In which the commentariat strike more blows for climate change and seemly behaviour ...

(Above: the international conspiracy by scientists to generate unnecessary alarmist panic shifted to the Amazon this year, as you can read in Amazon's double dry spell worries scientists).

Judging by what Anglican bishop Browning said, we have a serious problem in Australian politics:

Anglican representative George Browning said the group wanted to assist politicians to create good legislation and the message to Ms Gillard was that the issue was a moral one.

He said caring for the environment was at the core of all faiths and agreed with former prime minister Kevin Rudd that the issue was the greatest moral challenge of our time. (Religious leaders back carbon tax).

The greatest moral challenge of our time?

Well now we must turn to that infallible guide on spiritual matters, Phillip Jensen as he explains how we are turned away from moral challenges and we consider the case of Tony "climate change is crap" Abbott:

Satan’s voice is not a baritone or a tenor but a liar. He is the deceiver and accuser of God and his people. To say somebody speaks with the voice of Satan is not to say that they are possessed or more morally perverted than anybody else, it’s just to recognise the source of their lies and the supernatural person whom they benefit by speaking such untruths. They may be leading academics or churchmen, teachers of another religion, actors or journalists; the devil is not discriminatory in whom he gets to tell his lies - the more high profile and popular the person the more likely to be used by Satan to lie to the public. (Hearing The Voice of Satan).

Could we have a serious problem here?

Of course we merely report in a fair and balanced way, and you decide as to who might be Satan's spawn this week, since after all, where would polite political debate be in this country without evoking the Devil and her works, or the sounds of miaowing cats?

Or is it the simple light-headedness of it being Friday?

Never mind, I see the elite international chardonnay sippers are turning alarmist yet again as they stir up trouble over water shortages:

The call for action coincides with one of the driest springs ever recorded in northern Europe. Fears have been raised that this could lead to power blackouts this northern summer, and the closure of nuclear reactors due to record low river levels. The exceptionally dry weather will also raise food prices and has already forced water restrictions on millions of people, say governments, farm groups and meteorological organisations across the continent. (Global 'water crisis' spurs high-end calls for action).

Dammit, will those European surrender monkeys never learn? Sure things might be tough in France (Farmers in crisis as worst drought in decades bites), but will they ever get as crook as things do in Tallarook.

If only the perfidious cheese-eating French paid attention to the House of Ming the Merciless, they'd realise this so-called water shortage is simply an international conspiracy by self-serving scientists in the pay of socialist governments.

Or perhaps it's just the routine climate change the dinosaurs experienced, and never mind that the dinosaurs aren't around so we can chat with them about their life-changing experiences ...

Is it any wonder that Bob Beale did a hearty 721 comments for the Fairfax mob by scribbling You are just plain wrong about climate change, Mr Jones?

Facts, Mr. Beale? Since when did facts constitute the reason for a debate in the lucky country?Consider yourself suitably admonished by the astonishing assortment of loons and ferals, too many to countenance or argue with, who came out to rain on your soggy parade.

Naturally, it being Friday, desiccated Henry Ergas sorts out Ross Garnaut in Assertions fly thick and fast:

... the The Coal Question was entirely wrong. Britain did not run out of coal in 1900: indeed, it is unlikely to do so in 2100. Little wonder The Coal Question is long forgotten. Could its fate be this report's future?

What a clever retort to the question of climate change science.

We're never going to run out of coal, just like Britain, and so climate change will be long forgotten as we go on enjoying our bountiful supply of coal long into the future. Oh the joys of big coal ...

Enough already, let's turn to more sober matters, since quoting Phillip Jensen on Satan might engender some sympathy for Tony Abbott.

Hang on this is loon pond, and sobriety even on a Friday is against Godwin's Law. Wasn't Hitler a vegetarian and a dog lover, in much the same way as Tasmanian senator David Bushby is clearly a cat lover ... with a mrroaw mrroaw here and a mrroaw mrroaw there.

Yes, we can't resist stepping into the kitty litter, but only because Dennis Shanahan patiently explains in Desperate Labor grasping at straws how the good senator's "silly, childishly insulting behaviour" is actually all the fault of the Labor party and in particular Penny Wong. If only she'd said nothing in response to his childishly insulting remark, all would have been well.

Indeed, everything would be well in the body politic if the Labor party simply stopped attacking Liberals in general. It's got so its become an obsession:

Indeed, Labor's obsession with attacking Abbott and trying to hyperventilate Liberal tensions between Malcolm Turnbull and Joe Hockey are clear indications of a reliance on trying to damage the opposition rather than promote the government's own agenda when it is virtually paralysed by a lack of anything to say about the carbon tax.

What shocking politicised behaviour! And now the wretches have indulged in desperate exploitation of a stupid catcall from a hitherto unremarked senator.

