In which the pond is back to offer advice, and to offer a fine sampling of the bromancer, Killer Creighton and reheated Dame Slap (always use the magic science oven) ...

 

There was the pond, trapped in a car somewhere on the Hume, keen to dole out free advice - the pond is always keen to offer free advice - and no way to offer it.

Instead the pond had to cluck its tongue and listen to the news and gaze out at the desolate countryside, and mourn the missed chances.

Take Lachy, doing the Putin manoeuvre. 

Say he wins his action, scores squillions and destroys Crikey. What then? Why he's cast himself in the role of a bestial Goliah, thrashing a minnow, and we all know how that went down in terms of PR. 

If he wins, he'll be subject to scorn and ridicule. But what if he loses? Why, he'll be subject to scorn and ridicule.

And in the meantime, the cartoonists will have a field day ...

And then there was an incoherent Sussan Ley out and about, and attempting to defend, or at least distract from, the indefensible. 

The pond can forgive Sussan for not knowing how to spell Susan - the things that parents do to their children - but why bother defending monstrous stupidity? 

If the potato head had the strength and guts sometimes attributed to plods in toad land, he would have asked the speaker in tongues to get lost, and if the Liberals lost the Shire, what the heck, he'd shown he was a David and would be up to the job of a bold and brave PM, a gallant knight gaily bedight ready to slaughter sundry Goliaths (News Corp and Lachy excluded)...

Instead, yesterday the reptiles were filled with a caterwauling from Dame Slap, and a "Ned" natter ...

Yes, there was the oscillating fan, full of snide condescension, begging us to spare a thought for the pitiful suffering of the plod ... and Sussan, please note, the cartoonists were having a field day ...

Sheesh, two immortal Rowes in a row ... that's what happens when you're trapped in car on Hume and saving up your Rowes for a rainy day, and it turns out that in Melbourne there are plenty of rainy days...

Meanwhile, what a relief to be able to avoid "Ned's" natter about the voice, because it turns out that the bromancer has solved that pesky, difficult business in Russia ... in a style worthy of a Sherlock Holmes, with many deductions and much nuttery ...

Before the pond gets into the logicality of the many possibilities with the bromancer doing the logical song, speaking of nutters Lachy ...

And at the top of that piece was a snap of a nutty Putin lover, who resides in your stable ... almost too Augean to contemplate ...

Sorry, enough of the conspiracy and hate, US style, on with the bromancer doing his deducting ... without really having the first clue as to who might have done it, but enjoying the chance for a little idle speculation ...

What a splendid series of deductions and what talk of highly developed paranoia, enough to make you wonder why a Lachy might be tempted to take on a minnow.

Before the bromancer gets to talk about breathtakingly mad nutters, how about this breathtakingly mad nutter Lachy?

Nigel Farage? Did you know you had a quisling surrender monkey Putin lover in your stables Lachy?

Sorry, no links, the pond never inflicts the full amount of crap on anyone, they must find it for themselves, but it does help put the bromancer's deducting in perspective ...

Speaking of demented right wingers, Killer Creighton was back in town this day, and doing his best to put in a kind word for the increasingly demented mango Mussolini ...

Dear sweet long absent lord, did the reptiles really think that image of a crazed loon clutching a rabid flag was the right way for them to set the tone for Killer's piece?

On second thoughts, they were probably right, but there was the pond, trapped in car and keen to offer advice, and clutching a two dollar law degree from an online supplier, ready to serve, and as well qualified as the Donald's current team, when there was much chortling about this ...

Speaking of shooting yourself in the foot, when you've got Killer Creighton on the team, you may as well aim for the temple ...

Ah speaking of attacking your political enemies, Killer, completely lacking any sense of irony, proceeds to show that a journalist at News Corp has one main function ... attack your political enemies ...

Why is the pond surprised by all of this, or the supposedly sharp jab at Hunter at the end? Well that's what happens Lachy when you allow dimwits of the Killer kind to look for way too long at Faux Noise and get a hefty dose of the kool-aid ...

The pond apologises for mangling that Crikey piece, and to make amends it offers reheated Dame Slap from yesterday, and yes, the pond did use a magic science oven.

It's true that a serve of reheated Dame Slap is about as appealing as a plate of stale fush and chups (a nod to the Kiwi readership), but damn it, the pond loves it when the Dame - who clearly hates the speaker in tongues  - has to writhe on the spit, as she seeks to turn the hate on to someone, anyone else ... is there social media in the house?

Anyone can see the rich irony in this. Dame Slap speaking of greater political instability and societal distrust and ultimately political collapse, when she has done much to help the cause, and she works for an American company which routinely sells discord and collapse as a way of making a buck ... not much different from Alex Jones peddling supplements ...

Oh Lachy, Lachy (that sounds very much like lackey, lackey), if only the pond had been on hand to offer advice before the cartoonists started to make out like bandits. Is that a defamatory comparison?

The pond should probably note at this point that the reptiles loaded up Dame Slap's piece with click bait videos, all of which had to be carefully neutralised, as you might do with a mine in a war movie, but in between there was some pure Dame Slap gold, which resonated with that Crikey piece about Covid ... as Dame Slap channels essence of undiluted Killer Creighton - Covid, pshaw - to stick in the stiletto heel ...

Note the distilled essence of billy goat buttism out and about in that "that said". 

There's Dame Slap, sounding most agitated about bullies and weaklings getting speaker in tongues sand kicked in their faces - where's Charles Atlas when he's needed? - and suddenly we all need to settle down, and a shame job is enough? Yes, it was time to crank back the Dame Slap outrage machine, and seek a distraction from the follies ...

And so on to a final irony in a piece replete with them ...

Social media outrage from a loon who spends all her time on a platform incentivised to incite outrage?

It's too rich, really, a woman who donned the MAGA cap and blathered about the UN using climate science to introduce world government by Xmas carrying on about performative outrage ...

What a loon she is, but how right of the pond to run into overtime in order not to miss this gem ...

And so to a few sights, this time the old Liberty Theatre in Yass, in a somewhat sorry state ...

There was however one bit of joy, because for the moment there's a book store in the building, and up in the top right hand corner of the shelf in the window was a plate celebrating the return of Halley's comet in 1986 ... and yet something stopped the pond from adding to its litter of collectables ...