Warning, heavy handed loonishness ahead ...

(Above: the Hamster thuggees doing over Julia Gillard on turning back the boats, but with a sign for all occasions).

The pond is deeply mortified and apologetic for re-publishing material derived from the Hamster goons (no longer lads, because that irritates Gerard Henderson so).

A signed replica of the chaff bag the pond's father used to drown mewling kittens in the Peel River will be sent to auction, and the proceeds donated to Australians for a Constitutional monarchy.

Spiteful, hurtful, mean, nasty things have been said about the pond - you know who you are - but this will never stop the pond dealing with policies, while refuting the grubby, in the gutter, personality-based tactics of its mortal enemies.

What produced this transformation? Why surely it had to be the reading of David Flint's magnificently obsequious and thoroughly worshipful Silence Alan Jones? No! Imagine him in government.

Truly, if this doesn't get you laughing with Flint's comedy stylings, nothing will.

It turns out that the latest attempt to silence Alan Jones is both sinister and dangerous, and that James Packer is at one with the howling mob of snivelling inner city taxpayer-funded elitists:

When James Packer decided he did not want to be a media mogul, Channel 9 canned the one segment of its breakfast show which brought farmers in from their field, interrupted breakfast chat around the nation, and was a pivot around transport to schools and workplaces. 
 They believed Jones would reveal to them stories which might not make the news or present views close to their own – views often diametrically opposed to those of the political class, including the gallery. 
 Why do this to your ratings? Why shoot yourself in the foot? 

Um, could it be because Jones had the perfect face for radio, and on television was a flat-footed dud? As anyone with an ounce of television experience could see. No vast conspiracy, just plain common programming sense. Move along, nothing to see here.

In much the same way as right now network Ten has pissed a substantial amount of money against the wall on a breakfast show and a breakfast host from New Zelund, which is only of use as cannon fodder and an easy target for the Hamster barbarians (Oops. "No apologies for the fact that your show has so few viewers."):

By golly, did the lads give that Paul Henry a good whupping, what with his talk of shooting and sterving foreigners invading Australia. Sund thum beck, the pund seys, sund thum beck (and lick spittle fellow travellers like that blonde person ...)

Oops, we almust furgut.

There's Flint, still blathering on, like a caricature of himself:

 And why did the ABC underwrite Chris Masters’ pseudo psychoanalysis, Jonestown? In it Masters claimed Jones’ constant flaying of the rich and powerful was no public service. It was a repression of his sexuality aggravated by a personality disorder, a kind of schizophrenia. His repression led to pain, which was alleviated on air as a self medicating advice. He came to robust talk back as a “virus in search of a host.” This failed to put Jones off the air. 

And then the killer blow:

 And now why is there such obviously contrived and manufactured outrage over an unwise and indeed unworthy comment made at a private function and so clearly taken out of its raucous context? Imagine if every dinner party aside by those same outraged elites made the Sunday papers. With this slim justification, the elites are hoping to silence Jones, and that as a result the rest of the media – and especially all talkback will fall into line.

Yes, it's those damned elites, and never mind the gravy that oozes from Jones and Flint.

So how to answer these damnable attacks? Why, by getting out that trusty chaff bag, and ferreting through it:

Those who say this is paranoid have repressed any recall of what happened last year when some brave souls dared examine Julia Gillard’s role in setting up for her boyfriend an incorporated association in the name of her other client the AWU. But the AWU had not authorised this. Nor did she let the authorities know what she believed its object was to be a “slush fund” for the re-election of AWU officials.

Ah yes, it's back to the world of comfortably vile traducing, bringing back the old game.

Perhaps the funniest line?

... Jones is no stooge for the Coalition - as anybody who actually listened to him would know.

Only the stooge of a stooge could deliver that line straight-faced.

But how, you might ask, can all this talk of people on struggle street be reconciled with the sight of a man making a fortune raising alarums, panic, fear and loathing? Easy peasy ...

Jones' supporters know of and do not begrudge him his wealth. They also know of - but never from him - of his many acts of generosity.

Which is why the pond will sign that chaff bag and donate the proceeds to struggle street. Just like Alan Jones' generous act for those young Liberals, not - the pond hastens to add - that he's in any way a stooge or fellow travelling lick spittle lackey for the coalition.

