Day 74 of MUC and day 27 of MOC and the pond takes a short break ...

Overwhelmed by ennui, and an existential sense of tedium, the pond has been forced to suspend its countdown for the weekend and escape to another town ...

Only half way through Malware's Official Campaign, and the pond is teetering on the edge.

If anyone sees a Sydney-sider looking forlorn and lost amidst the sea of black in Smith street, give them a friendly wave ...

In the meantime, the pond cast around for something that would most summarise the hope that the pond still feels, the flickering flame that shows the yearning for truth and enlightenment is still worth pursuing ... and thank the long absent lord that the lizard Oz is still at hand so that angry old men might still shout at clouds ...

And thank that specious deity, the pond's prayers were answered.

What better placeholder for the weekend than this?

What better way to encourage vigorous, impassioned debate?

How else to encourage others to shout at clouds?

Now there's a show starter right there ... the church of political correctness controls the national intercourse and fecundity is fucked.

And now for a confession. The pond wondered whether climate science might make it into that diabolical church of political correctness ...

Foolish pond ...

Yes, because the one thing you can guarantee about climate change is that it won't involve any cost to anyone, and talk of spending a casual ten to sixteen billion to fix up the reef is mere loose change, the sort of cash the pond routinely asks for at the check out in order to fund the rest of the weekend.

Would you like some cash out with that? Yes, drop a cool billion in the paw, the pond is feeling tight and inclined to skimp, the sexton has rung the bell ...

There is an upside of course. No doubt Michael Sexton felt a catharsis, a purging, a cleansing of the soul, and so the rest of his rant is an exemplary discussion of matters in urgent need of attention by passing clouds ...

Splendid stuff, and a truly worthy place holder ...

And, it goes without saying, managing to sound grimly determined and utterly humourless ...

There's not one intended joke in the piece, not even a chicken racing to the other side, as opposed to the rich vein of unconscious, unintended good humour in the piece ... with the result that the pond feels like it's spent an inordinate amount of time with an exemplary, grimly determined, utterly humourless zealot, blessed with a bonus serve of absurd paranoia and a gigantic chip on the shoulder ...

And yet, and yet, it reminded the pond of another character in The Simpsons.

Who could it be? Is that reference to "latest book" a sign?

Hmm, who was it in The Simpsons always trying to flog something or other, close the deal, unload the Tru-coat, move the book, and flog useless shoes to long-suffering minors?

Ah yes, that one ...

No, no, no, old Gil, they need Michael Sexton's book! So they can take a walk on the wild side ...