Day 33, and a litany of self-righteous self-pity and self-justification as the ghost clanks his chains and his Speedos on the battlements of Elsinore ...

Some days the pond would like to settle for the easy life and the low hanging fruit, the easy pickings of a liar, a fraud, a fool and a bully, and obvious stories such as Labor refers Sophie Mirabella's claims to auditor general over $10m 'political retribution'.

The pond might even be tempted by stories such as GetUp raises ghost of Abbott past with campaign against hard right Liberal MPs ...

Guys, guys, and with the greatest respect Lenore, why bother with the ghost of Abbott past when the reptiles deliver to the world the ghost of Abbott present?

Oh dear, it's one of those days. Everest looms and must be climbed, because it's there.

Now this will be a rugged trip, so the pond will break it up every few hours with a rest stop, but patrons must bring their own popcorn and other refreshments.

You see, the reptiles have done the classic trick of publishing the story and publishing the digest - double the bang of the buck and double the tedium too, but  perforce all of the bitter liquid must be drunk ...

Oh dear, in good Catholic style, let us start with the litany first.

Now if that wiki link isn't enough, you might want to read the Catholic Encyclopaedia on the subject, though the pond realises that once a wise reader has clicked on that link, they're gone, never to return.

But for those determined to make the climb, here's the first gobbet:

Oh dear, it's the beating on the breast, sackcloth and ashes, mea culpa litany. It's all about me, I, he ... a confession for the ages, another famous Catholic rite. (Relax, we know it really won't be that, it'll be all about being more sinned against than sinning).

Oh wait, there's just time for a kit kat, a snicker, or a Rowe isn't there? Pull over driver ... (And find more Rowe here).

Yes that works for the pond, and it's a pretty close match up ...

Back on the road ...

Yes that interminable bore Paul Kelly is actually just a part of hubris industry ... because right now, right in the middle of a long campaign, what the Liberal party needs is a ghost clanking on the battlements of Elsinore and hungering for vengeance and what might have been.

Oh surely we can take time out for a musical before we go on to the main course, even if the entrée has been barely digested ...

Oh such a plaintive and pitiful yowling, like cats on the roof tiles ...

And now to set up base camp at the "it's all about me, I, me" climb of a lifetime ... because what we need is yet another reminder of I, me, my ...

Oh, the pain, the pain, it's almost unendurable, the endless self-justifications and the righteousness ...

Please, can we remember happier times?

Hang on, hang on, who culled that? Wasn't it a happy group shot?

That's better, and look, there's good old Bronnie too. Ah the good old days, it still brings a tear to the pond's eye ...

But now we must press on in to the land of considered and reflective hagiography, self-justification and righteous self-pity ... such a seemly and noble mix ...

Oh FFS, it's actually just a litany of justifications, blessed with an abundance of self-regard.

Oh that's better, such a nice, caring couple.

Reasonable, even self-evident in principle... 

So that's what it looks like when someone disappears so far up their fundament that the sun doesn't penetrate the void ...

But the pond's running out of entertainments. What to do, what to do, the rumbling from the back seat is getting fierce, something shocking.

Perhaps a promise of a trip to an impending circus rocking into town?

Oh goody, goody gumdrops, that looks like fun.

What's that? The circus has already started, and look, there's one of the clowns in the funny car ...

Hey nonny no, on we go, and it doesn't get any shorter ... brevity requiring some sort of wit, and we're in the company of a prime self-important lunkhead, incapable of gravitas in office and incapable of meaningful reflection out of it ...

No one raised it with me when I spent an hour in a public bar in Colac a few days later ...

That's self-reflection? What a dope ...

But were the awards wrong in themselves, and in their essence and spirit? 

Nope, I should have anticipated this hostility and I should have left these awards in the hands of the council of the order ...

That's self-reflection?

Nope, that's monumental self-regard and massive stupidity and an astonishing tone deafness ...

Phew, could we have another little break?

Okay, almost at the summit, one last little push, what are your legs? 

Springs, steel springs. What are they going to do? Hurl you down the verbiage to the end. How fast can you bore? As fast as a turtle. How fast are you going to run? As fast as a tedious turtle or an arrant Abbott. 

Then let's see you do it ...

You know, after reading this amount of copious crap, and the threat "I hope to address in my future public life", the pond almost begins to feel a little pity for Malware.

Almost ... because in that last line there is the phoenix, still hoping to rise from the ashes, still in the grip of rampant delusion. He's Tony and he's here to help ...

Well at least that Pope was just one panel of a bigger cartoon, so here it is, and more Pope here, and congratulations to any hardy soul who made it to the end. You deserve a medal, though no medal can ever hope to replace the loss of IQ ... but then you should have known that setting out to climb Everest the chance of mental frostbite was enormous ...if you lost only a few fingers of the mind, consider yourself lucky ...