But let's cut to the chase - please read the rest of the piece for more tales of treacherous elites - and imagine Alan Jones in government.

Surely you can imagine Jesus Christ walking on palm fronds or better still on water?

Were he in government, dams would be built once more, water harvested, and industries such as cattle exports and fishing encouraged rather than threatened.

Yeah verily and the lamb would lie down with the lion, and what a snack the populist lion would have.

Anyhoo, the upshot is that none of it will work, we're all stuck with Jones carrying on about chuff bugs for eternity:

One thing is certain. This latest sally by the elites and their taxpayer funded spin doctors to silence Jones – and all the recalcitrant commentators – will not be the last.

Say what? The taxpayers are funding the Sunday Terror which broke the story? Answers please!

Meanwhile, things must be getting desperate in the Abbott camp.

The HUN and the Punch have been running a story by Margie Abbott, but since the HUN has a flailing, failing paywall, let's link to the Punch iteration, My husband Tony does not have a problem with women.

This on the very day that The Australian's polling shows the mortifying truth that women voters do have a problem with Tony Abbott. Naturally Dennis Shanahan tackles this issue head-on for the lizard Oz by asking What about the Prime Minister's problem with men? (behind the paywall, so there's another useless waste of the ether on spleen that needn't distract you).

But okay, let's take it for granted that Gillard has a problem with men.

Why on earth should the pond then have to sit through a poignant story headed My partner Julia does not have a problem with men who want to be hairdressers, or come to think of it, men in general ...

Ms Abbott seems never to have heard of Stockholm syndrome, or perhaps fancies herself as Michelle Obama, as she launches herself into the fray with these ominous words:

During Tony's 18 years as a member of Parliament, I have never sought to enter the political fray or to publicly comment on issues.

What a sensible submissive angry Sydney Anglican approach to politics, and how unwise to break it.

What follows is a lot of Tony loves women here, and Tony loves women there, and feminist daughters, and not a mention of the actual policy issues which have led some women to develop suspicions about Tony Abbott.

And nary a mention or explanation of some of his off the cuff remarks - for example, about the housewives of Australia doing the ironing - followed by desperate attempts to repair the image by doing a little ironing in public.

Or blather worthy of a Taliban warlord about virginity being the greatest gift a woman could give someone.

Or his ban on the RU486 pill which had to be overturned by a vote of parliament, stripping Health Minister Abbott of his power over the pill.

That's the trouble when you hang around with the Pellists, you can develop a rich, ripe odour, at least for women not interested in the Catholic church controlling their bodies (especially when you hear how the Catholics have got into bed with fundamentalist Islamics to pursue their agenda at the UN. World Catholic and Caliphate government anyone?)

So what do we get as a rebuttal?

Why the purest sentimental tosh ...

Tony riding his bike for female charity, Tony "getting women", Tony debating issues on their merits, Tony all in favour of family issues (bugger off single women and women who dare to be different), and hapless Tony needing his wife's doting defence against personal attacks, culminating in this bit of specious pleading:

I’m not a politician and I enjoy a private life, but I won’t stand by and let others claim that the man I love and the father my children adore, has some agenda against women – Bridget, Louise, Frances and I know it’s not true.

Would it be unkind to suggest you get back to the kitchen and get stuck into the ironing, Ms Abbott? Or follow the pond's golden first rule ...

Dry cleaning where possible, ironing for self where necessary, ironing for anyone else, forget it Jake, it's Chinatown ...

And stop following the Republican party down the path of controlling women ...

And if the suggestion you get back into the kitchen upsets you, never mind, a signed replica of the chaff bag the pond's father used to drown mewling kittens in the Peel River will be on its way to you licketty-split using only the best Australia Post sub-contractors ...

What's that? You never received it? But they left it on the verandah!

(Below: so here's why the pond has a problem, Ms Abbott. Here's your Tone, laughing and sniggering in a condescending way, surrounded by laughing, sniggering condescending men, with not a woman to be seen, having a go at ironing, all for a photo opportunity, and without the first clue as to the offensiveness of using an industrial iron in an industrial setting as a riposte to remarks about housewives doing the ironing. Not the first clue ...)