In which the pond tackles the reptiles' deadliest move … the unholy triptych ...

The pond looked at the reptile line-up today, and blanched, went in fact as white as a sheet, and took on a ghostly, ghastly edge of fear …

The reptiles had deployed their fiercest, most fearsome move … the triptych of terror.

The pond can think of only one superior move …

This was a line-up for the ages … but at least the pond had learnt its lesson a long time ago. 

Don't step up to the reptiles, don't argue, don't get into a bar room brawl - instead present them as ethnographic and sociological wonders and marvels to behold…

Let others decide what irritated them the most. Just enjoy the journey, and the destination - a love of pure, sweet innocent coal - would look after itself ...

Doing a Gandhi was the only way to retain sanity on the long haul, because all of the reptiles were feeling their oats, even Shanners. 

The pond's readers had been worried about the hagiographic powers of the reptiles, but today they came back strong, these bin chicken 'crane move' kung fu fiends of Surry Hills.

Naturally the honour of going first feel to central panel in the triptych, the dog botherer at the heart of the matter. That way readers could drop off like flies and be spared the horrors that were to follow …

Now all this is well and good and soundly cynical, but the dog botherer was just warming up, and when last discussed on these pages, there was some contemplation of his favourite words, whether luvvies or woke or such like, but the pond realised that it had completely forgotten the rolled gold cheap trinket known as "virtue-signalling, pure and simple"...

Where would the virtuous reptiles be without 'virtue-signalling', since every knows that like love, virtue is a despicable thing, and might have something to do with that reprehensible Xian socialist who stalked the earth thousands of years ago preaching virtue and love, as a disguised Satan surely would ...

The point in any of these screeds is never to mention climate science, because given the dog botherer's scientific credentials, he might be better off fucking a dog than making a fool of himself …

And it goes without saying that behind it all, as well as the climate science denialism, which is a given, there's a Hill Song-like devotion to sweet, nurturing dinkum clean Oz coal. Oh sing its praises, celebrate with joy in your sooty hearts...

Yes, indeed, it's much better to go on fucking the planet the way we are, with all this nonsensical talk of recycling, reusing, sustainability, and other such gibberish, which is a mortal sin in the eyes of the dog botherer … though the next line is another classic dog botherer Sergeant Friday routine …

Our debate is dominated by unrealistic posturing rather than cold hard facts …

Could "unrealistic posturing" be up there with virtue-signalling? We know about the rest, and the rich fantasy life the dog botherer leads with the cold, hard facts …

Just the fags and the cold, hard facts, ma'am, and if you fuck your lungs and the planet, where's the harm?

Yes, let the fight for coal continue, terrify the wimps with talk of nukes, and whatever you do, don't take climate science seriously.

And so the pond went on to the left panel of the unholy triptych, and this time it was the bromancer, and sure enough the heavenly campaign for coal was in full swing, with the bushfire season hopefully forgotten, and the propaganda machine ready to go back to its old ways ...

It's the oldest reptile argument of all. Nobody's doing anything, so why should we do anything? Why can't we just keep pushing coal up to Asia? Leadership? That's for virtue-signallers …

Now please, a graph at the end of this gobbet to make the bromancer's point ...

No doubt about that. Sure, we might be insufficient, but look at all the other recalcitrants. Surely that's a better aim, to be as malingering and naughty as they are. All the cool kids in the class get to be naughty ...

Shed a tear if you like, call it sad, but it's the cold, hard reality, which as everyone knows is kissing cousin to just the cold, hard facts ma'am ...

How did we get from coal to the coronavirus? Why that's the magic of reptile thinking, and the need to burble on at endless, tedious length, so that any reader reels away, numb and chanting, four legs of coal good,  two legs of wind and solar bad, and terribly destructive and expensive to boot …

Now can we have a mention of those malign wretches who unfairly demonise sweet, pure, virginal, innocent coal ...

Wondering what new coal is, as opposed to old coal? Well it's simple real. Australian exporters have devised the perfect solution, and produced new dinkum clean coal for export …

And with all that, and with everyone committed to coal, coal, coal, still the bromancer hasn't finished ...

The pond had to wait all this time for the best line of the morning? The Canavan caravan is one of the best informed circuses from any party on energy and climate issues? 

And what does the most informed mind know? Well it turns out that we don't know anything, everything is uncertain, nothing is but what is not, the only known known is that everything is unknown, the only certainty is that everything is sweet if we accept uncertainty as another word for having a beer on a banana lounge, and don't you worry your pretty little head about any of the nasties, and for the love of the long absent lord, don't lift a finger, except maybe to show you give a XXXX ...

More uncertainty for the informed Canavan here, because please remember there are unknowns which will forever remain unknown, provided it helps us do absolutely nothing but love sweet, dear innocent virginal coal ...

Strange, one day Western Civilisation is the font of all wisdom,  and worth enormous study, and the next day it's just a bunch of elitists in Europe and New York …

Ah well, if the bromancer wants to piss on the elite westerners, maybe he can get a professorship at an Islamic college.

