In which the pond hears the usual siren song of the Devine ...

Oh dear ...

It was only much later in the day that the pond learned that it had put a hex on the dog botherer, the crows, and his Martin Luther King column yesterday, "we are one..."

The pond was instantly reminded in sorrow of Oscar Wilde, here at Project Gutenberg ...

“It is not to Adelaide that I am going,” said the Crow. “I am going to the House of Losers. Loser is the brother of Tosser, is he not?” 
And he kissed the Dog Botherer on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet. 
At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the dog botherer as if something had broken. 
The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost. Early the next morning the lizard of Oz editor was walking in Surry Hills in company with the other editors. 
As they passed the dog botherer's column the editor looked down on the piece and frowned: “Dear me! how shabby the dog botherer looks!” he said. 
“How shabby, indeed!” cried the other editors, who always agreed with the editors and they went up to look at it. “The talk of 'we are one' is gone, the ruby has fallen out of his keyboard, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,” said the editor; “in fact, he is little better than a beggar!” 
“Little better than a beggar,” said the other editors “And here is actually a dead bird, a loser crow at his feet!” continued the editor. 
“We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to be losers here.” 
And the sub-editor made a note of the suggestion. 
So they pulled down the column of the unhappy dog botherer. 
“As it is no longer beautiful and we are no longer one, so it is no longer useful, or aesthetically or philosophically pleasing,” said the Art Professor at the University. 
Then they melted the dog botherer's heart in a furnace, and the editor held a meeting of the editorial board to decide what was to be done with the metal. 
“We must have another column, of course,” he said, “and it shall be a celebration of the Chairman. We shall call it, 'we are one' ...”

Or some such thing. The pond doesn't mean to be cruel, and it always fractures its fairytales, and besides, as usual for a Sunday there's more pressing business than talking about the wonderful sights in old Sydney town, because you might also meet the ugly side, the Devine in full hate mode ...

Oh well at partial hate mode, because somehow the song passes the Devine test, and yet it remains outrageous ...

Yes, we've been blessed, and splashed, and touched once more by the essence of the Devine ...

Well there's no need to delay the pain, or bother with an argument, just listen to the howl of pain and the shouting at the clouds ...

Indeed, indeed, clearly it should not have been done.

Clearly the song should not be sung, clearly it should be banned, though not in a way that might be called a ban or a disbarring, because it would be incredibly dishonest to pretend that the uproar amongst Murdochian ratbags has anything to do with trying to ban the singer and/or the song ...

More David cartoons here, but now it's back to the infamously furiously fulminating Devine ...

Oh dear, not more talk of ramming something down the throat ...

There's something very Freudian about this sort of talk, a bit like the onion muncher's own problems with the way he promenades ...

“I probably shouldn’t have winked at Neil Mitchell. I probably shouldn’t have eaten an onion. I probably should have had walk coaching,” he said. 
The backbencher was of course referring to his gait that also saw him constantly mocked... (here)

How did that song go?

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk 
I'm a manly man: no time to talk 
Music loud and women warm, 
I've been kicked around 
Since I was born 
And now it's all right, it's okay 
And you may look the other way 
We can try to understand 
The New York Times', the Graudian, the ABC, and the Fairfaxian
effect on man ...

Or some such thing, the pond fractures lyrics worse than it fractures  fairytales ...

Perhaps a cartoon for refreshment?

And then it's on to a devinely approved cartoon and a last gobbet of Devine ...

Indeed, indeed, the pond would be pleased to see thugby banned. Who wants brain-damaged, suicidal folk in our midst? There's only so many columnist slots available in the Murdochian empire.

And as for civic good and unifying activity, the only social capital it creates is a dog botherer and a capital city in deep depression and existential despair.

Certainly there should be no taxpayer money spent on sports stadiums, though ironically all this persecution of sport might not do much for the business model of the Terror and the Currish Snail, built almost entirely as it is on the world of thugby league ... even if there's no sign of Sydney anywhere to be seen ...

While we're at it, there might be a few other things to note regarding the mindless politicisation of sport ... speaking of funding the agents of division, as we were ...

And speaking of that infamous funding of the agents of division ... more at the ABC here ...

Never mind, the pond will sadly miss the song, and all that follows, and will settle for a final cartoon ...