Day 1 continues, and no sign of being anywhere near there yet ...

Why is it that the Terrorists infallibly get it wrong?

Sure, it's admirable to compare Malware to a House of Cards, but surely only to the inimitable original and sublime Ian Richardson as Francis Urquhart, scrambling his way to seedy, sordid power through an enthusiastic embrace of copper and nodes, while unable to comment on anything ...

The pond puts it down to the American culture that infests the Terrorists, springing as it does from their American overlord.

But the ambivalence is a splendid thing to see, and bodes well for the rest of the campaign.

Now enough of the obvious comparisons because finally the pond must embrace the reptile coverage and what a splendid array of reptiles basking in the sun has been arranged for the delectation of all ...

Sadly this must involve some sacrifices. Already the pond has set aside a number of contributions and perforce we must also set aside the blowfly Johns, late arrived to the wedding banquet ...

Poofters paving the way to beastiality, pedophilia and polygamy and other filthy, vile perversions, too many for Cory and George to list, please take note.

So yesterday, with so many defences of the homophobes already in hand ...

But look instead at this splendid array ...

Do the reptiles know how to tempt the pond with an array of jewels or what?

Luckily, Dame Groan's splendid defence of rich old men can be safely sorted into the Oreo basket of chaff ... the suffering of rich old men routinely moves the pond to tears, but not this day.

Instead let us begin with that pompous, portentous blowhard Paul "Ned" Kelly ...

An excellent example of worthy, noble, hagiographical excess. 

Thanks to Subaru's evocation of Lou Reed, and Donald Trump's talk of his hands and knees, oral sex has been much on the pond's mind of late, but Ned's noble scribbling has swept it away with a pulsating surge of power ... because Malware holds all the copper-tinged cards.

It doesn't seem to have crossed Ned's mind as to what might happen - if after all the build-up to a DD - we were suddenly to be denied an orgasmic consummation by a strategic withdrawal ...

Others weren't so excited by the long march into the winter ...

But back to the hagiographer, worshipping at the feet of a strategic giant ...

Yes, everything ship shape, move along people, nothing to see here, keep the queue moving ...

And so we move along to the bouffant one ...

Uh huh ...a hint of uncertainty, talk of a huge gamble, even perhaps the need for a helmet ...

Ned was solid, but are the bouffant one's nerves in tip-top shape?

Are we all ready to step outside the tent?

Ah, let's all hope that Sco "speaking in tongues, when is that election again master?" Mo delivers the goods ...

What if he were to deliver a Joe Hockey special? What if he were to fumble? What if Malware was already trying to cut him out of the game? What if he didn't know which day was election day?

Helping out ScoMo and selling whatever turns up in the budget means there will be much honourable hard yards work for the reptiles still to do. 

We have stepped out of the tent and set out on the long march, but there is no sign of Moscow on the horizon ...

As usual, the pond must turn to the NT News as a way of coping ... because while the blatherers down south in the Surry Hills bunker are already so steeped in verbiage, it would be tedious to return o'er, the Territorians show this day that it's still safe to go for a walk above the Berrimah line ...

Don't ask what it means, just know that even during the marathon, pauses for breath and Ninja hunts will be allowed ...