Piers Akerman, and how a double agent plays the iron bar game ...

(Above: the wild man of Wollondilly, still punching on since his last punch up was reported in the punch drunk The Punch, Australia's punchiest conversation, here).

If for a lark you spend too much time on the pond perusing the digital papers, likely as not perversity and cynicism will come to the fore.

There, for example, is the Sun Herald leading with a poll suggesting that support for a republic has slumped to a sixteen year low, in Not ready for a republic? Well, we are amused.

It turns out of course that quite a few respondents were following the line that it would be quite polite to wait until the current incumbent fell off the perch, dropped off the twig so to speak - we mean no disrespect or treasonous talk, since time and tide waits not even for monarchs - and when the talking tampon or one of his brood saunters to centre stage, things might be reviewed.

Even so, it's the kind of poll driven journalism that then allows Paul Daley to yammer on endlessly in Public passion for a republic is waning about the current role of Quentin Bryce, even dragging in the ghost of 1975, as if the situation was somehow comparable. Well we have to have the digital ether filled to overflowing somehow, and Public passion for a republic is waning does the job nicely.

Meanwhile, stand by for some journalist to scribble another negative attack on politicians for producing poll driven policies. Can somebody some day produce a column attacking poll driven columns?

That said, we're pleased to see that the pond's campaign to ensure the talking tampon ascends the throne of Australia is working well, unless fortuitously it turns out to be the polo playing militarist or the Nazi uniform loving younger chappies, who will no doubt do the job just as splendidly. Which is to provide the motivation for a debate on a republic, in preference to having the English elite rule the antipodes. Ain't it grand how the elitists who deplore elites just love their English elites ...

But enough talk of the royal circus, because you see, we don't need any help staging a circus, and thanks to Alby Schultz, the circus goes on, as reported in the Sunday Telegraph, another Sunday rag whose intelligence is in inverse proportion to its weight, in Angry Lib heavies king makers.

It seems Alby's idea of a negotiation - perhaps he's intent on taking over Wilson Tuckey's mantle - is to ring someone up and abuse the shit out of them. Pull your bloody head in, you mug rural lairs, he's reported to have said, or words to that effect, and a fine old result he produced:

"There's been some stupid stuff coming out of them," he said.

"Fancy talking about combining the two parties. I've never heard anything so stupid in my life.

"They've had their moment of glory. It's time to start thinking about where they stand and stop being a disruptive force.

Mr Schultz said he had spoken to two independents and followed up with a repeat call on Friday. He refused to say who he called, but Mr Windsor complained he had been threatened by a Liberal MP on Friday.

The threats prompted a quick apology from Mr Abbott.

Yes, in much the same way as the talking tampon campaign has alienated a few old chums, so I've become a reviled and belittled figure for suggesting that it would be quite grand to see Tony Abbott get into bed with the independents, and spend a year at the helm. Not that it seems likely, given the way Ironbar Alby is going about his business, and Abbott's own willingness to reach for the ironbar, and stop his costings from reaching the government, as well as the public. Yes there's nothing like honesty in budget to set a benchmark, provided no one sees the actual costings.

Naturally with these feuds festering it was time to consult the golden oracle, one Akker Dakker, known to the world in his ordinary Clark Kent guise as Piers Akerman, and sadly ignored by the pond during the election campaign because of his totally tedious, boring and predictable predictability.

Of course you've guessed it. Hot off the ether phone from Alby, channeling his thoughts like they shared ectoplasm in a very intimate way, perhaps dangling from their noses, what with all the frothing and fuming, Akker Dakker gets out the iron bar, the baseball bat, and the jemmy, and hoes into the naughty independents in Ambush by the Five Amigos.

It turns out, inevitably, that Julia Gillard is a slut, no let me re-phrase that, since she's a professional. It turns out that Julia Gillard is a cheap hooker:

Caretaker prime minister Julia Gillard has well and truly prostituted Labor with her premature leap to satisfy whatever demands the independents are making.

