And now let's hear it for Akker Dakker, a real contender for whinger of the year ...

(Above: a nice image of attack dog of the year, found at North Coast Voices).

In the end, it had to be, and it was inevitable, and right, and true, and just ...and yet ... and yet ...

Of course Tony Abbott was a shoo-in to win Mike Carlton's Australian Whinger of the Year award, as Carlton explains in To those who put a whine in our strine.

Oh there were honourable mentions a plenty - well-earned by Scott Morrison, shadow minister for Xenophobia, and Whiney "Poodles" Pyney - but the result had all the inevitability of a Greek tragedy, or Manly winning the rugby league competition in a game no one outside New South Wales and Queensland cares about.

And yet, and yet ... really Carlton should have allowed some sub-categories. After all, the game is bigger than the individual, and anyone who takes the field is surely a winner, as we all are winners when Whingers get going in the Whining stakes, and even the losers get a medal just for showing up.

Surely there should have been a category for Media Whinger of the year, perhaps Newspaper commentariat whinger of the Year, certainly Newspaper Whinger of the Year and Shock Jock whinger of the year, and a sub-category Political whinger of the year for politicians other than Tony Abbott ...

Isn't that the whole point of handicapping favourites? Wouldn't Abbott be content with Attack Dog of the Year? Foxes and day-old chickens a speciality ...

How could Alan Jones leave the tally room without even a ribbon for his effort in Canberra? After all, it worked for Mollie in Animal Farm (forgive the pond for having an Orwellian moment):

Mollie, who has been avoiding work more and more, is found to have been accepting gifts of ribbon and sugar from one of the men on the neighbouring farm. Shortly afterwards she disappears, and is said to be pulling a cart in the town. No one on the farm ever sees her again, and she is never mentioned again.

Now if only Jones could be persuaded with ribbons and sugar to disappear forever ...

And what about the honest toilers in the field, like Piers 'Akker Dakker' Akerman?

Look at this exemplary effort in Self-righteous sneerers caught in The Guardian's twisted web.

At a time when the rest of the world has been focussed on a delicious email to James Murdoch, and his response ...

Yes, at a time when the hounds are barking loudly, as in James Murdoch looks lonelier after week of probes, Is James Murdoch Running Out of Denials? (careful, link is to notorious leftist newspaper), Colin Myler: I have no cause to doubt that key email was held up for Murdoch (careful, link is to notorious leftist newspaper, contamination may ensue) ...

Yes, at a time when the denials and the cover-ups of the cover-ups of the cover-up are looking flakier by the day, and the whole sordid Murdoch veneer is lifting to reveal the stained, broken chipboard morality at work underneath, Akker Dakker holds firm:

When The Guardian expressed its outrage after its confected scoop, the British government launched an inquiry and Rupert Murdoch closed the NOTW, part of the News Corporation group to which this newspaper and website also belongs.

Yes, a great British newspaper practising quality journalism in the noble Murdoch way was shut down because of a confected scoop, and never mind the settlements or the examples of the phone hacking, just seize on the one matter of whether messages were deleted from a missing girl's mobile phone by minions of Murdoch or by automated technology.

Never mind that the minions of Murdoch might have hacked into the phone. What's a little hacking when it comes to quality journalism?

After all this sort of analysis works well for climate science. All Akker Dakker has to do is note that it's been unseasonably cold in Sydney this week, or stand on a beach and pronounce the level of the water the same as when he was a child, and the blistering insight stands as a complete denunciation of the science.

n much the same way, the pond routinely looks to the horizon, denounces fools who claim to see a slight curvature of the earth on the Hay plain, and pronounces the world flat, and tell me, what on earth is wrong with that methodology? Any fool can see the moon is a flat disc hanging in the sky, and if you look hard enough you can see the cheese and the cow ...

