Is Paul Sheehan certifiably insane?

(Above: this day the pond's anger meter is set to an astounding JEB! low. Please clap, and more here).

It's the question on everyone's lips, but the pond only asks it in a clinical, scientific way ...

Is Paul Sheehan certifiably, clinically, incurably insane?

This isn't some frivolous, light-hearted, trolling question.

The pond has plenty of evidence. There's the matter of the unique water affair, which can still be found online here, and here, and here, and here, and while looking it up, you might also stumble across Has Paul Sheehan Written the Worst Article Ever?

And then there was the way that Sheehan confessed to paying an insanely expensive price for sourdough bread, while imagining that anyone would pay attention to his economic prescriptions. Tighten the belt while tucking into the sourdough?

Oh okay, the pond fesses up ...

All we were doing was trolling for attention in a way which it seems has now become de rigueur in the Fairfaxian style sheet, and with two splashes to try to sell the goods:

Yep, it is just pathetic attention seeking, of the trolling kind.

Inter alia, the foolish magic water-loving, sourdough-devouring fop answers his own question this way:

I don't think the Prime Minister is insane. In fact, I think we are fortunate to have, as Prime Minister, a merchant banker with a sophisticated grasp of finance and a keen knowledge of China's economy.

The pond, however, must keep insisting that Sheehan is certifiably, incurably, clinically insane.

The most base trolling is not a way to attract attention to a serious opinion piece, and only the barking mad would think otherwise

This is not the way to lead people to discuss an increase in the GST or other taxation matters, this is in fact the lowest common denominator on the full to flowing intertubes, even lower than listicles - and patrons of the insane Sheehan will remember that he's also a dab hand at listicles, as in Ten anti-anti-commandments and Lord Monckton's verbal bombs ...

Of course much later Sheehan would manage to mingle the Paris climate conference and the need to decelerate, or perhaps even reverse carbon emissions, with a pet water buffalo.

Yep, from celebrating Lord Monckton to having an anxiety attack about the sheer scale of carbon emissions by the  livestock industry, as can be read here, with forced video.

If not clinically insane, then surely barking mad, teetering about like a cock on a weather vane ...

But speaking of weather and climate change and climate science, the pond is distraught.

The pond searched high and low through the lizard Oz this day, and found not a trace of Maurice Newman.

Now Moorice on a Monday, in which the world's greatest climate scientist explains assorted UN conspiracies, has become one of the high points on the pond's calendar, and to be cruelly deprived of the treat has induced a profound depression.

All that's on offer this day in the way of spectacular climate insights is the thoughts of Little Timmie Bleagh ...

Sadly Little Timmie isn't a patch on Maurice, and his wit is a little lower too ...

Reasonably enough, with that question answered, Marshall is now taking steps to throw most of the CSIRO’s climate researchers out on the street like common circus midgets.

Because you only have to mention midgets for Little Timmie to burst into gales of climate science laughter ...

Oh sorry, that'll set Timmie off for the week.

To be fair, Little Timmie knows how to draw exactly the right scientific analogy ...

Perkins-Kirkpatrick continued: “Research in any field does not, and cannot stop after an apparent question has been answered.” Actually, in most fields research does stop once the central question is answered. Otherwise video referees at NRL matches would never go home; they’d remain in their reviewing suites forever, endlessly examining the same disputed try.

Thugby league! Such an exact analogy to the scientific process and methodology. If only we'd known, we could have sorted climate science in a trice with a video review and a third referee.

But of course Little Timmie, well known as a denialist, does in fact dispute the disputed try. Long after the match, long after everyone's forgotten everything except the punch up, the finger up the bum, and the pissing on the couch after the game, Little Timmie is still disputing the fucking try.

Even within the same piece, the incontinent lad can't resist another spurt ...

Economic and political priorities have shifted, in Australia and around the world. Climate change has been declining as an issue of public concern since peak panic in 2006, when Al Gore’s dishonest documentary An Inconvenient Truth succeeded in spooking so many gullible saps.

So climate science is solved and sorted and needs no funding, except what Al Gore can offer, and so Little Timmie will refrain from talk of warmists and gullible saps ...

And if you believe that, why the pond thinks you might be clinically, certifiably, incurably insane ...

Oh and naturally the Daily Terrorists also feature the Bolter getting agitated about Malware.

This is news? The Bolter has been blathering on about Malware since the day of the coup, and always striking the monotone note of feral hatred, such is his man love and his man yearning for the lost days of the wall puncher ...

Yet when the pond went looking for some kind of alternative relief, even the dog botherer offered none...

The trouble is, this could be summarised in a line. Hedley Thomas a saint, Tony Jones a wicked man.

The further trouble is that the dog botherer doesn't waste a nanosecond on the way that titanic dinosaur Clive was a creature of the Queensland LNP, much loved by all - or at least his money was - until he fell out with his fellow ferals ...

Yet Clive was still in good enough odour for the rough Brough to dally with him, or so assorted stories suggested as late as November, as can be read in Clive Palmer revives explosive claims against Mal Brough over James Ashby affair, with forced video, and Clive Palmer says Mal Brough asked him to help 'destroy' Peter Slipper ...

Oh they loved his money when he still had some, and they scrambled to paw and clutch at him in the same way some unseemly types did with Gina.

Happily, life always gets more interesting when a fetid gang of rats fall out amongst themselves and air their dirty laundry in public ...

And what a gang of rats is the LNP in Queensland ...

Now the pond has no time for the way that Tony Jones simpered through his interviews with Clive. They were pathetic, but they did at least free up the pond from the habit of dropping in on Lateline.

But sadly Hedders, for all his valiant efforts, barely laid a finger, let alone a glove, on Clive.

It was Clive himself who brought Clive down. Hedders, for example, had nothing to do with this immortal photo, juxtaposed against Clive's treatment of his workers ...

In this context, the dog botherer's suggestion that his inquisitors have been reading Hedley Thomas verges on the completely delusional (others might say it's certifiably, clinically, incurably insane, but the pond will leave that to others).

Clive's inquisitors have been looking at the books, and the state of the world's stagnant resources market ...

Others have been looking at the way Clive dished out money to Clive, which to the pond is barely distinguishable from the way Clive once dished out money to the Queensland LNP ... since both exercises were about the greater glory of Clive ...

There's something astonishingly risible about a newspaper hack thinking that the world revolves around what they scribble ...

The dog botherer still seems to think that baiting Clive is some sort of national sport. Some sport, if you happen to be a stiffed employee ... but then Little Timmie gets a laugh out of throwing midgets around, so what would the pond know ...

Well that just leaves time for a Rowe meditation on another folly, and more properly formatted Rowe here ...