Day 10, and somehow perky teen breasts get into the taxing story thanks to the western Jensenist ...

(Above: and more Rowe here).

Theoretically the pond should be relevant.

After all, a vibrant, innovative, agile plan to reform the tax system - by reverting to the glorious copper days of 1942 - and in a way that will result in no one paying any more tax, but which will solve expenditure issues is a marvel up there with the magic pudding - from the glorious copper days of circa 1918 - and naturally the reptiles put it top of the tree-killer page:

But the wind is now routinely taken from the pond's relevancy sails by the professional Malware haters, none better than the Bolter ...

Eight ways stupid, which is more succinct than fifty ways to tax your lover.

Dame Slap requests a tax plan, Malware and ScoMo burble different takes on a plan, and suddenly the Bolter's smacking them around like Robert de Niro armed with a baseball bat.

How is this fair to the pond?

Naturally we had to revert for comedy to the golden west stylings of Dennis Jensen.

Now anyone who looked at the pond in the golden days of climate science will remember Jensen's wondrous contributions to the religion, as he deployed a can of coke and charcoal to make his artful point ...

By golly, it was great science, and the pond was startled to discover this day, thanks to the reptiles, that Jensen was also a great novelist ...

Now the reptiles provided a splendid splash which contains a gobbet of the proposed text as well as a number of spoilers (please we've just watched the penultimate OJ ep and we still don't know how it ends, no spoilers please):

No bra. Small, hard, firm, taut, terrific, late teen boobs. The soft, silky texture of her small luxuriating breasts. Oh do it, just do it, take me firm, take me hard, thrust your pulsating manhood into my quivering woman-ness ...

Naturally the pond was hooked ... great reads like this don't come every day of the week. Come to think of it, they rarely come at all ...

Warm wetness. Took him in her silky taut firm pert late teen mouth, but his gigantic manhood was too big for her, and she had to lick him like a lollypop or a vanilla bean icecream from the Cow and the Moon ...

Please, do go on ...

Say what? How did a German shepherd get into the story? Is there bestiality in the house?  Could the hound paw at the soft, silky, taut, terrific, pert late teen brown breasts better than a Jensen?

Well the pond will be devastated if one of the country's great climate scientists should happen to go, but if he must, he must ...

Meanwhile, the pond must turn to the dross.

Not the Malware hating Bolter, who is so predictable and excessive in his rage, that it makes him a very predictable anger machine. But look how the reptiles struggle to come to terms with Malware's latest set of situations ...

For no other reason than perversity, and a desire to seek out a different kind of tedium and ennui, the pond decided to go with the revelatory thoughts of Paul "Ned" Kelly ... how could he rescue something from Malware's latest gambit?

A daunting task! By this stage the people must be confused! As if it's difficult to understand how copper is the real future, and fibre is for losers as we head back to the future ...

But finally the prolix, prattling Ned gets to the point and the spadework, and sadly, this wonderful attempt to turn Australia into the United States begins to founder even with Ned himself ...

Of course it's based on an epic lie, which is to blame the Gillard government, as if the Abbott government hadn't itself indulged in lavish spending and boondoggling and pork barreling, and was only stopped from even bigger ones by a conspiracy of circumstances ... and PPL changes that still bedevil the feds.

Still, it's noble to see at least one reptile attempt a limited defence of Malware, and call him a model of expository rationality, albeit beset by treacherous variables.

It is, in its own way, the most revealing chapter yet, in the unfolding saga of how the reptiles must help Malware stagger and lurch to the election ...

And suddenly the pond's countdown begins to look as rubbery and as shonky as a dildo purchased from a two dollar store.

Please send all royalties for the use of that metaphor to Dennis Jensen. It sounds like he might need the money.

Still, it's much more fun to see a doddery old reptile dancing on the head of a pin - or is that in awe, gazing at Malware doing an agile pole dance - than a Bolter blazing away on a keyboard spiked with a bright blue tablet ... you know the kind ...

All that's left then is a Pope cartoon and more papal pleasures here ...

