In which the Savva goes Freudian and the bromancer turns alienated youff ...

The pond had a sudden yearning, a nostalgic remembrance of the good old days when dashing Donners was out and about, and Moorice was doing climate science … ah, the battle for the Ramsay centre, the battle to save white Western Civilisation, the glory days of fake theological science, the sweet pure love of dinkum clean Oz coal ...

These days the poseur Brian Fisher , fossil fuel industry consultant, has produced some independent modelling to get the reptiles excited, but the pond refuses to go there, though others made notes on his previous effort …

Sure, there were comings and goings for Islamophobia, homophobia, rape jokes and whatever, but why is anyone surprised? There are reptile readers around the land, and some of the reptile culture is sure to stick …

There was one redeeming story: the pond was genuinely impressed by the tale of the government spending $55 million to resettle refugees in Cambodia and coming up with just three, one of whom claimed that in total he'd received actual cash help of $60,000, plus some support benefits, and then been stiffed on an agreed deal regarding health and schooling (ABC here).

That's more like it, sharp minds at work, clever deal-making at its best …Colbert, get out your calculator. Would it have been simpler to just give the three five mill each? How much might we have saved? A cool forty million? Well the pond will settle for ten per cent of that as the government's deal-making agent ...

Meanwhile, the pond's Tamworth correspondent dropped in a link to the Northern Daily Bleeder, which noted that Barners had avoided a candidates forum on women's issues in Coledale, a suburb of that mighty town.

Barners and women's issues is a bit like fish in search of oxygen in a dinkum river, but of course the real problem was the setting.

Frankly, since the original invasion, Barners has always been a bit worried about Coledale … really, they should have set the debate in the lofty heights of the east Tamworth foothills and he'd have been right there …

And it was around that point that the pond glumly knew it couldn't escape election chatter, and there'd be two more weeks of it, and there was nothing to do but settle down and read a couple of reptile favourites chewing the cud on the state of play, with the savvy Savva setting the scene …

Ouch, that's a little harsh, but of course the savvy Savva used to fellow travel with the Malware mob and they're still haunting the reptile dreams …

It almost sounded like a pond song favourite … the night they drove the old onion muncher down and the Warringah bells were ringing, the night they drove the old onion muncher down, and the Malware mob were singin', they went la la, la, la, fuck off onion muncher …

Oh that's too cruel.

Where on earth did that come from? Well for those who care and can get behind the paywall, Crikey has been running regular reports on the battle for Warringah, and as a New Zealander might say, it's grum puckings, but now it's on with the Savva …

SloMo a bulldog? Let's hope he has imaginary doggy friends in the sky standing by...

And um, John Howard a winner?

So much winning, are you tired of all that winning yet, and no doubt gluttons for punishment and masochists will rush off to YouTube to enjoy the winning … but the pond had to press on …

Sorry, even with the savvy Savva urging the pond on, there's no way it will ever take a look at that debate, because on the heat v. light scale, it's likely to have been tilted towards the Q and A rating of 11 for heat, and 0 for light … especially as, after criticising SloMo for lacking policies and visions, the savvy Savva herself then descends into presidential style politics to chatter about fascinating insights into the strengths and weaknesses of both men …

Sheesh, instead of policies, we double down on Freud, and televisual antics?

They shouldn't? Hmm, the pond will take that comment on notice because just down below, after the next gobbet, will come the bromancer, and we'll see what he has to say about Clive and Pauline …

Well yes, who could utter a kind word about Clive or Pauline, compared to anyone? His behaviour to his workers and his behaviour regarding his obligations has been despicable, but then Queenslanders are apparently so dumb and deplorable, a little YouTube advertising will turn them into mindless morons in a nanosecond.

As for Pauline, her behaviour has routinely been beyond the pale, and attracts humbugs blathering about family values, while putting their real values into practice, so that they can be revealed in the digital ether …

And who could argue about the assorted ratbags, spouting from the reptile pages about assorted fears and loathings, though at least that allows the pond to have a break with an infallible Pope, with more papal comedy here …

And so to the other reading for the day …

Yes, the bromancer has decided on the pose of a disaffected teenager, full of ennui and existential angst, railing at the tedium of life, and the boredom the world inflicts on him … why Sartre himself has nothing on the lad's posing.

So much suffering, though to resort to Freud again, the pond suspects this might be the bromancer steeling himself for defeat. It sounds like the sort of half-baked defeatism you might expect from a Régime de Vichy supporter … never mind, companion d'armes, we will still have our cheese and our red wine to comfort us in the long years of our existential alienation …

How bad is it? Well pretty bad when you have to go back to Gough as your starting point ...

These omens aren't good … why next thing you know, the bromancer will be declaring his love for Billy McMahon, though the pond's copy of the book of Billy's wit somehow turned out to be completely empty, and useful only for notes about the shopping …

Even worse, the bromancer might decide to go full Shakespearian … you know ...

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted SloMo fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, or a bromancer, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing. 

Or perhaps more prosaically, the bromancer fancies himself as Jimmy Dean …

I woke up this morning, you know... and the sun was shining, and it was nice, and all that type of stuff. And the first thing, I saw you, and, uh, I said, "Boy, this is gonna be one terrific day, so you better live it up, because tomorrow you'll be nothing." You see? And I almost was.

And you thought the pond was joking? Cop this ...

Well the pond won't hear a word said against Billy McMahon of the quavering voice …but the pond does get it, that old reptile trick which the pond thought had disappeared long ago, of raising the spectre of Gough as an ides of May warning, even though it actually suggests that the reptile demographic is now well into its seventies …

Those who can remember it all will also remember that Gough was followed by a member of the squattocracy, a man so tepid, dull and grey that it's hard to recall anything about him, at least until in his deep guilt, he decided to go much more leftie than Gough and rail against his old party, and suddenly became a pariah and wandered in the wilderness ...

But that final par gives the rub to the bromancer thinking, as he broods about six lost, wasted years. Yet, to be fair, the NBN was destroyed, a deep love of dinkum clean Oz coal was celebrated, fake climate science theological thinking was debunked, and the Ramsay centre was formed to celebrate white Western Civilisation …even if the celebration of Julian the Apostate was a tad muted … (sorry, inside the paywall).

Surely much was accomplished. Why is it that the pond senses this bromancer looking back hints at defeatism, some time in Rick's cafe, perhaps even a death wish?

Ah memories, but before the pond gets too sentimental and bursts into a bout of Streisand, we should rush on to the next gobbet …and more of that patented bromancer existential despair ...

And there you go savvy Savva, there's the reptiles around you revealing what they really think … 

Hanson is not as bad as she was, and Clive is less extreme and less dangerous to the nation than the greenies …

Yes, you can screw the workers and screw the government, or not so very long ago, carry on in chambers like a prime ratbag …

… and somehow, the bromancer will still manage to put in a kind, redeeming word for you.

And they wonder why bored, alienated youffs and members of the Liberal party turn towards white nationalism and homophobia and Islamophobia and all the other signs of radicalisation …

Is there a solution? Of course there is, compulsory conscription, militarisation on a huge scale, and bung on the third world war … it's the only way to end the sense of tedium and ennui ...

Luckily most of the reptiles and the reptile readership will be too old to enlist, or possibly might have a bout of bone spurs …

But if we're going to project the end of the world, as always, the pond prefers the visionary Rowe, with more apocalyptic, rapturous Rowe visions of surfers and dinosaurs here …