In which the pond looks forward to the bromancer bunging on a nationalistic do in 2020 ...

So the reptiles have finally started to notice … must be time to send in some more loons …

Of course the pond has always advocated that the nation's bush be burned to a crisp, along the lines that the village must be destroyed in order to save it. Pyromaniacs should stalk the countryside, and soon enough we'll have the perfect Brazilian solution, and won't that do wonders for the planet.

Alternatively, why not just take a quiet, coal-loving holiday, and gaze admiringly at this  cartoon from the infallible Pope?

Aah, treasured memories …

And what about that lump of coal in SloMo's paw? It happens that it's just the thing for Xmas …

… which brings the pond to its final business for the year. It's laid up a goodly supply of cartoons, and it's got a goer reptile ready to go ...

But to begin, it should go without saying that the pond is a proud nationalist - dinkum clean Oz coal oi, oi, oi, burn the bush to a crisp - but the pond will say it anyway, and frankly it stuck in the pond's craw that the last word for the year should be left to a Pommie bastard (would it be politically incorrect, given the sex involved, to talk of a Pommie bitch?)

As well as tar and cementing the bush, the pond has long held that we should stage a quick war with the New Zealanders and turn them into a minor state, a bit like Tasmania … that's the nationalist way, bung on a do, acquire a little turf, though there'll have to be some re-education camps to get rid of that terrible accent, and they're unseemly bum-sniffing religion ...

Say what, you've got a problem with that? With a little harmless nationalism proudly venturing forth? Steady on, do a prattling Polonius and think of the past, or at least mother England.

It worked out terribly well in the twentieth century, and that's why the pond is solidly on board with the bromancer, who should surely have the last say in the pond this year on assorted subjects …

Yes, nationalism is a wondrous thing …

Devotees of the bromancer will recall that he just loves the barking mad Hindu fundamentalism of that Narenda Modi cuckoo clock to the north west …

Alarmists might, in a feeble attempt to rebut the bromancer and the pond, point to Dexter Filkins' recent story in The New Yorker, Blood and Soil in India (currently outside the paywall)…an ominous survey of Hindu nationalism.

Modi is almost up there with China's attempt to finally produce an ideal, relentlessly surveyed and thought policed 1984 society of fervent nationalists …

It's a good read, and the pond doesn't want to do spoilers, so this tidbit will suffice as a teaser …

During the dispute over Babri Masjid, Ashis Nandy, a prominent Indian intellectual, began a series of interviews with R.S.S. members. A trained psychologist, he wanted to study the mentality of the rising Hindu nationalists. One of those he met was Narendra Modi, who was then a little-known B.J.P. functionary. Nandy interviewed Modi for several hours, and came away shaken. His subject, Nandy told me, exhibited all the traits of an authoritarian personality: puritanical rigidity, a constricted emotional life, fear of his own passions, and an enormous ego that protected a gnawing insecurity. During the interview, Modi elaborated a fantastical theory of how India was the target of a global conspiracy, in which every Muslim in the country was likely complicit. “Modi was a fascist in every sense,” Nandy said. “I don’t mean this as a term of abuse. It’s a diagnostic category.”

The pond looks forward to a nationalistic/fundamentalist religious war between India and Pakistan, of the kind only devout nationalists can produce …

Sorry, the pond got a little distracted, and now should hand over to the bromancer, and it's only a diagnostic category, not a term of abuse, when the pond notes that the bromancer is a loon in every sense ...

He's a great political leader? His main achievement was to fuck up and fuck over London, before fucking over Theresa May, and now he's been in the job less than a month and he's a great political leader?

But the pond goes along with the bromancer's general argument. All this nonsense by the Europeans about wanting to demonise nationalism, when everyone knows there's nothing like a decent stoush to bring out the plucky Dunkirk spirit, with a dash of Biggles and lots of Churchillian rhetoric …

Let's get back to some decent feuding and fussing and fighting. Sure, it might not do much for trade, and it won't help the deluded folk in the north of England facing structural issues (though it might just work for Moggsy if London can be turned into the Canary Islands), but there's nothing like a stoush to take the mind off being fucked over by the Donald in a trade deal …

Speaking of the Donald, the pond was inspired by this recent triumph of nationalism in The Atlantic …

And that's why the pond thought it might slip a few Donald cartoons …

And now for some bloody good nationalism, courtesy the bromancer ...

Indeed, indeed, and hasn't the retreat into bunkers around the world worked out terribly well, with tolerance and magnanimity on view everywhere …

Enough of making humanity great again, let's do another grab of the bromancer ...

Uh huh, a defining moment … much more a defining moment than Prince Andrew fucking under-aged girls, supplied with care and style. After all, what better symbol of the monarchy than a fucker of the under-aged? It's emblematic of the times. It's not just the Catholics that can do it you know …

Sorry, the pond is dreadfully sorry to mention the monarchy and religion and all that stuff … when really, what should we be talking about in these nationalistic times?

