Is it now the right time for the pond to retreat to a nunnery?

From this ...

To this ...

Yes that master of the electronic graffiti artz has spoken. The man is friendless and he's so digitally illiterate he doesn't even know what it means ...

Abbott is done and dusted, gone. Now it's only a matter of time, and likely enough it won't be of his choosing, but it will certainly be of his making.

The Man, the master of the electronic graffiti artz, has already anointed the successor, the chosen one, who played private court and homage to the imperious one:

There's more at Crikey, if you can get behind the paywall, but the basic point is clear enough,.

No doubt there are some sceptics in the land - after all it's Bernard Keane, it's Crikey - but take a squiz, have a gander at the reptiles at the lizard Oz this very day.

There hasn't been this sort of uproar since Lord Monckton last hit town to warn of the black helicopters emanating from the United Nations.

Well Dame Slap's always a wild card - she's the one ready to yabber on about the black helicopters and international UN world government conspiracies in the guise of climate science - but that last one is the cruellest of all.

Not Greg "Bromance" Sheridan?! Not the bestest buddy of all?!

A kindly reader had reported that the Bromancer had turned up on that haven of inner city 'leets, the ABC in Melbourne, where cardigan wearers can be found in abundance, provided they wear black, to berate his best buddy, but the pond refused to believe it.

No way could Sheridan be a treacherous ratfink traitor to his own kind. But there he is in print! Dismayed!!

Well there's not much point in going through all of them in detail.

The splashes tell the story, which keeps on reverberating like a gong on speed.

What's even more poignant is the way the chief kool aid swiller and distiller, the editorialist at the heart of the nation, felt the need to give the Prime Moron a dressing down and a guide, and at great length:

Sheesh.

Do the word count: dismay, consternation and ridicule cannot be dismissed, genuine and lethally targeted at the nation's leader, rankle, tone deaf or worse, complacent, indifferent to the way he's enraged and bewildered many, the psychology of self-indulgence and overreach, disastrous, lack of appropriate humility, and so on and so forth.

It's just not bloody fair.

What on earth's the pond to do? What to say or scribble? There's the whole collective pack of nattering commentariat naysayer hounds in full cry on the moors!

Dennis 'the bouffant one' Shanahan, Dame Slap, the anon editorialist, and sob, oh sob, et tu, Greg "Bromance" Sheridan ...

But wait there's more of the anon editorialist.

Sheeesh, talk about prolix.

But it's clear the reptiles are desperate. They all conspired to vote for a dud, and now the dud is delivering duds, they've wheeled out the anon editorialist with blackboard and chalk to go through some basic plays, as if their coaching is suddenly going to transform the dud into a bobby dazzler. As if Jung's experiments in alchemy produced results in the matter of lead and gold...

But the key point is obvious enough.

Mr. Abbott ... has provided first rate farce as a distraction ...

Phew, at last the pond can say something.

As usual, the reptiles have got it wrong.

It's a pathetic third rate colonial farce, a tin bauble of no meaning or distinction, handed out to a long distant Royal too old to visit this country again, the Queen's consort and handbag, and soon enough ready for the big fall, by a tinpot colonial yearning for alma mater in a way which has provoked an outburst of Freudian analysis.

In all of it, the pond would like to give special congratulations to Fairfax's Lisa Cox's Doubts over Tony Abbott's justification for Prince Philip knighthood (forced video at end of link).

The dedicated Cox ploughed valiantly through all the Prince's connections to the land down under, and amongst the predictable rubble (Life Member, Athenaeum Club Melbourne), came up with some gems, such as Patron, Australian Carriage Driving Society, and Honorary Member, Sydney University Tiddlywinks Society (defunct).

The pond felt curiously reassured, remembering long and fierce tiddlywinks battles, though truth to tell, the pond's killer speciality was Pick-Up Sticks.

Oh yes, that black would be easy pickings for the pond.

But hang on, hang on, you say, how has the pond drifted from high matters of state?

Isn't the federal government still valiantly trying to fuck over higher education and make that its first duty when parliament resumes?

Hasn't the CSIRO/BOM report noted yesterday by the pond been greeted with a stony silence?

Isn't there an election going on in Queensland? Isn't it closer than expected?

What's happening in Brisbane?

Can someone google it?

Say what? WTF?

Talk about the art of distraction? Why that Jester has got it down to a T.

Aren't there more pressing matters to discuss than Tiddlywinks and Pick-Up Sticks and the country's leading Klown Kourt Jester?

Well yes, but the pond can't help a stupid homesick man derailing the public conversation with a stupid gesture that's seen him friendless apart from a few determined monarchists and eccentrics... and Kevin Andrews. And if that's his idea of sensible, pleasant company, the long absent lord help him ... next thing you know, Abbott will be hanging about with Wackford Squeers ...

Frankly the pond doesn't know what to do or how to respond.

Is it wrong to ask that, now Abbott is on the spit, at least he should be allowed to be done slowly, constantly basted in his own juices?

Or will this reduce the country to the sort of erratic idiocy its leadership offers?

How soon, contemplating the spit turning in the night air, before distracted Australians are reduced to silence, incapable of saying anything, watching in mute disbelief, the odd dribble of spittle on the lips?

Oh sure, there are some valiant cartoonists who keep trying, Like Rowe today, and as usual, more Rowe here:

But even the immortal Rowe is struggling. See how he's reduced to doing poo jokes?

Why the next thing, Rowe and the pond will have to start doing fart jokes ...

That's how desperate it's got.

We have, as the pond observed a few days ago, gone beyond satire, gone beyond sanity, into a land where conservatives are daily writing like they were hired hacks working for the pond. Instead of for the Man ...

First Dog thankfully captured the mood, and ended the need to say anything more, except that you can find the Dog at the Graudian here:

Just the cartoonists? Electronic graffiti artists and bloggers too, the pond suspects ...