It's long been the standard routine to portray Mark Latham as a mad dog of politics - the pond has been as guilty of the crime as any of the reptiles in Murdoch la la land - but what happens if the mad dog barks the truth?
Unnerving truth to tell, Latham, in his spray at the egomaniac Ruddster, was saying what the pond was thinking, but without the wit to say it.
Yes, you'd have to be a lunatic - or a media dedicated to the pursuit of squirrels - to think that Rudd could say that at this late stage he's here to help.
Whatever he's doing, it isn't helping.
And yes, the two MPs - Alan Griffin and Daryl Melham - who packed up their offices in a way the world could see- run up the white flag in a shameless spineless way - were supporters of the Ruddster, who in the meantime amazingly bleated how the rah rah team shouldn't be running up the white flag.
And yes, on the very same day that the pond called Fitzgibbon a clown and an adolescent, Latham branded him a clown, a giggling schoolkid.
The major difference? Well Latham added the nicest of touches:
"This is the inevitable result - clowns like Fitzgibbon, a giggling schoolkid effectively peeing on his foot thinking it's clever," Latham said.
"Well look, at the end of the day, all he's doing is peeing on his own foot." (Mark Latham lays into 'once-in-a-century egomaniac Kevin Rudd, forced video at end of link)
Now when it comes to the crunch, the pond prefers "pissing" - it's the Tamworth in the mad, and mad as hell, dog - over "peeing" or "piddling or even worse "widdling" - but all the same, we bow to the fine metaphor.
Henceforth we will never be able to look at that grinning clown Fitzgibbon without at the same time imagining he's peeing on his foot.
Now the pond has always swum against the Ruddster tide - it started with those twee debriefs outside a quaint church, more picket fence Howard than anything Howard could manage, and it reached a climax in the 2020 Summit, which amazingly happened in 2008 but still scars the pond's memory (why it still has its tombstone wiki here).
It deeply grieves the pond to say it, but as a result of the damage Rudd has inflicted, and continues to inflict, Gillard would be better off on the last day of this parliament's sitting, to hand the leadership over to someone else. Anyone else but Rudd.
She will in due course be remembered in a kindly way. There will come a time of collective guilt at the way she was treated, the vile hatred dished out (with more than a tinge of misogyny), and astonishment at what she achieved up against the malignant forces aligned against her, from squawking parrots to the dark overlord in the Death Star to the Sauron of negativity ...
If she stays, sadly, the next hundred days are going to be spent watching hapless twits like Shane Green at Fairfax fawning all over the Ruddster, as he does in Now showing: the magnificent Kevin:
At the end of it all, it was hard to escape the impression that Mr Rudd's campaigning was much more prime ministerial than backbencher.
As he continued to declare he would not be Labor's saviour, his day in Geelong showed that he could be and, according to Beverly Edwards and her fellow shoppers, should be.
And the nauseating Mark Kenny proposing, in Ruddiculous? You wouldn't know it, that the party may as well put the Ruddster back in the chair, because he thinks he can defeat Tony Abbott, and that's all that matters:
There is no doubt the proximity of the election is testing resolve in the caucus, as an abstract feeling of a likely loss hardens into a stark reality.
The effect is being felt by MPs, and perhaps even by Julia Gillard herself. She either has 98 days left as prime minister, or something less.
Viewed this way, one might be tempted to ask: ''What's the difference?''
Self-respect?
No, scrub that, it's a meaningless concept in politics.
Instead you get the likes of Geoff Kitney urging a complete lack of any kind of respect when it comes to rattish expedience, courtesy the AFR, in PM's friends must now make the only decision - choose Rudd (behind the AFR paywall so you can choose never to read cackling geese like Kitney).
Which is to say, choose a man two thirds of his colleagues thought was a complete failure as PM, and said so forthrightly and voted for his destruction, not once but a number of times, while stories of faceless men were trotted out, when the faces were right there, in public view sitting on the parliamentary benches.
But in the bizarre world of the lickspittle, think Peter Hartcher, as outlined in When even the unions yield, Gillard should consider stepping aside for the good of the party, for Rudd, thereby rewarding the recent behaviour of him and his supporters.
Dreams and delusions, and the pond is reminded of a word that Latham didn't use - sociopathic.
A lay definition of this personality disorder sees a sociopath well liked because of their charm and high charisma. On the other hand, they think mainly of themselves, hold grudges and slights, and blame others for what's happened to them. They don't care that much about others, though they frequently pretend to in order to get their way. They forgive their own behaviour and expect others won't notice the games they play ... (wiki it here)
And so on, and yes, if you like, it applies to many politicians, but at the least, it has to be conceded that Rudd is delusional if he thinks his help will really help at this stage of the game.
Now the pond has no dog in this fight - we will most likely end up voting for the drover's dog, since a nicely heeled sheep dog would have more to offer the country than Tony Abbott - but the current carry-on in the Labor party is more unseemly than the behaviour of J. Bruce Ismay (for those who came in late to the story, he was the owner of the Titanic who managed to get himself off the ship in good shape, as you can read in his wiki here).
Even good old Mike Carlton is "doing an Ismay" in Mystery curse sounds Gong on political careers:
As a latte-sipping chardonnay quaffer myself, I am stockpiling Abbott promises to take with me when I join the Maquisards in the hills.
Indeed, though these days the pond can only afford lesser quality chardonnay ...
In the meantime, Carlton consoles himself by noting the high farce surrounding big Bazza's NSW government, symbolised by the mystery man Greg Pearce, struck down by a mysterious 'Gong illness which results in 'Gong politicians dancing in their undies or going missing in drunken action, but more potently by the abject failure of Jillian Skinner as Minister for Health and the hapless Gladys Berejiklian, minister for CityFail, aka CityBus.
And there are other pleasures to be found, not least the news that Tony Abbott really was a firebrand rugger bugger boofhead of the first water in his student days, or so you might think if you read Swings and arrows of Abbott's outrageous uni life:
A spokesman for Mr Abbott declined to comment on the fresh allegations: ''These matters have been dealt with,'' he said.
No they haven't, they've been gilded over, elided around, skated above, and otherwise buried.
Why not just admit Abbott was a testosterone-laden rugger bugger boxing boofhead, so that the choice proposed by the reptiles at Fairfax (and in the Death Star) becomes clear: a sociopath or a boofhead?
Will someone please produce the drover's dog?
And now for a little praise.
The pond fastidiously attempts to note whenever links lead to forced videos. It's a minor gesture, but a gesture all the same.
Now The Guardian down under shows how it should be done. Hover your mouse - oh the joy of a pet mouse - over a Guardian story, and up floats a helpful little tag:
Well played. Yes, it's only ten lines of code, but what a clever ten lines (that's a joke for coders).
It's a very little thing, but if it helps the pond avoid just one forced video featuring Kevin Rudd or Tony Abbott, why then that coder will enter coder heaven ... where the pond and Mark Latham, everything forgiven and forgotten, will sit side by side howling at the moon ...
I never got the Ruddster. Always had a tight grimace like a piranha fish. My mother loves him and is voting for Tony out of spite. Nothing I say makes any difference. I am impressed by Mark Latham's prose. No clown is he.
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