In which the pond goes full Shakespeare with the savvy Savva ...

The pond did its training on an FX, so it understood that a dipstick was more than a jolly way to refer to the onion muncher …

A dipstick was a reminder that a pint of oil would come in handy, possibly every second day, and these days the savvy Savva is the best reptile dipstick doing the rounds for anyone wanting to assess the level of residual bitterness in the Liberal party … and by golly that poignant contrasting of the Kroger with the Savva in the reptile splashes was just what the pond was looking for …

Of course the pond has no time for faint-hearted women who moan about being bullied. It's the divine right of cock-bearing men to bully anyone in sight, and if women don't like it, why they should get back to the kitchen and do something easy, like experiencing a twenty hour delivery …

And so on and so forth, how the pricks love their thrusting and bollocking, though the pond was sure that the savvy Savva took a slightly different view of why women should have to endure a pain in the arse of the Kroger kind …

Hmm, if the pond's patented dipstick is any guide, there's still a good deal of residual bitterness at the way that unreconstructed dinosaurs go about their political business …

Wilcox seems to capture the look of the demented luddite dinosaur well, and there's Wilcox more here.

But back to measuring the bitterness ...

Yes indeed, for the first and possibly the last time in its life the pond thought that Terry Barnes got it right …

My 'speaking in tongues' liege, 
They are not yet come back. 
Barners is still out Woop Woop way
And the onion muncher is beyond the black stump
But I have spoke 
With one that saw him die, who did report 
That very frankly he confessed his treasons, 
Implored your highness' pardon, and set forth 
A deep repentance. Nothing in his life 
Became him like the leaving of parliament. He died 
As one that had been studied in his political death 
To throw away the dearest thing he owed 
The chance to fuck up another NBN, say Snowy 2.0
As ’twere a careless trifle.

Yes the only reason the pond heads to Fairfax these days is for the cartoons ...

And now for a final check on the bitterness level, with the pond suspecting that perhaps an old school gallon of oil might be required at end of read …

Oh dear, poor Mathias. Not Mathias … why there goes half a dozen good Micallef sketches in a Terminator trice ...

MALWARE: Et tu, Mathias?! Then fall, Malware. 
(Dies)
JOSH: Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 
SCO MO: Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' MATHIAS: People and senators, be not affrighted; Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid. 
JOSH: Go to the pulpit, Mathias. 
SCO MO: Where's the savvy Savva? 
JOSH: Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 
ONION MUNCHER: Stand fast together, lest some friend of Malware's 
Should chance-- 
SCO MO: Talk not of standing. Onion muncher, good cheer; 
There is no harm intended to your person, 
Nor to no dinkum cobblers else: so tell them, Onion Muncher, 
we have a tasty job bringing peace 
And civilisation to primitive tribes for you. 
JOSH: And leave us, Onion Muncher; lest that the people, 
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 
There are tribes to be pacified, 
while Barners leads the chanting for rain.
SCO MO: Do so: and let no man abide this deed, 
But we the doers. 
Re-enter BARNERS, a caring family man: Where is Julie? 
GREG the HUNTER: Fled to her house amazed: 
Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run 
As it were doomsday. 
SCO MO: Fates, we will know your pleasures: 
That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 
Bring forth the entrails
So that I might examine them and speak in tongues.
MATHIAS: Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life 
Cuts off so many years of fearing political death. 
SCO MO: Grant that, and then is political death a benefit: 
So are we Malware's friends, that have abridged 
His time of fearing death and worrying about the NBN
Stoop, dinkum cobbers, stoop, 
And let us bathe our hands in Malware's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!'

Or some such thing, same as it ever was, even Molesworth's desire to molest the bard and Romans and Latin …

Perhaps the pond should just check the sump and the swamp, and settle for another Wilcox …

Oh yes, same as it ever was …