Day 9, and WTDATR torments Dame Slap ...

(And more Pope here).

It's always good to start the morning with a singalong ...

It's not easy bein' green 
Having to spend each day 
The color of the leaves 
When I think it could be nicer 
Bein' blue or yellow or gold 
Or something much more colorful like that 
It's not easy bein' green 
It seems you blend in 
With so many other ordinary things 
And people tend to pass you over 
'Cause you're not standing out 
Like flashy sparkles on the water 
Or walri in the south ... 

And a singalong's even more appreciated when the pond is confronted with an ethical issue.

Yes, every so often the pond has to deal with a deep moral problem.

For example, should one pay attention to the ramblings of the mentally disturbed, even when one of the said disturbees is published by the Terrorists, a deeply disturbed tribe of radical ratbags still posturing as a relevant tree-killer newspaper?

After all, it was entirely to be expected that Mark Latham would seize the moment to whip up enthusiasm for teh Donald.

Only someone as deeply delusional as Latham could explain how teh billionaire Trump was the man to stick it to the elites and push back against political correctness, because being a billionaire is exactly the right qualification for the common touch ... you know, like Berlusconi ...

But the painfully transparent nature of the exercise was almost immediately revealed when the Terrorists promptly published their own rebuttal, and made it the centre of their opinion stage ...

Latham a billionaire? At last the taxi drivers of western Sydney are safe then ...

It is, of course, classic click-bait trolling.

Trot out the tragically wounded, mentally disturbed man, and then get someone else on staff to sink in the steel-capped Blundstones. (Or a jab of the stiletto heel to the groin if that's your thing).

Should the pond encourage this kind of Clockwork Orange carry-on?

Probably not, it's probably better to let the Terrorists keep spiralling down into digital irrelevance.

Those who want an insight into the anger, bitterness and deep hollowness that is Latham can always resort to the twitter account Real Mark Latham, while others can marvel at the way the country dodged a bullet when, astonishingly, Latham led the Labor party ... 

It's amazing to think that anyone could make the pond celebrate John Howard, but Latham achieved that singular feat, and it will be his legacy for all eternity ...

Nope, it's better to turn to a safe pair of hands, and who better than Dame Slap. You see, it's Day nine of Tony Abbott's campaign to become Liberal opposition leader, and Dame Slap is the latest in a conga line of commentariat beset with the problem of WTDATR ...

Yes, everybody's still wringing collective hands and sighing about what to do about Tony Rudd ... and the most excellent thing about the caper is the way it allows the commentariat to slag off both Tony and Malware.

Gnarling bitterness! Why the Slap is even so bold as to hint that her lad might be insincere ...

Oh dear, the pond feels another song coming on. Those were the days my friends, those were the days ...

Perhaps it should be a more melancholy song ...

You know that feeling you get

You feel you're older than time

You ain't exactly sure

If you've been away a while

Do you keep the receipts

For the friends that you buy?

And ain't it bittersweet

You're only just getting by

But I hope you know

That it won't let go

It sticks around with you

Until the day you die

And I hope you know

That it's touch and go

I hope the tears don't stain

The world that waits outside

Where did it all go wrong?

Ah that feels better, the 1990s doing the 1960s is always a pond pleaser, and so it's back to the Dame ... because there ain't nothing like a dame, at least not since the 1950s ...

Yes, it's a wonderful pivot, and it really makes the pond feel quite redundant. 

Oh sure we might link to Fairfax publishing Laurie Patton dithering and hand-wringing in The NBN is already out of date, but it's not too late to change course, (with forced video), when in reality the NBN is already out of date, and it's way past the time when Patton should have been stomping around urging a change of course ... a change of course that will now not come because Malware is so invested in his totally useless and out-dated solution ...

Of course there's still time for a taco-led recovery ...

