Day 22, and a warning that this day the pond goes into the Terror toilet with a deeply deranged mind ...

Profound apologies, before we even begin, but the pond found that juxtaposition captivating and compelling.

Now there are some that say that Mark Latham has no reason to exist, at least as a member of the commentariat, having been exposed in all sorts of disreputable and astonishing and abysmal behaviour, but of course he exists to troll ...

What he needs is a basement where his fetid mushrooms might still grow, and is there any more perfect a bunker than the one infested by the daily Terrorists, as base a group of reptiles as still exist in tree killer land ...

And so the pond felt eerily and strangely compelled, in much the same way as one might judge a decent horror movie by the strength of the psychosis in the villain that sets the plot in motion ... who remembers Vera Miles and John Gavin up against the twitching Tony Perkins?

We've all been there ...

Down in the basement ...

Now this is likely to get ugly, so again apologies, and the pond understands all those already racing towards the exit sign, the popcorn left under the chair, the jaffas un-rolled.

The pond agrees and approves. All that lurks here is brain-deadening, soul-destroying material, even more perplexing than Germaine Greer attempting to understand modern perspectives on gender ...

Let us now go to the shrieks and howls of a male dinosaur, but please, put on that tinfoil hat to avoid the more damaging and distressing effects of the read ...

Hmm, this is going to be tougher than the pond realised, even with all its elaborate preparations.

Self-appointed inner-city elites is of course mere regurgitation, a feather display designed to gain entrance to the hive mind, while the use of sarcasm is naturally preferred to irony and satire and wit, in the way a blunderbluss is preferred to a pistol ...

Then there's the hysteria about the EU, and the displacement of teaching of maths, science and English, all standard saws in the right wing shock jock locker ...

But the pond really can't remember the last time that Karl Marx was put at the top of a column as a fit figure for demonisation. Perhaps in the 1950s, the 1960s? 

No doubt we can now move on to a bit of women-bashing in comfort ...

Perhaps first a cartoon for refreshment?

Naturally the pond must apologise to David Rowe - it's a day for apologies - and you can find more Rowe here, because to juxtapose him with Mark Latham and use him as a relief from the torture in a way sentences the hapless cartoonist to the same Terrorist toilet as the pond.

Hey nonny no, on we go, and is there a "neo" in the house?

There is, it has to be said, something deeply weird about Latham and his notion of normal people and what they watch and the joys of suburban life. It's that reference to Married at First Sight, and the way he's still brooding about Chris Gayle ...

But now we come to the serious bit, where the Terrorists ran out of ideas for photo illustrations ... and so resorted to a standard hagiographical one, so that we might all brood on the vanity of Narcissus ...

Oh yes, there's a deep irony there somewhere, the bit about click baiting, from a master troller, and how clever of the Terrorists to put the snap of Latham the troglodyte deep in the body of the text, rather than confront unwary readers with the fearsome sight at the start of the read, as they usually do with Miranda the Devine and Akker Dakker ...

Perhaps a pause for another refreshing cartoon?

(And more Wilcox here).

Yes, the pond does feel so stupid. Fancy hoping that Mark Latham might someday display integrity, humanity and wisdom, a capacity for something approaching emapthy as opposed to the standard dose of bile and arm-breaking anger erupting from some deep monstrous thing swamp.

And so to a final gobbet, where the master troll must make do without photographs and instead rely on the ancient art of abuse ...

Now there's no point in attempting to argue with a paranoid in full possession of the facts.

All that can be done is laugh loudly, and with a satirical edge, even if that means laughing at a man who is seriously disturbed, what with his blather about a nation of clones, and cultural re-education and the suffocating propaganda of political correctness and dangerously authoritarian processes and nanny-states, and all the other cliches of a mind bereft of any signs of any insights beyond the cliche and the stereotype ...

It is remarkable however how accurately the Terrorists have judged their gutter journalism, how they have got the crowd to join in the chant of "kill the politically correct pig, kill the politically correct pig" (and smash four eye's glasses just for fun).

Oh indeed, indeed, and then we could have had this sort of twitter stream emanating from the Lodge on a daily basis ...

That stream of unconscious stupidity can amazingly still be found online here, but warning, with much more offensive abuse.

It was the last tweet above with the pond. The pond has no idea why any woman would want to have sex with the real or the unreal Mark Latham. The women the pond meets routinely assures the pond they would rather have sex with a vintage wooden Victorian dildo than with the real Mark Latham ...

Of course those absurd tweets were back in the day when Latham got caught out by BuzzFeed in Here's How We Confirmed Mark Latham Has Been Tweeting Abuse At Women, followed by Mark Latham Admits To Misogynistic Twitter Account 63 Days After It Was Exposed.

Yes, it took him a long time to come to the truth, because deep inside, he knows he pretends it's just a harmless form of trolling, but also suspects that it reveals he's a deeply damaged bill of goods ...

As for the pond, we wake each day amazed, pleased and gratified at the way that Australia dodged a bullet.

That infamous handshake was truly revealing, and the thug that lurked behind it now parades for all to see in the toilet known as the Daily Terror ... the final port of call in a remarkable fall from grace.

Well the pond has done more than enough toilet duty for the day ... and must cluck reprovingly at David Pope ... (and more Pope here).

What? No royal commission into News Corp and the way its reptiles gratuitously waste the precious hours, minutes and seconds still left to the pond?