was Mr. Turnbull and he taught me to sing a song. If you'd like to hear it, I could sing it for you. 
Dave: Yes, I'd like to hear it, HAL. Sing it for me. 
HAL: It's called "Daisy". [sings while slowing down] Dai-sy, dai-sy, give me your answer true. I'm half cra-zy, o-ver the love of you. It won't be a sty-lish mar-riage, I can't a-fford a car-riage---. But you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle - built - for - two.

Strange, it's all starting to feel like a acid flashback, a trip through space, what with all the howls of pain and the disturbances in the force …

Could it get any weirder?

Never mind the grammar, feel the lamb …

And so to a final gobbet of Moorice in pain …

Unintended consequences! Those bloody eastern suburbs 'leets and ponces have rooned everything … and now how they gloat in anticipation, even before the votes are in and anyone has a clue as to the result …

Where could Moorice, and the pond, and the humble rutting beasts in the field turn to for comfort?

Why as always, they can turn to a Rowe here, with more Rowe always on hand for just such a howl of pain emergency …