In which the silly season keeps on being silly ...

The silly season continues at the lizard Oz, with Adam doing a classic troll, the reptiles apparently discovering that the HUN loves to incite neo-Nazis, and the Paris treaty under threat yet again …

The pond rarely bites with Adam, but that Anning thing? 

Was someone suggesting the entire HUN gang should be sacked for demonising the African Australian community in Melbourne for the past year or more?

Ah, never mind, it's just a crow eater thing, with Penberthy gone rogue, and the HUNsters are safe to carry on their demonising this year …who knows, they might get 200 to the next get together celebrating the HUN's campaign about threatening aliens ...

As for news of Paris, the pond thought same old, same old, until it looked down the digital page … and hang on, hang on, what's this?

The second eleven must be in charge - is there a first eleven anywhere in the land, send in some Sydney rain? - or perhaps they lowered the dose of the kool aid in the office water cooler, or perhaps all the coffees prepared by the world-class baristas of Surry Hills are at last having an impact on the 'leets …

Poor suffering Australia, oh poor pitiful us … doing it rough and doing it hard …

Or perhaps the reptiles realise an election is coming, and with a million or so fish dead in the Murray-Darling, perhaps doing the Donald on Paris at the moment isn't the wisest strategy ...

Dear sweet long absent lord, surely the only solution is another dose of Bjorn humbug. 

Only he could reach the level of dilly-dallying humbuggery on view here, with all the hand-wringing and the sighing designed to obscure the way that when it comes to withdrawing from Paris, the reptiles have blinked yet again …

And even worse, the algae bloom of chickenhood seems to have infected the bromancer …

The Morrison government?

Well that's only fair, in a way, but it does shelter the mutton Dutton from the light ...

Yes, yes, but who was the head Python who perpetrated this folly, and thought he was on a winner? Who was the one who thought he could just stoke the fires of hate and fear, and never mind due diligence?

Phew what a relief, the kool aid is strong in this one … 

There you have it … an entire column by the bromancer about an epic Pythonish bout of stupidity, and not a single word mentioning the perpetrator of the folly … 

And so the mutton Dutton is magically transmuted into "the government" and "the Morrison government", and collective guilt and bromancer punishment became the game of the day … 

Meanwhile, elsewhere, some dared speak the nameless name ...

We might be only nine days into the new year, but the pond reckons that the bromancer deserves some kind of gong for the astute way he avoided mentioning the mutton Dutton … 

Now will the onion muncher get the same treatment?

Oh surely there's still some juice to be extracted bashing the Melbourne African crime gangs, and fellow travelling with the neo-Nazis …

Still, by this stage, the pond was short of a centrepiece, and so it turned the clock back to yesterday, and to the lizards recycling a little of the WSJ to fill in the seasonal silliness …

Good old Peggy, as dotty and as clueless as ever, and probably still rabbiting on about Baby, It's Cold Outside … because, you know, cultural warriors like to get stuck in a groove …

It's sublime nonsense of course, all the more so when conservatives roused themselves into a fury at the notion that Satan might have helped an actor craft a role … 

It seems there's humour, and then there's none …

But the pond stayed on the Peggy ride, knowing that there would be a gem or two to extract ...

What's so funny about this? Well good old Peggy once worked with Ronnie Raygun, and if the pond might borrow a little from Kevin Courrier on Newman …

Well we're still in a world of ugly polarisation, with Republicans hitting a new low with their worship and facilitation of the Donald, who has less interest in the y'artz than in a packet of fries …

And so what a laugh that it's now apparently up to lefties to provide the solution, rather than the Murdochians doing a 'physician, heal thyself' routine …

Young people get it, they grok the past. "I was worn in 1991, the same year as a Virgin Megastore was raided for selling condoms without a pharmacist present … Two years before the decriminalisation of homosexuality. Fopur years before the legalisation of divorce. Twenty-seven years, I can only hope, before the repeal of the Eighth Amendment." (Yes, the pond has been reading about Sally Rooney in The New Yorker here).

But the pond was still looking for that gem ...

And there, in the middle of that lengthy gobbet, the gem came: 

"Conservatives have long decried political correctness. The past 30 years they've provided the intellectual muscle against censorship."

What has the pond learned from the Donald? Never tell a small lie, always tell it big ...

The pond doesn't want to keep harping on about Ronnie Raygun and Peggy's loyal service, but didn't this happen within the last thirty years?

Found here, and Greg Hunters will head off here to discover that the biopic ended up on Showtime after CBS ducked for cover …

Here's the reality. 

Conservatives have never provided intellectual muscle against censorship. They fall into a motherfucking apocalyptic, apoplectic heap when a congresswoman dares to speak the same language as the President of the United States, and they've campaigned for centuries against the bold, the daring, and the defiant in the arts …not to mention assorted witch hunts into the way people might go about their private lives ...

Don't ask the pond for a list - or for the many forms of censorship enthusiastically supported by conservatives over the years …

The left has its own kinds of rigidity, but the walls leftist thinking builds have always been porous, and allowed in all kinds of deviance …

Why they even allow a college woman to do a little carefree dancing in the Breakfast Club manner …

The pond rarely ends up at Mashable but what fun that little dance was ...

Meanwhile, others keep yabbering on endlessly about building a wall, which isn't just physical, the pond has it from the best sources that it's some sort of metaphor about us and them …

And that explains in a nutshell why good old Peggy is reduced to scribbling about a Frank Loesser tune and Randy Newman and wheeling in Pope John Paul II, as if the Index Librorum Prohibitorum had never existed and the Pope wouldn't have taken a view on the likes of Henry Miller, Genet, William Burroughs, Frank Zappa, and just to balance the books a little, the likes of Pauline Réage, aka Anne Cécile Desclos, Simone de Beauvoir, and Kathy Acker … (and fuck Jeff Koons too, while the pond is brooding about things).

So much horseshit, so little time in which to build the wall ...