... I actually get very frustrated in this debate when people say it's one versus the other and the analogy that I kind of use is, you know that taco ad where you've got the girl where everyone is arguing about whether you want hard tacos or soft tacos and she turns around and she says "Well, why can't we have both?" If you look at incredible innovation hubs across the globe, whether that is in Silicon Valley, where you've got treat stuff coming out of Standford or it's in Tel Aviv where you've got high end research in the defence industries, you also have a vibrant copper start up ecosystem ... you see, you can have a fibre taco and you can have a copper taco, and you can put them together and you can have an analogy that I kinda use, which is a fibcop taco, with lots of slow mouth-warming chilli, because everyone can cop a fib by a young pup if he does it with panting, cold-nosed, tail-wagging enthusiasm ... (or some such thing here).

Oh dear, the desire to give Malware a hard time is catching, and in the process that dunderhead Stephen "great big filter for everything" Conroy is barely remembered ...

And so it's back to Dame Slap ...

Hang on, hang on...

Good grief, where did that time warp pop up from, like a long lost pop-up shop in King street? 

The pond is deeply mortified and apologetic ... here, have a cartoon and find more Tandberg here...

Of course this is the way Dame Slap ended this day ...

Yes, Malware should get to work tackling those bloody useless single mothers on welfare and doing down the pensioners ... 

Sssh, please don't mention the big end of town ... as it all bubbles along quite nicely and Dame Slap contributes to the simmering stew of feuding, fussing cats ...

And now it's time to get back to the cat-herding, and you can find more somewhat constricted Rowe here ...

Day 8, and there's only one name on everybody's lips ... Sur mes lèvres ...

(And more excellent Rowe here).

There are many temptations this day wilfully designed to cause the pond to deviate from the proper course.

There's the siren song of Lloydy getting agitated about tricky windies ...

What a contributor to climate science that Lloydy is ...

And the Fairfaxian attempt to find a replacement for Paul Sheehan deserves a round of applause:

Sadly that turned out to be of the click-bait trolling standard that infests the rest of L'Age's digital edition.

No, not even the Caterists could sway the pond from its chosen course:

Strange how no one seems to get agitated about the huge unfolding Liberal funding scandal in NSW, at least in Murdoch la la land ...

But no, there's a name on everyone's lips, and the name even appears on top of the lizard Oz this day:

Ditch the cuts? Why that's as catching as Fill the moats with climate scientists ...

You see, the reptiles are enchanted by Abbott and his legacy, and perforce the pond must be enchanted by what enchants the reptiles.

Yesterday they managed to drag a story out of a bit of Abbott petulance about the need to support the rogues of Asia, and coupled the splash with a pointed message ...

Naturally it became a featured item in the news ...

... even though it turned out to be just another plug for Quadrant ...

Meanwhile, the name of Abbott is on everyone's lips, frequently coupled with the new pet phrase "Del-cons".

There was the 'send in the hounds' man himself:

The hounds man wasted no time before letting the hounds loose here ...

Reading the media you could be forgiven for thinking that the main Easter news was all about whether Tony Abbott should, or not, campaign in the forthcoming election. The political reality is that whatever Abbott says during the election the chances are that it will be another story of dysfunction within the Coalition. In other words it will be a help to Labor. 
Only the "del-cons", otherwise known as the delusional conservatives, would think throwing Abbott into the election is a good idea. And anyway, let's face it: Abbott has never been popular with the electorate. 

The hounds man didn't hold back, and the poor rabbit took a fearsome savaging:

Liberals would like to think that Abbott is going to support Malcolm Turnbull but the evidence of Abbott's behaviour does not back up their hopes. It's much more likely that Abbott thinks he is preparing his return, with his former chief of staff, Peta Credlin, helping him by apparently joining Sky News. If that is his real ambition, he will be remembered as the leader of the del-cons, all three or four of them. 
If Abbott wants to ever get back into a useful role in politics he needs to preserve the respect that many have had for his past efforts. If he keeps undermining Turnbull, especially in an election when MPs are working hard to keep their seats, then the former prime minister will soon find that his legacy is seen as a present to Labor and a disaster for good policy. 

And there were others in Fairfax getting agitated ...