Please three huzzahs, let us all embrace fundamentalist coal and even more fundamentalist Christianity, and what could go wrong? Just celebrate a Young Earth nearing its End Times, and wait for the Rapture to save the chosen, and the unwashed can trot off to hell where they can experience a good burning, as a lesson and a reminder that they should have burned the bush to a crisp, and put in decent tarred parking lots for the malls ...

Let the pond hasten to add that a leader's religion shouldn't be targeted … and that religion is wonderful, and has done wonders for the Indian sub-continent, and the Middle East, and assorted other countries, not least Europe in its hey day …

And we might yet manage to return to the time of monarchs …

And there is one, assured, guaranteed result ...

Soon enough, the north of England will hear that they've been heard from enough ...

And so to a final nationalist gobbet from the bromancer …determined to stoke bigotry, hate, division and despair, by doling out insults and rabbiting on in a way that is reminiscent of a Lord Hee-Haw ...

Uh huh, that sort of hagiography is remarkably puke-inducing, but it seems that in these times, that's what assorted monarchs, chairman Rupert, the Donald, Boris and other egomaniacs demand, because we can never have enough reminders of the Europe of the 1930s ….

As a result, this column is one for the ages, a keeper, and if the pond remembers, it will likely drag it back out into the light of day in a year's time, and see how it's all held up, and how things have worked out for an authentic liar, cheat, fraud and scribbler of falsehoods …

It's hardly fair, a year is a long way off, and not giving a fuck or a whit or a jot about what happens beyond next week to a reptile celebration, or sundry reptile predictions, is an important sign of reptile in-breeding.

And on that cheerful note, all that's left to do is for the pond to hand out nationalistic Christmas cheer and a nationalistic new year to its remaining readers, and let's bung on a few beauties in 2020.

Now, in lieu of Xmas presents, cards and letters, here's a few more cartoons …and try to stay safe and well. Remember there's always an under toad or a Murdochian ready to fuck things up, or worship those guaranteed to fuck things up ...

In which the pond seizes another moment for season's greetings, thanks to their Mel ...

  

It's a dreary life for the automatons at the lizard Oz, daily spinning their deep and abiding love for SloMo and his minions …

So every so often they have to trot out a conspiracy, preferably involving a long-standing figure of hate, fear and loathing …

Only the reptiles could produced a digital edition juxtaposing a wicked, naughty, possibly evil, certainly malign Tim Flannery, with more dinkum love for clean Aussie coal, oi, oi, oi, a certain way to help climate change …

Oh wait, the reptiles also have another way, a pet theme, a reptile meme, a trope for the twittering ages …

Luckily the pond had an infallible Pope cartoon on standby to celebrate all the recent triumphs of the reptiles and the SloMovians …

And so to the pond's search for the best way to wrap up the year, and wish everyone season's greetings, and retire to catch a Melbourne tram … and what a deadly thing has happened in that search.

It's a warning for the local reptiles to lift their game, instead of continually lifting their commentary from the farthest reaches of the Murdochian empire … because frankly Mel is a prime contender, even if they can only manage an """ for a thumb photo id, so rara avis is this bird …

The pond is of course completely on board with hatred of women - it's deeply ingrained in the reptile spirit - and all the more so when a moronic Murdochian correspondent proves the point that women are dreary moronic automatons by writing in a drearily moronic and automatonic way …

There's an additional frisson when it happens to be a woman who was once a dreary leftist, but now has become a dreary right wing loon ...

Indeed, indeed, though the pond does prefer women who squawk from within the safety of Murdochian glass houses about empowered women … 

You see, the chance of discovering a woman who might perform better than Jeremy Corbyn is absolutely nil, zero, because he's been such a triumph, so successful that when anyone else, perhaps with a sense of womanly shame, would have promptly left the stage, and disappeared up his own ether, he's still hanging around like a bad Comrade Bill smell … but do go on, with the usual reptile ranting about women ...

… which is of course completely different to our Melanie parroting her dreary agitprop Murdochian slogans on the joys of a rape culture …

And to to a few minor Billy goat butt thoughts - of course there are a few examples of bias and prejudice against women, not least Mel's marvellous example in this very automatonic column - before wrapping things up ...

The pond is content. Should this be the last post for the year, what a ripper it is, and what a reprimand to the local reptiles, who seem to have forgotten all about the culture wars this year, have let slide the war on Christmas, and been content to bask on a hot rock in the record-breaking December heat - dinkum clean Oz coal, oi, oi, oi …

Let's face it, if we could just blonde her up, Mel would make a fine Fox and Friends host, and long absent lordy, do men need more Stepford wives like that, or what …

And now because it's getting closer and closer to a Melbourne tram, if this is the last post, have a happy Xmas - as much as circumstances allow - and let us look forward to more summer heat waves, and the reptiles attending to their culture wars duties, with First Dog showing them the way, and with more First Dog here …

The pond rarely quotes the Dog, but he does show the reptiles the way forward, and the hair splitting on a pin which can, with a lick of effort, devour the whole of next year … while of course continuing the campaign to nuke the country, and coalify the world …

Oh how the pond loves its WWJD's ...

In which the pond suggests an insult-laden Xmas will produce much joy and goodwill ...

