In which the pond abandons the serial liars for a serve of Dame Slap ...

The pond woke with a sense of bitter disappointment and the taste of ashes in the mouth. 

The circus had failed. 

No sackings, no conspicuous act of stupidity. The news that the Donald and his acolytes, such as Jay Sekulow, had lied about the Russian statement doesn't constitute news, let alone comedy.

Sekulow is a serial abasing liar of the lowest kind,  or if you CNN will, Trump's attorney previously denied POTUS involvement in Russia statement,  but then his client has elevated lying in politics from a craft to a religion ...

Oh sure there was the afterglow of Mooch farewells from Colbert and Myers, but perforce the pond had to turn with great reluctance to its lizard pets in the parochial herpetarium ...

The pond mechanically ticked them off - well she would say that, and well he would say that, and he didn't even have the imagination to conjure up a true terror: "Imagine me, the mighty onion muncher, as our head of fate ..." or perhaps even, our head of mate ... 

Hang on, hang on, what is our head of fate? Some sort of profound metaphysical Catholic institution?

And then came the lying Donald, but the pond had been there and done that ...

Elsewhere the reptiles were getting agitated in the usual way about the gay conspiracy ...

It seems even Freedom Boy wasn't safe, though he'd long been an honorary member of the lizard team ...

Not quite a reptile, but of the reptile kind - you know, the old line, he's quite a decent chap, so it seems, though they say he bats for the wrong team ...

From Freedom Boy to lowlife untrustworthy Tim. So it goes in the world where spotting the splitters is a major reptile sport ...

Meanwhile, in other parts of the planet a little more connected to reality, the news of a recent survey was out and about ...

Here, at SBS, but also elsewhere because it's as easy as picking up an AAP feed, except in reptile la la land, where delusionalism runs strong, and where such sort of news is always unwelcome, and routinely made invisible ...

In the end, the pond had a choice for its morning read ... 

Ah, good old nattering "Ned" would say that, wouldn't he, and possibly at great, inordinate tedious length, and so, after the whittling, the pond was left with no other option ...

Now the last time the pond caught up with Dame Slap, she was hurling abuse around, comparing women to cats, though in reality the pussy abuse was a thinly disguised way of labelling women by their genitals in a way the Mooch and the pussy-groping Donald would have enjoyed ...

It reminded the pond that particularly for women there could be no greater form of cultural self-harm or an act of suicidal self-hate, than to splash their cash on the lizard Oz ...

50% off for bigotry, bile and homophobia that pretends to be mainstream?

Worse, the pond realised that in this particular case it had to call off its regular competition for punters. These weirdly dedicated souls actually ploughed through Dame Slap's tosh in search of sense and a win.

Usually the pond would offer a prize for the first to spot Judeo-Christian or Judaeo-Western civilisation, or Anglo-Celtic, or Judeo-Anglo-Celtic in a reptile piece. 

You know, first prize, a fly-blown copy of the tree killer edition, scrubbed free of the smell of fish and chips, or second prize, a year's subscription ...

Phew, it's just as well the pond put the competition to bed. 

There was Anglo Celtic in the third par, and what else could the pond do than deplore the way its images of Satan had been ejected from the meeting room of the Sydney University Evangelical Union ... and even worse the way the Catholic church keeps covering things up ...

Oh wait, that's some gibberish to do with covering the pagan statues from the fifth Sunday of Lent until holy Saturday ... but does this passiontide look weird, or what?

Still, it helped explain other cultural phenomena ...

But enough of Celtic mumbo jumbo (since when have we Celts had to hang around with the bloody useless Poms?) because Dame Slap was on a roll ...

Dear sweet long absent lord, how the pond is tired of stupid paranoid bigoted intolerant people banging on and on about Anglo Celts ...

In the pond's day, the Celts had more pride and would never have allowed themselves to be linked to the Poms ... they wore their pagan symbols with pride in a way designed to agitate the Xians ...

Oh goody, there's even paganism in that cross ...

As for the rest, it's just more whining and moaning by a bunch of righteous gherkins.

What the fuck is this talk about "the burden of shame and guilt" they'll be forced to bear? Wasn't it only a few days that Dame Slap was telling the pussies of Australian to harden the fuck up, in a priapic bout of patriarchal scribbling?

Now the pond doesn't mind Dame Slap doing her bit for in-house promotion, richly absurd though it might be ...

Dear sweet long absent lord righteousness and triumphalism, Dame Slap really is barking mad delusional, but that talk of the lamentable Outsiders reminded the pond of an immortal piece by the immortal Dr Mumbo, who can be found at Mumbrella, having fun with the ratings for the first episode of The Outsiders here ...

After the pre-show build-up (follow the link for that), a pump-up worthy of Dame Slap, Dr Mumbo did his thing ...

Ratings come and ratings go, as the show's wiki noted here,  but even if the show cracked 50,000, it would still be three fifths of fuck all, even if the viewers included Dame Slap, and her navel, and the copious amounts of fluff to be found therein...not to mention the generous collection of paranoid, moaning and whining Anglo-Celtic fluff that infests her noggin ...

And yet her sorry performance was the best the merchants of hate, bile, and bigotry could muster this day? And they expect people to pay for the pleasure?

Is it any wonder that the pond regularly turns to the reliable Rowe to wrap up proceedings, with more reliable Rowe wrappers here ...