Never mind, the pond gets the message. All is well, coal is the future, climate science is a fraud, why should we do anything, we must certainly not show leadership, and when 2050 comes around and the planet is comprehensively fucked, what a wonderful joke the reptiles will have played on the poor buggers still alive to have a bloody good laugh …

And so to the third panel in the triptych …

Now some might think that the third panel to the right in triptychs can be a worry …after all, there are some kinky precedents ...

But relax, it was just poor ordering by the reptiles, with the pond foolishly following suit. 

The third panel is a lot more like a repeat of the first panel ...

There had been some worry about the hagiographic powers of the reptiles, but how pleasing it is to report that the bouffant one has returned to top notch form with a joyous, bouncing piece, full of bright-eyed enthusiasm …

Oh bright eyes, burning like fire … is it a kind of dream?

Perhaps starting with a snake oil salesman wasn't the strongest move, especially in the current circumstances, and to be fair, the pond should note that there were dissenting voices this morning ...

Or as the immortal Rowe might have put it …

But that's just the oscillating fan, and anyway, where's the harm in Shanners being played for a fool? 

When you actually are a fool, you may as well enjoy being played for a fool … and what's more, for a Shanners. piece, a fool at an exceedingly tedious and excessive length.

These days hagiography doesn't come in a short gobbet or two, it's more like those vile overloaded buckets of salted, butter and heart attack-laden popcorn people chew in picture theatres ...

Yep, they've spent a decade or more arguing and bickering amongst themselves, and are littered with denialists and coal lovers, and have achieved three fifths of fuck all, and yet suddenly it's an opportunity, and everything's going to turn out hunky dory.

Is there any end to the hope or the delusion that springs to the ardent reptile breast? Remember the nukes! There ought to be nukes! Bring in the nukes, and it'll sort out the timing in the career ...

Technological solutions are to hand. They're just around the corner, or perhaps in Alaska or Wapakoneta, and they could be here if we just went nuke, or stayed true to pure, dinkum sweet coal …

The time is right for a SloMo revolution, a veritable rapture ...

How weird is it to read a couple of reptile pieces explaining that it's all a waste of time and there's no need to do anything, and then read the bouffant one explaining that SloMo has all the solutions to the problem that isn't a problem, with technological solutions blossoming.

Sure they aren't actually in country, and they have five fifths of fuck all to do with the actual problem, but Shanners, blinded by the SloMo light, thinks everything is sorted, right down to the chicken shit … (just the cold, hard facts and the hard reality of chicken shit, ma'am) …

Well the pond has been rigorous this morning, and mostly gone cold cartoon turkey, so it only seems fair to bring in another immortal Rowe for a little light relief, with more Rowe as always here …because everything is looking up, and everything is for the best in the best of all possible SloMo worlds, especially when the dumb scientists get around to realising that coal will fix that virus. Is there nothing dinkum clean Oz coal can't do?

In which the pond dons a woke cap ...

 

Tucker's wokeness, or lack thereof, and his talk of woke cults, and the Donald going woke, reminded the pond of that old joke …

But what a problem for the local reptiles. It seems there's woke, and then there's woke, and for all the pond knows, there might be woke, and woke again, and woke redux too…

Will the reptiles know which woke they're abusing, and which woke they're praising and slavishly following? Will they ever woke from the nightmare?

Yesterday the Mocker seemed confused, aware of the woke predicament, and reverted to 'luvvies', because all reptiles know that love is disgusting, filthy, yucky, and possibly preverted, and as a proselytiser for love, Christ was most likely Satan in disguise …

The pond would rather spend a half hour chatting with an actor than the Mocker, and being a behind the camera sort of person, that's really something. What is it with these anonymous reptile scribblers, outraged at anonymous scribblers on the full to overflowing intertubes?

Never mind, the Mocker is clearly conflicted, and not woke, and with this predicament tormenting the pond, it was time for the pond to savour the delights of this day's reptile work, though whether it was woke or work, the pond will have to leave to others …

First up in the woke chit chat was our Henry, who didn't sound particularly woke…

There's really no need to proceed further, though the pond will, just for reasons of stubbornness and perversity.

But our hole in the bucket man's splash shows the reptile strategy off to perfection. 

Slag off opinions as appalling, and then explain at great, perhaps even Kantian length, why doing or saying anything critical of said indefensible, appalling remarks is in itself absolutely indefensible and appalling …

Is it any wonder the Google theme for the day is this one?

Well the pond was feeling lucky punk, and reckoned there were three Henry gobbets in the chamber, and so it was off to Henry's rabbit hole as he fired away …

You see, it's all procedural. Strangely, our hole in the bucket man himself might describe the comments as abhorrent, and thereby put the Council for the Order of Australia in an extraordinarily difficult position, inevitably tainting whatever decision by the pressure his words put on it, but our Henry is really attempting the most difficult reptile position of all. 

