In which the pond wonders whither Soph and celebrates the idiot inane one more Micallef-farewelling time ...

It was of course not just the question on the pond's lips, but the question haunting everyone in the land:

You talk like Marlene Dietrich 
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire 
Your clothes are all made by Balmain 
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair 
You live in a fancy appartement 
Of the Boulevard of  Colin Howarrrrd
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records 
And a friend of Sacha Distel 
But where do you go to my lovely 
When you're alone in your bed 
Tell me the thoughts that surround you 
I want to look inside your head 
I've seen all your qualifications 
You scribbled and screeched for the Punch
And the blame you lumped on the feministas
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does ...

And so on, but thankfully, instead of a song, the reptiles of Oz were on hand to answer:

  

It was devastating news for the pond. The senate is her obvious home?

Why not so long before, the pond had been salivating at the news that once more sweet Soph would return to a place in the pond pantheon, and become a hurler of dung ...

Thanks be unto the Bolter, and instead of consigning sweet Soph to the Senate, the pond was expecting an announcement within the week that the reptiles of Oz had hired her to talk on many matters, there being plenty of room. Or if not, perhaps a dog botherer or suchlike riff raff could be persuaded to fall on their sword and make room for the mighty Soph ...

She was still being exceptionally adept at hurling the dung, showing off her assignment of blame skills ...

Damn you left wing media, damn you filthy Herald Sun, you raving socialist loons, damn you Melbourne-based feminists and your siren song to the voters of Indi. Of course the cockies couldn't resist your hairy armpits and voted as you insisted in your overbearing matriarchal way ... this is why the country is heading to ruin, beguiled by dangerous feminists from Melbourne.

Perhaps the pond should provide a little context as to why it had lived in hope...

And then there was that singular lack of bitterness, that brave ability to cope and accept full responsibility that has always been a mark of the Soph in action ...

Yes, she added to the vote, and what a fine value addition it was, and what a fine vote, in much the same way as she's value added to the submarines ...

And there the matter rested, and the pond waited in anticipation. Sure, Abbott had gone silent and it was left to gorgeous George to provide some farewell material for the last Micallef episode ... (the pond will miss the lad, unlike The Chaser's last inglorious effort) ...

Oh dear, the pond completely forgot the Soph and her future. It seems that the bloody feminists and unionists and gorgeous George and Micallef are all disrespecting her and not paying attention ...

But the reptiles still care. They're still fixated and beguiled. Are they doing the dance? Can we expect an announcement soon, for this very day the reptiles had another go at Soph's future. Someone must have told them about the Bolter interview, and they finally caught up ...

Yes, that'd be the same Rick Wallace who only recently, with the help of his fellow reptile, had consigned the Soph to the Senate ...

300k dropped on a loser? Dear sweet long absent lord, but what of her future? 

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Talk about inscrutable. There was the pond thinking that "commentator" might actually mean "commentator".

But it seems that our Soph is a right old Humpty Dumpty and she pays her words overtime to make them mean what she wants them to mean, and only Rick knows what they mean. So "commentator" in its inscrutable, defiant way, actually meant she would simply not be involved as a participant any more ...

'Would you tell me please,' said Alice, 'what that means?' 
'Now you talk like a reasonable child,' said Soph looking very much pleased. 'I meant by "commentator" that we've had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you'd mention what you mean to do next, as I suppose you don't mean to stop here all the rest of your life.'
 'That's a great deal to make one word mean,' Alice said in a thoughtful tone. 
'When I make a word do a lot of work like that,' said Soph, 'I always pay it extra, and give Rick Wallace a little on the side to write a lengthy explanation.' 'Oh!' said Alice. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark. 
'Ah, you should see 'em come round me of a Saturday night,' Soph went on, wagging her head gravely from side to side, 'Nick, and the words, for to get their wages, you know.'

Not to worry, the pond lives in hope. How soon before the reptiles of Oz come to their senses and make Soph an offer? How soon before she sits next to the Bolter and Peta in Sky glory?

Meanwhile, all the pond is left with are fond memories of inane idiots as celebrated by Micallef ... but while it's an old joke, strangely the pond never gets tired of the telling ...

Cue the idiot inane within a couple of hours ...

Oh yes, it gets the pond every time, tish boom, and you can farewell Micallef on iView here ...