In which the pond goes with the dog botherer and speaks in tongues with the bouffant one ...

Choices, choices, always with the choices … and the pond made the fatal mistake of thinking of going with Dame Groan ...

But then the pond remembered that it would be just be more of the same as it ever was, because Dame Groan hates renewables with a passion that borders on a frenzy.

Dame Groan never talks about climate science - though the rampant denialism is implicit throughout her scribbles.

You'll never find Dame Groan ranting at talk of dropping a cool billion on a rail line for Adani, or raging at the coalition for proposing to do the Stalinist rag and invest in coal …

And then the pond realised it could have its dog botherer cake and eat its Dame Groan lamington too, just by letting the dog botherer do all the hard yards…

You see, the dog botherer is an acknowledged player. He helped Lord Downer fuck Iraq and he was around at the time of the Godwin Grech affair to help fuck Malaware's career … and set off the epic feud between Malware and the onion muncher which ruined government and coalition for nigh on a decade, and he even carried a recommendation from the Devine for this noble work ...

Kenny, Devine wrote of her News Corp stablemate, is "in touch with the world, has the right ideas [and] shares Abbott's broad world view. "But his greatest attribute is that he's fearless and confident enough to challenge the cosy consensus thinking." But who comprised Malcolm Turnbull's inner sanctum when the Grech/Utegate misjudgment destroyed his leadership? His chief of staff was Kenny – fearless to a fault! – while Credlin was banished to a broom closet, finishing her law degree. (AFR here).

To fuck a country a war criminal way and help fuck a government and set in motion a remarkable blood-letting feud is a singular achievement, and makes the dog botherer a singular player, and Dame Groan should relax, because he'll do his very best to help fuck climate science and the planet too … while offering his player advice to ScoMo ...

Indeed, but oops, there's no Minister for fucking a country, or fucking a career with a ute, so we must press on with more advice from the dog botherer ...

Of course the dog botherer is just dissembling with his talk of the wretched envoys. 

One of the envoys was first emboldened by the dog botherer's singular advice to Malware on the matter of utes, and ScoMo has decided that idle minds and hands are best sent out to the bush to get occupied, and what better way to do it than to give them the chance to harass cockies and pesky, difficult blacks instead of him?

The cockies and the pesky difficult blacks are used to suffering, so a little more envoy torment won't hurt them ...

And come to think of it, it might be better than allow them to hang around in Canberra, channeling the dog botherer's desire to fuck climate science and the planet ...

And there, the pond knew it would come, the pond knew that Dame Groan would be satisfied. 

Dame Groan had wrapped up her carry-on this way ...

But the dog botherer had her backside covered. You don't get to help fuck up a country, sundry careers and a government without knowing how to fuck up Paris, climate science and the planet ...

Yes, there you go, Dame Groan, you see? There was no need for the pond to run with your usual renewable energy diatribe.

The dog botherer was on hand with reliable talk about dinkum clean Oz coal, oi, oi, oi. Enough of blather about pathetic renewables needing subsidies, what we need is a decently organised five year plan from a socialist government ready to invest in coal-fired power stations, or perhaps do a little price fixing.

And will the players ever shut up about this? Only when the planet takes on the shape of Iraq or ScoMo's reign takes on all the characteristics of Malware's government, timid and fearful and tip-toeing around the players intent on rampant destruction …

But speaking of ScoMo's reign, the pond just had to draw attention to this spectacular effort by the bouffant one ...

Yes, it's fallen to the bouffant one to help craft a picture of the speaking in tongues rapture impending man as an Ordinary Delusional Australian … and instead of his usual inclination to short reports, he let the verbiage flow … 

Naturally that team of salary cap thuggee cheats, the Sharks, were featured at the top of this talk of Ordinary Australians going about their ordinary business of rorting ...

His only hope? But the rapture will surely be with us by Xmas …

There you go, the return is imminent and certainly premillennial, and perhaps might yet save the government a needless investment in a coal-fired power station, and there's certainly no need to worry about difficult, useless climate scientists and their truly weird religion … 

Indeed, indeed, though the bouffant one has omitted ScoMo's most spectacular advantage over comrade Bill … the ability to speak in tongues …

By golly, that should win a few votes in the difficult times ahead ...

Well it's been a singular effort by the bouffant one, but it's time for a last gobbet …

And sadly the pond has to report that while this attempt at polishing the speaker in tongues was a valiant one, sadly the bouffant one came up short, and began to sound a little despondent by the end of it all ...

Oh those experts in the dark arts, how they make the News Corp mob look like rank amateur players …

How hard it is working for the big end of town and dinkum clean Oz coal, oi, oi, oi …

How hard it is to explain how it will all trickle down in the end to the dags of the world … you know, a country fixed up and in excellent shape, like Iraq, and a good ute, handy for getting to the next casual job …

But it could be worse … the News Corp players and Sky News and the parrot and such like might yet help ScoMo learn how to go the full Donald ...