Of course if Peatling had the interests of the pond at heart, the question should have been Why would you solve a problem like Tony Abbott? (with forced video), when he keeps on giving a chance for satirical copy ...

A couple of days later there was Abbott posting a picture of himself with British Prime Minister David Cameron, offering his thoughts on national security in Quadrant magazine and then suggesting he should be put to use in marginal seats. Clearly this is a man who wants and needs to be busy. All that cycling does give one a lot of time to think. 
Former Liberal leader John Hewson suggested a formal role in the federal election campaign. "He won't go away, so I think you give him a role," Dr Hewson told Sky News on Sunday. "Define the role very carefully and encourage him to be judged by his performance." 
Not a bad idea. 
But what job could the former prime minister be given? 
Perhaps he should be given the job of looking at the merits, or otherwise, of the suggestion that Australia should have a seventh state. (all links with forced video as is the Fairfax way).
That would require a bit of travel, possibly to areas with very limited mobile phone coverage and internet access. 

What a jolly jape.... and and the man keeps providing cartoonists with all sorts of jolly japes ...

Who'd have thought Mickey Mouse would feature so strongly in the election campaign? (and more Wilcox here).

And over at the Drum there was more hand-wringing here:

Where is Abbott going with this approach? If he succeeds in browbeating Turnbull into adopting more and more conservative policies prior to the election, voters may abandon the Government altogether. Even if Turnbull scrapes in, Abbott could launch a leadership bid claiming Turnbull was merely a proxy for him and his policies. 
However it's hard to avoid the conclusion that Abbott would be most content with the defeat of the Turnbull Government. Only in this way could he return to the role that he did best - being Opposition Leader. 
Unfortunately for the former PM, his colleagues may not have a similar view of his capabilities, particularly after watching him tear the party down. They may look to younger conservative warriors - or perhaps even the prodigal son Scott Morrison – to lead the Liberal Party back to government.

And still the reptiles of Oz, and so the pond, couldn't avert their/our gaze from the Medusa, with talk of treachery and traitors ...

There might be no 'I' in team but there certainly is in Manly Warringah ...

Strange, passing strange, there was the grand general talking of doing a tour to save marginal seats, and here were the reptiles doing a tour of Warringah to talk to anonymous sources.

One member, sources, the supporter said.

Not one person with the gumption to put their name in print.

Why out of that sort of gossamer the pond could create wondrous tissue of treachery ... but it's what passes for journalism these days in the lizard Oz ...

Is it any wonder that the professional hand-wringer, the oscillating fan, should also turn up in today's reptile rag, and in the news?

But when the pond got around to actually reading the hang-wringing, what a damp squib it turned out to be ...

Such sniping could bring Turnbull down ...

Could? As in couda, shouda, wouda?

Mother of mercy, is this the end of Malware?

Possibly not, not if Nick is the best spectre that the oscillating fan can bring to the table, apart from Abbott himself..

Oh they're coming out of the woodwork now ...

But how did we end up here, in the thickets of stupidity?

Well, in its own ineluctable way, it's thanks to Tony Abbott ... the man who keeps on giving ... the man who makes Don Quixote seem like a realist ... the man who has kept alive the concept of 'delusional' in national politics ...

Singlehandedly he puts Lloydy and the Caterists in the shade ...

But wait, in just a few short weeks, the resurrection will begin and an agile, innovative spirit will walk the land (and more Papal prophecies here ...)

Mother of mercy, could the pond now end with  a movie reference?

Day 7, and the dog botherer sets a hot sniping, undermining, white-anting pace for the onion-munching wall-puncher ...

   

It being a holiday Monday, only the genuinely heroic would get out of bed to read the dog botherer, even if he's in exceptionally fine form.

Now the pond has already looked at some of the sniping, white-anting and undermining that's gone down in the land of the reptiles in recent days ...

There was the Terror, as above, and then there was the wall-punching onion-muncher himself ...

Many were the Viking ballads and cartoons celebrating the epic feats of the latter-day Beowulf smoting and smiting the upstart Grendel ...

And so the scene was set for today's piece by the dog botherer ...