The pond wasn't happy leaving the year with our Gracie, and was relieved when a friend pointed out a chance for the pond to wrap up proceedings by sounding presidential.

The pond has long wanted to say that the reptiles are scum, all of them, the scum of the earth, the scum that litters bathtubs, the slimy scummy film you can find on a pond, especially one full of gibbering loons, the dross scum scoria to be found on the metals of life, the scum refuse that's lower than the garbage bin the garbos unloaded this morning …

This scum is utterly unlike the garbos, who actually do something useful and meaningful.

Does this mean that facilitators, enablers and fellow travellers of the Phillips Adams or Gra Gra kind are scum too? Of course they are, they're all scum, and all those who scribble for the lizard Oz about the y'artz or travel or food or whatever, the lickspittle fellow traveling David Strattons, are also scum …

It's scum city, the basest form of scum sipping on the world class coffees provided by the baristas of Surry Hills ...

Hang on, hang on, the pond can hear you say, that's being a bit stern, a bit unbending.

But of course the pond wasn't just sounding presidential in the Donald style, the pond was following the bromancer in the cheerful dinkum art of the insult and the put-down …

Of course Nino Culotta actually happened to be a white dude going by the name John O'Grady, and so the wops, dagoes, wogs, chinks, gooks, towel heads and such like didn't have much of a say in the fine art of dinkum comic abuse. Nor did poofters, queers, weirdos, deviants, perverts and such like …

Some of them even felt a tad alienated and actually insulted … which just goes to show how wogs lack a sensahuma. 

It was the same with poofters. Try calling someone a poofter in the 1950s, and see how the wonderful art of the dinkum insult would make you feel good about yourself, and pleased to identify with poofters.

No, it was much better to be like the pond's father, and when driving through Rockdale, cheerfully announce that we were leaving Wogdale.

Talk about a thigh slapper, talk about fucking laugh, laugh and fucking laugh, until you fucking laughed yourself silly … though come to think of it, the pond can't remember the wogs sharing in the mirth …in much the same way as the black bastards and the chink bastards didn't find 'bastard' such a comical and endearing term … but please don't let the pond get in the way of the bromancer going down memory lane, and incidentally sticking it to the pieties our Gracie gravely covered yesterday ...

Indeed, indeed, and that's why the pond is pleased and proud to call the reptiles scum. Could there be a better way for the pond to express its affection for the reptiles at end of year than to call them the filthy ring on the bathtub, the floating detritus, the slimy green layer to be found on stagnant ponds, the delight and joy of mosquito breeders everywhere ...

Of course the reptile readership was ecstatic, and it brought back fond memories of the good old days, when the way to keep a slut or a whore in line was to give her a whack in the moosh, and remind her she was a bitch, a bloody useless bitch …trust the pond, it was kindly meant, because unless you spoke firmly to a bitch, or whacked a bloody poofter in the keister, they might decide they could step out of line …

You'd follow it up with a line like "I loves ya, ya silly old moo", and all would be well, and domestic bliss would reign …and as for the poofters? Well anyone who couldn't see the undiluted dinkum comedy in 'turd burglars' was surely too far gone for help ...

And now for a moment, a little presidential speech …

Now once the pond gets on a roll, it seems it can't stop the insults flying, and who better to help out than the Oreo. The pond regrets that its weekly routine has dragged the Oreo down from her once high place ...

It turns out that the Oreo this day is thematically very much in line with the bromancer…

Note the use of "queer" which is inordinately amusing and clever, because there's nothing funnier than gay jokes about gays, using double meanings … you know, in the style, if you happen to be driving through Wogdale, to joke about the wog bastards oiling and greasing up the landscape …

But sadly it seems the wowsers and the do-gooders and the snowflakes are trying to stop these jolly japes amongst chums, well at least white middle-aged chums ...

Oh dear, what a blast, what a trip down memory lane …

Ah Dworkin, Jeffreys and Oreo, how the names trip off the feminist tongue, and so gaily ...

So much for the pond's trans friends, and so much for reptile scum … but please remember, the pond is only sounding presidential about the Oreo, because it's a jolly jape suited to the Xmas season.

Just remember when at the Xmas table, a surly look around at all the bloody relatives will see the festivities get off with a real kick when you call them a pack of bloody poofter bastards ...

It seems a long way from speaking civilly to a trans person, and using the identity that they offer the world, to drag in talk of the Chinese system, but that's how you argue when you have a scum mentality, and all around you, your paranoia sees you angry at the world, and at people who think, look, and act differently to you …

Apparently if you call a he a she, or a she a he, it's a lie, unless you demand a genital check to ascertain the truth of the matter …

Sheesh, were things funnier in the 1950s?

Oh shove a pineapple up your righteous bigoted non-submitting bum, or if you prefer, as we did in Tamworth, insert a giant woolly Pioneer bus …

And now perhaps that's done it, perhaps no reptile can top this seasonal goodwill, perhaps the reptiles and the pond have shown the world that the way forward is to insult everyone and all will be well …

And so the pond can wish its readers merry Xmas and all the best for the new year, as it heads off in search of a working tram …

Here, enjoy a few more insults to go with the pudding …