The pond has even heard it suggested that the Labor party might have put the idea in to David Bushby's head - to miaow like a dumb puss - so that they could desperately exploit his stupidity, not realising that this overly clever ploy would see themselves unveiled as desperate in the eyes of Shanahan.

It seems Labor might have also been responsible for the 'bitch witch' placards at recent demonstrations featuring Tony Abbott, such is their relentless exploitation of his misogyny:

It's a game plan that goes beyond the bounds of understandable reactions to being insulted with catcalls or nasty and derogatory placards at demonstrations to which both Wong and Gillard have been subjected.

Now you might think it a simple matter - avoid associating with placards or miaowing like a dumb puss - and Labor would find it hard to tag Abbott and his merry men as a party inclined to misogyny, but then you'd fail to grasp the deeper paranoid delusional game plan at work in Dennis Shanahan's mind.

Because you see, a miaow is just another word for mincing poodle, and it's all a sign of a flailing government:

... the tactic of executing a ruthless political campaign with nothing more in mind than damaging an opponent was emblematic of the government's shortage of anything positive or definitive to say in parliament.

You could of course flip this comment:

... the tactic of executing a ruthless political campaign with nothing more in mind than damaging an opponent was emblematic of the opposition's shortage of anything positive or definitive to say in parliament.

Let alone say something intelligent about climate change science.

But then you wouldn't be Dennis Shanahan. Or a member of the commentariat for The Australian.

You might be a reader in search of balance or enlightenment or actual insight.

Well as we used to say in an entirely non-sexist way in Tamworth, tough titty to that.

The absent lord knows, we're desperately short of class in the current political crop, but it takes some gobsmacking, breathtaking, cheerleading to attribute the current tone to the government alone, as if Abbott is some kind of altar boy in proceedings, not least for the role he played in gazumping the Speaker, only to realise he might have gazumped himself into losing a couple of key votes, courtesy of arcane procedural point scoring.

If you want this toe-shooting turned into some kind of testament to Abbott's skills, you only have to read Shanahan:

It was Abbott who moved parliament's first motion of confidence in a Speaker and a shaken Gillard who had to second the motion to save the Speaker and perhaps her government.

Uh huh. Yet it was Abbott who'd drop votes if the deputy Slipper slipped into the chair and so a shaken Abbott rushed to move a first motion of confidence in the Speaker.

We might have voted in the current crop all on our own, but somewhere, some deluded soul is paying good hard cash to read the political cheerleading of Shanahan, dressed up as commentary. Pity them ...

Now for some good news. Weird, perverted types who like to listen late at night to Radio National will notice that there has been a drop in twee references to 'gladdi' listeners, and to the talking over of what guests might have had to say, before said guests realised that the interviewer was much more knowledgeable and insightful, and so they shut up and listened to the guru of the mike.

There's also been a corresponding drop in references to how the interviewer has been doing radio for twenty years, knows many important people intimately, still hankers for the return of former Chairman Rudd, believes in navel and Labor party gazing in search of fluff, and was uniquely responsible for the establishment of the Australian film industry.

There's also been a corresponding increase in information to be gleaned, in civilised discourse, and in a polite wrap up and farewells which suggests the host has radio manners and a sense of timing, as well as a capacity to ask intelligent questions.

Yes, Mark Colvin has taken over from Phillip Adams and is in the chair for a few weeks. Get it while you can, here. It won't last and soon the insufferable Adams will be back from China and curing insomnia like a Filipino faith healer.

Damn you Colvin, I should be nodding off, getting ready for an early morning start, not staying awake and listening to Late Night Live ...

Finally, here's an invitation for casual visitors to the pond to do a little math.

The Orkopoulos whistleblower in NSW copped $435,000 for her troubles (here) - and nothing wrong with that - while in WA, a deaf mute man sent down for a 1959 murder, subsequently declared innocent and the victim of a substantial miscarriage of justice, copped $425,000 for fifteen years spent in jail (here).

That's 28k and a bit for each year for the 15 years served behind bars, until the state finally got around to recognising that the confession of one of Australia's most notorious serial killers might actually be true ...

The poor bugger only asked for 500k and they had to shave him 75k, like it was some kind of bargain basement discount store, and they just knew the man would buckle and accept the deal ... (here)

Mineral boom in WA? Home to billionaires doing it hard in these troubled mining tax times?

By golly, by the pond's maths, they're the stingiest pack of bastards doing the rounds ...

And now in response to the elevated tone of political discourse and political commentary, we turn to the views of Edward Lear:

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are."
Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing.
O let us be married, too long we have tarried;
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?"
Said the Piggy, "I will"
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

(Below: and now, in a shameless trawling bid for hits, the pond descends into the lolcat abyss yet again. Oh the horror, the horror, and it's only vaguely relevant and completely unjustified. Sounds like the commentariat in The Australian, though if you've ever suffered through a man's sly innuendoes and put downs and the miaows and the whistles and the stares and the insufferable excuses that follow, there's a tendency to say enough of the shit already).