Speaking of spent fuel rods and containment facilities for reptile minds ...

(Above: the most excellent Pope, reminding the pond of spent fuel rods, still toxic and in need of a home. But will anyone take the rod? Rickie Lee Jones style, the pond was inclined to throw all the rods he gave her. No wonder NIMBY-ism is so popular, and more Pope here).

Only a few more sleeps before the pond heads off to a timeless land where broadband is a state of mind, and mobile phone connectivity requires a kind of Carlos Castaneda, or dog-like ability, to curl up in exactly the right spot. Yes, there are other places besides Camperdown in the land of Oz.

How pleasing then to see that the fascists are out and about today in the lizard Oz.

What joy! Not just a column by a rabid, raving ratbag, but an EXCLUSIVE as well.

Of course this doesn't go nearly enough for the pond. Surely there's a case for enforced sterilisation, state-mandated internment camps - off to the islands with the cheap hussies - and a couple of onshore gulags. (No, it would be absolutely wrong to suggest men be castrated for having sex with the hussies - men must be allowed to run wild and free and sow their seed as they will, for of such pleasures is a nirvana made).

No doubt some of the hussies would try to evade compulsory contraception, so where's the harm in having their wombs untimely ripped from them? We all know what damage Macduff did to the world ...

Now the pond is pleased to help, provided the uniforms are of a decent Fitzroy black (Carlton black is so yesterday), and there are plenty of skulls and lightning symbols on caps and belts and suchlike. The pond has many wild ideas that will come in useful - such as the enforced sterilisation of Oz columnists relying on a parliamentary pension in their dotage.

Funnily enough that 60,000 number had a great ring to it ...

For a minute there, the pond was tempted to spend the rest of Saturday looking at Nazi posters trumpeting eugenic joys. So many posters, all speaking to Johns' Godwin Law-breaking heart, so little time.

But there are always other pleasures in a fascist rag, and speaking of parliamentarians in their dotage, the pond was reminded of the wall-punching spent fuel rod ...

You see, the reptiles are in deep grieving, because they still yearn for the Tony Abbott business plan of relentless nattering negativity. How else to fill a front page than with screeching about teh Islamics and their death cults?

This story particularly moved the pond ...

Oh dear. Just a knock on the door? What about enforced castration?

But that story drew attention to the poignant sight of crazed, fanatical minds, so closed you couldn't use a stick of jelly to blow them open.

We speak of course of the reptile mind, a study of intransigence, dedicated to maintaining the rage and the hate and the division and the fear, and to speaking out in support of same ...

Oh brave fearless, plain-speaking reptiles. Why sterilisation is too good for these noble warriors of the keyboard ... let them speak forth ...

Excellent plain speaking, though if Mr Lewis is entitled to express his views, what's all the fuss about?

Well for that we must turn to the bromancer, still deep in his grief and his shattering sense of loss.

It requires a history lesson of almost unendurable length, a Himalayas trek which might challenge the toughest minds and bodies ...

And yet it could all be summarised by this poignant plea for Tony to stay and vent and vent and vent ...

No way should the spent fuel rod knick off, because venting at Islamics is as much fun and as much sport as talking about the NSW art gallery ... and climate change, which everyone knows is a delusional conspiracy by the UN to produce a world government ... as will be seen when the former chairman gets the top job and we enter a thousand year Queensland-run world reich ...

And so to the real test, and a warning. Anyone who falls by the wayside will be shot and left in the ditch, their only consolation some peppermint-flavoured condoms. Chew on those, you lazy rascally Fairfaxians ....

Oh don't you just love the pond's black leather jacket and aren't the jackboots just so scrumptious?

So what's it all about, what's the real bromancer agenda? Well it doesn't take that long for it to become clear ...

Of course! Lewis crossed the line and dared to suggest that Tony Abbott and a number of other senior Liberals were endangering national security.

Now this is true enough - is it possible to imagine a group more dangerous and deadly than the wall puncher, Cory, George, Erica and friends? Why their bumbling impersonation of Colonel Blimps could reduce even the most solid security walls to jelly-like wobbly laughter ...

So Sheridan is on about the right of his good mate to maintain the rage, and the fear and the terror and the loathing and fomenting of the divisions and so on and so forth ...

Now at this point, the pond is prepared to let out of class the weaklings and the starvelings who can't handle the pace or cut the mustard.

Just remember that if you find someone following you, it's simply procedural, because the pond will be checking up on your fornicating single mum and her wanton disregard of the pond-mandated contraception that produced such useless, weak, snivelling, tear-sodden spawn. Epic fail, dropkick losers. Couldn't make it through a bromancer story? No more welfare for you ...

Oh just harden the fuck up, there's an important history lesson to follow, which admittedly reveals much more about the strange world that the bromancer inhabits than the actual history that happened ... where would the world of the kool-aid saturated reptiles be, without a post-ironic, post-modernist reflexive reference to lazy, insular Fairfax journalists?

Oh the sweet delusional bromancer, still singing his song of Tony, and yet somehow - remind the pond if this is true, pinch the pond on the cheek, as pain induces pleasure and a reality check - is it true that Tony has now gone and Christmas and the New Year not yet upon us?

Weep, bromancer, weep. Shed more tears of pain, take it out on whoever is nearest ...

How interesting. A man who dares to speak of narrow provincialism from the depths of his bromancing Catholic fundamentalism.

Strange days, surely the end times are nigh.

And so to the rest of the history lesson.

The pond has had its fun, and tedium and a deep sense of ennui must be the price to pay ...

Has there ever been a scribbler more wrapped up in his cocoon than this? Now he discovers that opposing the war in Vietnam was a legitimate activity?

What about those who oppose a war with Islam? What about opposition to the war mongers that led us into Iraq? Like the war criminal Howard and his wall punching lackey?

It was not up to ASIO to have political opinions and it was certainly not up to ASIO to act on those political opinions.

So why were the reptiles running that story about ASIO tampering with young minds?

Oh right, that's because they're young minds. All ASIO needs to do is avoid tampering with reptile minds.

Now you don't have to be Jean-Luc Godard to realise that on one level everything is political and so that guff about being above politics is just pure gibberish of the kind which should see the sterilisation squad called in to prevent such impaired brains from reproducing.

Too late? Never mind,  though it's a pity the pond had to endure the irrelevant tirade ... when all the bromancer needed to scribble was "let my fundamentalist chum be as Hansonite as he likes, because that will really help fix things up ..."

All that blather just because a professional suggested that Tony Abbott and friends might still be fucking up the country? Why is it that the reptiles would want to feel a shred of sympathy for ASIO, caught between fundamentalist camps, when the pond has spent a lifetime disdaining ASIO? Talk about fiendish plots ...

And what is this jibber jabber about a nonpartisan inheritance?

Has the country ever been more divided and partisanal - not quite the same as artisanal - as a result of two brief years? Are we tired? Is there a containment dump somewhere that will take the spent fuel rod and his partisan scribblers?

As if it wasn't obvious for all to see, and Sheridan - already awarded the egg beating columnist of the year by the pond - wasn't content, and wanted another feather on his cap, a bar for his pond-approved DFC, short for Distinguished Fucked-up Commentary ...

Now the pond would usually end with a cartoon - oh Rowe why have you abandoned us - or perhaps a Nazi poster or three, so many with a Johnsian flavour, but as we're soon to hit the road, here's the pond's favourite RL Jones song ...