In which the pond survives damnation thanks to our Gracie but then visits hell thanks to the bloviating bromancer ...

So it's come to this comrades, in chairman Rupert's top of the page digital la la land, with notorious socialist and comrade in arms Adams complaining that he's lost his place in the Chairman's Lounge and his favourite 1A seat.

Such an Easter tragedy for a humble foot soldier in the cause of international socialist solidarity - it reminded the pond of Billy Bragg in concert boasting that he only flew first class, apparently the duty of all Marxists on international flights.

Meanwhile … the reptiles were out in force doing their electoral duties, as only humble servants of Pravda down under would do on a holiday break. 

While all the other bludgers were on a break, the reptiles were down in the basement of their 'leet Surry Hills lodgings, pounding away, perhaps even forsaking their chance at a latte from the best baristas in the world. 

Oh there was an almighty host of holy effort in the crusade to save the coalition. Let an honour roll be put up in the local town hall for all of these noble warriors …

   

 

Yes, blundering cranky gambler Bill was a hostage, and wise old nattering "Ned" knew the truth about the specious claims about the theology of climate science, but perhaps best of all was the news that Dodson was under pressure to deliver should he get into government, which sounded rather like the reptiles had run up the white flag, assumed that SloMo was a loser, and thought Dodson would be in the ministry. 

Some reptiles are too dumb when it comes to their Pravda down under crusader duties … if only Brownie had written a sure fire truth, which is that doddering Dodson would be a disaster if elected, and so must be rejected out of hand. Sheesh, must the pond spend every day in the Chairman's lounge correcting the efforts of the reptiles? No white flag from the 'leet Surry Hills bunker, puh-lease, because the country is heading for eternal damnation and comrade Bill hellfire.

Okay, a sense of existential tedium took hold and the pond looked elsewhere for excitement - the sight of reptile parrots all in a row squawking away might have excited the pond as a five year old in Tamworth, but these days the pond needs a bigger buzz, and this seemed to promise it, with the preeminent parrot himself out and out squawking loudly, before heading off to spend an eternity in hellfire and damnation …

The pond was pleased, because it had lined up several reading items the day before, including a trip to Kiwi land to read Stuff's Israel Folau backflipped on his promise to walk away from Rugby Australia, which included waggish plays of this kind …

The very same tweet found its way into a News story here, which ended this way …

Yes, and never mind the cash in paw that Qantas gives the game, while cruelly spurning legendary socialists always willing to stand in the queue and patiently wait their serve of a biscuit and a cup of tea …

But it turned out that the pond had completely wasted its time looking at a game and a matter it really had not much interest in, because this day our Gracie took the field and delivered a major coat hanger to the screeching parrot and his cohort …

Say what? The pond knew that there must have been some deep disturbance in the force if our Gracie had aligned with the secularists and the infidels, and was setting herself up for at least a stint in purgatory (Catholics only) or an eternity of hellfire ...

Grotty details? Far too much information about highly paid boofheads at play, but the pond was instantly compelled, in an Ancient Gracie Mariner way ...

Oh dear, does this mean the pond was in breach when it advised that the squawking parrot was surely destined for hellfire and damnation for all eternity? Even if it was in jest, because the pond suspected that Folau's imaginary friend didn't really think that locking souls up for torture for all eternity was a particularly Xian thing to do …

Never mind, contractually, our Gracie stayed firm … the breach was in, and termination must follow ...

A reptile scribbling something the pond agreed with? It was unhealthy, it must surely be unconstitutional, and it left the pond with a dilemma. Where was the weekend loonacy, with the parrot routed before he'd even been read? The squawk receding like a galah flapping away over the back paddock ...

Luckily, there was a certifiable loon to hand, and who better to save the day than the bromancer with a truly loopy piece …

It wouldn't be a piece by the bromancer - hard upon the heels of his declaration of love for the onion muncher -  to use the word "bloviating" in a very unique way (yes ABC 24 has been at it again in its exceptionally unique way).

The one thing to be said about Mueller is that throughout his investigation, he said nothing and ran a very tight, leak-free ship. 

Even now he hasn't said a word, while the likes of the duplicitous Barr have said plenty. 

So how did "bloviating" get into the bromancer mix, when any Greg Hunter could head off here to read this description of "bloviation"?:

Bloviation is a style of empty, pompous political speech popularized by United States President Warren G. Harding, who, himself a master of the technique, described it as "the art of speaking for as long as the occasion warrants, and saying nothing". The verb "to bloviate" is the act of creating bloviation. In terms of its etymology, according to one source, the word is a "compound of blow, in its sense of 'to boast' (also in another typical Americanism, blowhard), with a mock-Latin ending to give it the self-important stature implicit in its meaning.

As with the Donald, who routinely calls others liars, while himself being an exceptionally able and notorious liar, it seems that the bromancer is indulging in an act of transference, calling Mueller a bloviator as a way of hiding his own bloviation, which begins by dubbing Mueller an "Inquisitor", because to a Catholic, all reasonable inquiries and investigative activities are medieval, and the mind set is somewhere back in the days of Paul ...

Yes, it's a full bout of Trumpism, of the kind which attracts the bromancer every so often. It's a very unique style that the bromancer has discovered, which is to point out in a homely way that the Donald might have a few minor failings, but in the end, in a grand way, the bromancer will then absolve him, hail him as triumphant, honour him with olive garlands, grant him significant victories and otherwise hold the grifter in high esteem ...

And what about the role of the Russians in the election, and Vlad the impaler's help in getting the Donald elected? Why 'tis nothing, and truly despot Chairman Rupert welcomed the help of the Ruskis, and no doubt the bromancer himself feels something of an affection for the role of the killer of journalists and political enemies ...

Yes, there's nothing like naked, out in public collusion to make collusion a splendid and honest thing …and meanwhile, we can rest assured, that everything chairman Rupert and his minions do and say in relation to the Donald is gratuitous and damaging to the institutions they claim to be upholding … because there really hasn't been a tinpot grifter and snake oil salesman of this kind at the top of the tree since tricky Dick first showed how best to play that game …

But then the bromancer is long skilled in the art of defending the indefensible, a bloviator supreme as it were - not least when it comes to bloviating about the onion muncher - but rather than argue more, the pond will rest content. Once again the bromancer has saved the day for the pond, as the truly unique home for certifiable loonery, and duty done, the pond will settle for a reliable Rowe, with more Rowe to be found here …

Oh and for Canberrans celebrating the wonders of light rail, the infallible Pope offered this pleasure, though it might seem a tad arcane to outsiders …

The pond should just add that everybody must see Gungahlin at once before they die, but be warned, in consequence, the chance of dying of existential alienation in Gungahlin is also pretty high … why it makes Tamworth seem like a metropolis at the centre of the known universe ...