Defending the indefensible, while attempting a back flip with Senate pike …you know, she was naughty, but come on guys, don't say she was naughty, that's terribly unsporting, don't ya know?

And forget the High Court. For the full apologist routine, you need Plato, Aquinas and especially Kant to deal with Bettina can't …(say a humble sorry) …

(Here).

Well our Henry heard the clarion call, and maintained the rage, though in the most arcane way imaginable ...

Has there ever been a more high-minded level of undiluted tosh and nonsense than that just trotted out by our Henry in defence of the indefensible? 

It seems that Henry has forgotten the many occasions that parliament has expressed views on all kinds of matters, and apparently thereby reduced society to a form of self-imposed immaturity, which ergo, and cogito sum if you like, means Bettina must get off scott free, because, after all, she is Bettina, and has the backing of Plato, Aquinas, Kant, and our hole in the bucket man …seemingly intent on producing self-imposed immaturity in his readership ...

But our Henry wasn't finished, because how could he resist referencing the mobs on the internet baying for Bettina's blood,which naturally reminded him of medieval times and inter-war Europe ... 

We expect the Senate to calm passions? The way they did when they joined in the hue and cry about banning the filthy, vile Commies?

You know, for all his book larnin', our Henry sometimes sounds like a really stupid man …

And so with woke the topic, and stupidity the name of the game, it's on to our next woke likely lad … but first a pause to catch breath, because the pond is only just now catching up with recent works by the infallible Pope …

And to think the pond innocently caught that train several times last year in the name of nostalgia, and catching the Flyer from Tamworth … but now back to the main show ...

This is another reptile racket, known as a variant on the blame the victim game …

Sure, there might be vile behaviour, but the best way to distract from it is to draw attention to all the others who did nothing, no matter their personal circumstances, or if they might have been ignorant of the behaviour, or in a situation where they faced difficult choices …

But first the pond must deal with the matter of globalisation, a pet peeve in reptile la la land ...

Baker was apparently scribbling for the Wall Street Journal, yet here he is, turning up in the lizard Oz, and awarded the cult status of the Lobbecke of the day … and yet by the very end of his piece, there will be a strange indication that powerful global forces are at work …

But before we get there, it's on with shaming all those who did nothing about Harvey, as usual beginning with an anecdote, in which the scribbler did absolutely nothing himself to confront Harvey ...

And with that out of the way, it's on with the blaming of the enablers ...

Many of these men are still in place, a little chastened perhaps but largely unaccountable?

Steady on, the pond sees absolutely no sign of a chastening …

And now back to blaming the women, though the pond vividly remembers being in a room when one powerful director told an actress in an audition to get down on the floor and bark like a dog … because he could, and because she wanted the job, she did ...

Strange. It started off in the WSJ, ended up in The Times, and was then dressed up in the lizard Oz with a Lobbecke? Talk about fiendish globalists at work …

But the pond isn't bitter. The pond understands that Mr Baker has indulged in a ritual denunciation of the Murdochian kind about conniving fellow travellers …

In light of the kind of organisation he works for, and the man who still retains control of it, as noted by commentators on this very site, by a shares racket, could Mr Baker be less than woke? Could he himself be an enabler, who, when given the chance to speak up, or at least scribble a stern column, fell silent?

  

   

Yes, they're all in it together, and the pond is pleased that, unlike Meryl Streep, Mr Baker's principled letter of resignation has already been despatched to Chairman Rupert. 

The last thing anyone would want to be is an enabler of the Streep kind … fawning over the Chairman and his harassment-laden empire …why they even make movies about it.

And so to a pond bonus, because speaking of fawning, the bouffant one was in fine fawning form this morning …

Of course the pond has several reasons for going there, delving into the tale of a reformed and redeemed SloMo, and the only one to do with the bouffant one is that this fawn at least has the benefit of being short ...

The real reason the pond tosses in the fawning is that the pond had an infallible Pope cartoon it wanted to catch up on…

Why, that's just like the tale of the taking of Pelham 1,2,3 … and isn't it remarkable how the fawning bouffant one seems to have forgotten the way that very soon the government is going to need all sorts of excuses and apologists to write off the budget ...

As for the rest, the pond has always found that unseemly boasting might result in a slide on that bloody big snake called pride …

But don't let the pond get in the way of the boasting.

It turns out that if anything happens, it'll likely be the fault of the fully briefed Labor party, that tribe of rascally rogues, who somehow always have their hands on the levers of government, and corral SloMo's mob into errors ...

But you guessed it, the pond only needed that gobbet of misleading fawning as padding, stuffing, a little light filler, an Xmas stocking item a few months too late, full of the usual reptile nonsense about a disappointed SloMo, just so there could be a little space between cartoons, before the pond could end with an immortal Rowe, with more Rowe always to hand here …

And now, it seems we must hear no, see no, speak no, woke, because who knows which woke we're talking about …