Le premier chien, un chien de la première eau reaches out to myrmidon Murdochians ...

(Above: click to enlarge. More First Dog here).

There's something deeply moving, humanitarian, caring and sharing about First Dog's address to the workers buried in the bowels of Holt street, slaving away at their myrmidon Murdochian tasks.

But perhaps in the end it's a tad too generous.

Is it conceivably possible - at least in this dimensional part of the known universe - that Christopher Pearson is silently suffering as he scribbles in fury?

Hasn't he been writing about how the Labor government must end, preferably by noon this very Sunday, ever since the independents declined to work with his man god Tony Abbott? Has there ever been a more repetitive drone, a bore in a leather chair in the commentariat club, than this man? Will he ever repent, or write anything interesting Monsieur premier chien?

What about Peter van Onselen? Isn't he supposed to be one of the more sensible ones within the Death Star?

No, there he is maintaining the rage about Margaret Simons. Righteous fairy floss incorporated.

Shouldn't he just stick to attacking Bob Carr, an easy enough job if he borrows from the pond's routine assaults on that carrtastrophe?

Speaking of disclosures shouldn't The Australian have on its masthead each day "this paper is the antipodean down under outpost of a grubby, criminal, corrupt international corporate empire"? Is that little, minor disclosure too much to ask for?

Let's pass over the usual suspects Monsieur le premier chien. Greg Sheridan, Dennis Shanahan, Judith Sloan, or that old fart Paul Kelly berating old farts for turning up in solidarity with the Labor party. That's just Christopher Pearson amplified to 11 on a daily basis.

Let's look instead for a solid international contribution:
Sigh. Brendan O'Neill, deploying words like sledge-hammers. Into the valley of five hundred chattering class elitists rides B O'N. yet again.

What's missing from this plug for his piece? Well surely eco-warrior is a mis-step, when it really should have been eco-terrorist or eco-alarmist warriors which would have allowed the use of doomsday neigh-sayers in place of the use of the subtle and nuanced word "alarmist". And instead of dark ages, wouldn't it have been more robust to talk of the neanderthal or the stone age?

It's true that dark ages is preferable to a reference to the medieval ages - the period wherein The Australian finds much of its climate science - and on that basis perhaps it's hard to fault Brendan O'Neill's ongoing contribution to hysterical verbiage, in a rag that's routinely full of it...

You see Monsieur le chien there are loons from all over the world ready to aid the locals in maintaining the rage and conducting the vendettas. Do they really secretly yearn to be free?

On and on they rage, pretending to be objective and considered. Here's an example of how it's done.

First you must remember that there are only a few things more irritating than sandal-wearing Margaret Simons in the world. That's the ABC and in particular Media Watch. So you grab hold of an issue and attack it with a rodent-like fury, because suddenly the ABC owns "climate death threats":

Yes a blogger has called the ABC into question, and suddenly they're ABC "climate death threats".

Don't you yearn for the good old days when blogging and tweeting was beneath the empire?

And isn't it amazing that anyone could have the cheek, the unmitigated gall to write a line like "The accuracy of the ABC's reporting on climate change has been called into question" when poor old Deltoid got up to number 76 in The Australian's War on Science before he seemed to suffer some kind of mental seizure.

Happily he's returned just recently to do over Tim Curtin, but truly reporting on The Australian's many fabrications, distortions and gymnastic mis-representations of science, and climate science in particular, must be a depressing Sisyphean task (or would Hercules fifth labor, cleaning out the shit in the Augean stables, be a better metaphor?)

Meanwhile, after routinely berating Media Watch for daring to report on the mis-deeds of the media world, which naturally means that the myrmidon Murdochians feature disproportionately as disproportionate offenders, The Australian routinely runs its own form of media watching:

The difference is that Cut and Paste is full of nasty, cheap point scoring, and bilious easy shots at Pravda on the Yarra, the Fairfax socialists by the Harbour, and the cardigan wearers at the ABC. That's right, it's the sort of idle banter and chit chat you can find down at the gutter level where loon pond resides.

Now you might wonder whether the two items above selected at random from today's rag - referencing crap and rich compost - suggest there is some sort of anal fixation at work, and the answer's surely yes.

You see, Cut and Paste gives you the full rich redolent tang of besieged paranoids sitting in a castle ready to pour boiling oil on anyone that dares attempt to cross the moat. It's not so much reasoned discourse as splenetic payback and a lashing out at anyone outside the defensive, heavily fortified empire. Especially those who occasionally point out that the clothes the lizard Oz dresses itself out in are sometimes invisible rags ...

There is of course much more Monsieur le premier chien - in a major garbage dump pleasant hour upon hour can be spent retrieving useless treasures - but surely, though you are le premier chien de la première eau, you are simply too kind, too generous, too considerate.

But okay, perhaps the pond is wrong, keep on reaching out to them, and offer them understanding, emapthy, perhaps even salvation. Who knows, you might not get bitten, you might avoid rabies, but can you avoid paranoia?

Perhaps a headstone would be enough ...

(Below: click to enlarge. More First Dog de la première eau here).

(And now if the casual reader will forgive a personal indulgence, fuck you Optus and the hopeless Cobb and Co. of a service you deliver to the door, and fuck you Telstra for being such a hopeless service the pond ended up with Optus, and fuck you ISPs that dish up ADSL as if it's something grand when the copper she is broken, and fuck you Malcolm Turnbull because you know deep in your heart there are better ways to do things, and lastly fuck the Labor party for as usual rolling out the NBN where they think it might garner them a vote, which is nowhere near the pond. Phew, that felt better. Wonder if it'll ever hit the intertubes? Gee, thanks Optus, we'd recommend your service to anyone if they wanted to live in the dark ages with Brendan O'Neill).