But back to The Guardian, which Akker Dakker assures us should be known as the Grauniad (oh he recycles Private Eye so cleverly), and such is his desire to get his knickers in a twist, that he also gets his logic into a little twist. You see he's outraged at there being a media inquiry in Australia. After all, Akker loathes Julia Gillard and her puppet master Bob Brown with a ferocity that might be frightening if you didn't realise he was just an empty vessel clanging loudly:

Prime Minister Julia Gillard gave Greens leader Bob Brown his wish and launched an inquiry into Australian media, saying there were "hard questions" to answer.

And indeed, by evidence of Akker Dakker's own pen, there might well be mischief afoot:

In Victoria, the offices of The Age, also known as the Spencer St Soviet, were raided by officers of the e-crime squad investigating allegations that Fairfax reporters had hacked into the ALP's electronic database, accessing confidential personal details of tens of thousands of Victorians including former police commissioner Simon Overland, barrister Peter Faris QC and radio presenters Neil Mitchell and Jon Faine.

Uh huh. Now any sensible impartial observer might deplore the behaviour of the Murdoch press in the UK, and worry whether there is evidence for similar behaviour in Australia, especially if it involves the Age hacking into a database, which if proven would suggest that an inquiry inspired by the UK events came just in the nick of time.

But that would be to reckon without the pugnacious aggressive way of Akker Dakker:

She must have based them on The Guardian's falsehoods, Fairfax's reprints and the ABC's indignation. Who says this isn't a banana republic?

You see, in a leap and a bound, James Murdoch and the News of the World run wild and free, exonerated of any guilt, what with the charges being based on The Guardian's falsehoods, and never mind Rupert Murdoch's admissions of guilt and hefty pay-outs, while everything else is the fault of Fairfax and the ABC, and never mind the hefty competition for Newspaper whinger of the year award waged between the Daily Terror, the HUN and The Australian, with The Australian a clear winner ...

Now that takes class and a complete lack of logic, and it's to Mike Carlton's shame that he only gives Akker Dakker a mention in passing ...

Yet the public love Akker Dakker. Why at the time of writing, Akker Dakker's piece had a single, solitary note from a fan, one Peter of Adelaide, who can see the truth as Akker Dakker sees it:

The Left has certainly done very serious damage to Australia. This includes the Age, smh, the ABC and the Guardian. Thanks for exposing more of these disasters.

Indeed it's simply impossible to calculate the infinite damage The Guardian has done to Australia, but somehow a certified master black belt of whinging like Akker Dakker will find a way ...

Now let's just do a word count for Akker Dakker's more recent piece, New Labor cabinet but the cupboard still bare ....

Incompetent, weak, indecisive, comic book character, rug from under feet, real foment, putsches, grumbling, faceless men, fell out of love, idle hands of the Devil, and have a merry Christmas.

Feel free to use any term of abuse in your office party if some fool has bungled it and organised it for the final week of work ...

If not Whinger of the Year, then surely Dyspeptic Grumbler ...

What we especially love is the very professional way that Akker Dakker adopts the position of Iago in relation to Othello, or perhaps Machiavelli in relation to the world. Wish your figure of fear and loathing a merry Xmas, and while leaning in close to give them a Xmas peck on the cheek, drop a little mercury into the ear ...

Now that's the Murdoch way ... and it's to Mike Carlton's eternal disgrace that he fails to recognise such wondrous skills ...

Meanwhile, on with our series of slippery slope analogies relating to gay marriage, and who can forget in childhood being exposed to the dangerous material below, which holds up a kind of bestial miscegenation, or is it a variant of zoophilia for children to admire?

Yes, it's the slippery slope, unimaginably perverted, and according to all the evidence in the pond's hands, either the direct fault of gay marriage or Edward Lear. Take your pick, but recoil in horror at these deviant expressions of love.

Oh Senator Conroy, won't someone think of the children:

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing!
Oh! 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.

Oh the filthy ringed perverts. Where will it all end? Quick Akker Dakker we need you ...

(Below: that damned flat silver disc of a moon!)