She has gone well beyond tugging the forelock in a manner quite unbefitting the dignity of the holder of the top office in the land and shamelessly trailed her coat to a group who represent an exceedingly small percentage of the nation as she tries to rescue whatever is possible from what was undeniably a disastrous election from her point of view.

That's no lady, that's a politician.

As always with Akker Dakker it's an elevated discourse, whether talking of tugging the forelock, or trailing the coat like a flirtatious Hollywood vamp baring the shoulder (we discount the alternative actual dictionary definition of inviting a quarrel by deliberately provocative behaviour, here, as words and phrases will mean what we want them to mean, thanks to Humpty Dumpty and Akker Dakker).

Naturally confronted with a professionally sluttish hooker, the feeble minded independents are likely to act like men on heat, cats on the roof top, cats with piles, and want to play footsie:

If they succumb to Gillard’s flattery and wish to play footsie with the ALP they should be prepared to endure the revulsion of those who have shown them support - for little return - over the years.

Play footsie! Like a Republican in an airport toilet!

As usual, it's all the fault of the electorate for not voting for team players, but preferring a masochistic devotion to outsiders, inept ones at that.

The current demands from the independents for information, much of it available during the course of the election campaign, reflects their disappointing indifference to their jobs.

Quite. Of course Tony Abbott made his costings freely available to anyone who cared to ask, except for those in the country who had the temerity to ask, because these prattlers demanding information didn't understand that releasing such top secret classified information would hinder a major police investigation.

But do go on Akker Dakker, about these wretched independents:

The bloc’s most mature member, Windsor, served 10 years in the NSW parliament and has spent nine years in Canberra.

Katter had eight years in the Queensland parliament and has been in Canberra since 1993. Oakeshott served 12 years as a NSW MP before going federal two years ago.

They have neither adorned nor disgraced the federal parliament, but they have not contributed anything of note.

Quite. I've always found the best tactic with men is to accuse them of being hopeless, wretched types with the character of teapots and always inclined to go after, in their mindless gander-like way, coat trailing sluts of the most hookerish kind. When it's put like that to a man - preferably after a bottle of wine has been downed - they become quite reasonable, and are inclined to do anything I tell them to do, the skirt chasing clowns.

Now they are united in their belief in stability in government. How admirable.

But they are making their pitch to a party riven with poisonous divisions at every level.

Yes, by crikey, and if they're not home from the pub or the club in reasonable time, they'd better be ready for a bloody burnt roast, overcooked potatoes, and beans stripped of all flavour after being boiled for an hour. By crikey, if I have to send Alby and Akker Dakker down to the pub to collect them, they should get ready for a good boxing of their tone deaf ears ...

Yep, it's impossible not to get cynical and perverse on the pond. The way the politics is being run, and way the commentariat commentators are howling, I've never seen such a fierce determined effort to herd the hapless indie chooks, amigos if you will, into the arms of ... Labor ...

It makes the likes of Akker Dakker, ranting about a new collectivist dark age and sluts and trollops and independent dummies and ganders who should just roll over and vote for Alby and Tony, seem like a finely placed double agent, determined to create as much mischief as they can while herding the sheep towards a new collectivist dark age ...

... the nation cannot afford to be delivered into the hands of those who would welcome a new collectivist dark age.

Dearie me, will someone give that paranoid a nice cup of tea and a good lie down. It's hard work herding the sheep towards a glorious future with Tony ... and Alby ... and Barners ... not to mention Jolly Joe and the whole jolly team who get along so well together ...

Which is why, no matter that it alienates friends and family, we must maintain our campaign for the talking tampon to ascend the throne, and Alby and Akker Dakker to be granted their deepest slutty desires, along with iron bar and gold leaf for elevated political discourse ...

(Below: and now, since the pond believes in elevated political discussions, here's some advice for the independents on How Flirting Works, and How to Play Footsie, thanks be unto Akker Dakker for leading the elevated way).