Truly you couldn't make it up if you tried ...

Such a remarkably stupid man, and such a limited understanding of English. 

While it is true that sniping refers to the act of shooting, especially a gunshot, from a concealed place, or more particularly the shooting of snipes, various long-billed shorebirds of the family Scolopacidae, especially the widely distributed species Gallinago gallinago turnbullus malwarus, sniping can also more generally refer to the making of malicious, underhand remarks or attacks, and be an act of adversely criticising a person or persons from a position of security (yes, the pond's not a walking dictionary, there's the dictionary entry here).

Any leather-elbow patched, cardigan-wearing public servant in Canberra will know the truth of this - oh the pond has empathy, the pond remembers, the pond luvs ya - at least the 101% of them who have emerged from a meeting to complain that he/she is constantly sniping at me, the bastard/bitch and I'm fed up to the back teeth with it ...

But of course logic isn't the point in the sublime fatuity offered up by the dog botherer in his attempt to exonerate the wall puncher from sniping and wrecking, while allowing that he might be unfairly accused of undermining.

Such a remarkably stupid man, and so fatuous.

It's around this point in the tale, when the dog botherer asks what might Abbott's alternative be, that the pond remembers the behaviour of Julia Gillard when she was abruptly turned into a feather duster.

It involved the kind of class that is simply beyond the onion-muncher, a man motivated by malice, nattering negativity and an enormous, preening, peacock-strutting self-regard and hurt pride and dented, bruised ego, so out of shape it would take a generation of panel-beaters to restore.

And for what? For making Billy McMahon the second worst prime minister in living memory, rather than simply the worst? For being able to boast of being the best, in the sense of the most negative and destructive, opposition leader in living memory, with that role now in a full second flowering, such that Bill Shorten can be judged as the lesser opposition leader?

It's a measure of how Abbott, in his boofhead bogan Lathamite Trumpism, has made ostensibly conservative folk forget what it's supposed to be like for traditional conservatives who honour discretion and tradition and style ...

But back to the dog botherer, and it should be noted how his pieces are getting shorter and shorter (it would be wrong to label his delusionalism as pithier):

Of course it's really all about the dog botherer still yearning for the days of the natteringly negative onion muncher. Like the Bolter, the dog botherer yearns for a politician willing to espouse his climate denialism, along with sundry other bigotries and prejudices.

It's a measure of how bizarre it all is that even Miranda the Devine has taken to calling this motley crew of angry white male conservatives the Del-Cons, or delusional conservatives, as in her observations that Abbott and the Del-Cons have unleashed a firestorm of vengeance and that Abbott went from being the hope of the conservative cause to its greatest wrecker.

If you're further out than Miranda the Devine, then you're a candidate for Wacky Racers ...

What a terrible cartoon series that was ... yet that gif will do for a symbol of Abbott, it'll do ...

Meanwhile, as we're on the subject of tone, it takes a considerable effort by the Del-Con dog botherer to ignore the sterling efforts of the Bolter ...

Here's a sampling. Anyone interested in the actual copying and pasting from other sources can revert to the Bolter's blog, or could short-circuit the process of self-destruction and mental immolation by simply sticking a metal fork in the nearest power outlet ...

And so on and endlessly on, and the Bolter wonders why the oscillating fan called him a Malware-hater ...

Is there a time when the Bolter actually said something favourable about Turnbull? Yes, in recent times, there were a couple of defences of Turnbull offered up when he was criticised by the Belgian ambassador ... but this was only because Malware had channelled Abbott in relation to matters of national security, and so in reality the Bolter was defending Abbott against the the Belgian ambassador, via the empty, hollow, clanging vessel known as Turnbull ...

So what have been the singular results of all this epic Del-Con sniping, undermining and white-anting, as noted by the reptiles this day?

Uh huh.

Of course we've been here before ...

Long may it continue, though the pond notes that this sort of behaviour could hardly be called sniping ... all-out warfare perhaps, or an internecine civil war up there with the American civil war in destructive intent ...