In which Barners chucks a tanty and a history prof chucks some classic reptile denialism, and Mitt does a kinky Spartacus ...

 

Fancy a Mormon showing he actually believed in God, and an oath taken thereto, instead of believing in a narcissist, bloated, porn star fornicating, fast food devouring, snake oil salesman multiple bankrupt, with a taste for nepotism and unfettered power of the Caligula kind. Stone him, stone him! No, not the emperor, Mitt, bloody difficult pious Mitt!

But enough of foreign matters, the pond will save Mitt for the closer cartoon, because Barners was agitated this day, and naturally the reptiles had to pay attention. The poor lad has had his nose put out of joint in recent days, and so this day he let out his usual strangulated bleat …

What an inspiration he is, to the point where the pond's faith in the onion muncher is fading, and Barners could well become the new star, even if he was drummed out of the paradise of Tamworth for his fornicating ways …

Come on Barners, what's the rural beef?

Sheesh, with all due respect, that sounds like a bit of a storm in a tea cup, and without a scone to hand, nor even a lamington. What on earth made the reptiles put it at the head of the digital and tree killer editions? Are they so far up Barners' bum they've lost sight of his complete irrelevance?

Oh dear, why, it's the very definition of pique, a positively Pooterish display …

April 30.—Perfectly astounded at receiving an invitation for Carrie and myself from the Lord and Lady Mayoress to the Mansion House, to “meet the Representatives of Trades and Commerce.”  My heart beat like that of a schoolboy’s.  Carrie and I read the invitation over two or three times.  I could scarcely eat my breakfast.  I said—and I felt it from the bottom of my heart,—“Carrie darling, I was a proud man when I led you down the aisle of the church on our wedding-day; that pride will be equalled, if not surpassed, when I lead my dear, pretty wife up to the Lord and Lady Mayoress at the Mansion House.”  I saw the tears in Carrie’s eyes, and she said: “Charlie dear, it is I who have to be proud of you.  And I am very, very proud of you.  You have called me pretty; and as long as I am pretty in your eyes, I am happy.  You, dear old Charlie, are not handsome, but you are good, which is far more noble.”  I gave her a kiss, and she said: “I wonder if there will be any dancing?  I have not danced with you for years.”
I cannot tell what induced me to do it, but I seized her round the waist, and we were silly enough to be executing a wild kind of polka when Sarah entered, grinning, and said: “There is a man, mum, at the door who wants to know if you want any good coals.”  Most annoyed at this.  Spent the evening in answering, and tearing up again, the reply to the Mansion House, having left word with Sarah if Gowing or Cummings called we were not at home.  Must consult Mr. Perkupp how to answer the Lord Mayor’s invitation.

Sorry, the pond doesn't know where that came from, but The Diary of a Nobody is in full here … the pond probably thought it might help distract Barners from his enormous sense of self-pity and inordinate suffering …

But it's amazing how being rolled for the leadership, without even a cup of tea and a scone as solace, can lead to brooding about Russia, China, Mugabe in Zimbabwe and such like ...

And so to a narcissist burst of nostalgia …a goodly dose of the 'I remembers' ...

I remember when rock was young
Me and Suzie had so much fun
Holding hands and skimming stones
Had an old gold Chevy and a place of my own
But the biggest kick I ever got
Was doing a thing called the Crocodile Rock
While the other kids were Rocking Round the Clock
We were hopping and bopping to the Crocodile Rock

And so to Barners, and 'I remembers' ...

He respects the process? No, he doesn't, he's a whinged, a whiner, a sore loser, and a loon only gradually becoming aware of his slide into irrelevance, and the pond applauds the reptiles for applying soothing balm to his seething mass of delusions …

We need more howls of pain, more cries in the dark, so that the pond can drink the tears for breakfast (apparently a handy source of salt in the diet).

And now, without further ado, the pond is proud to introduce the latest variation on climate science denialism in the lizard Oz, as scribbled by a new entrant in the reptile hall of denialist fame, and by golly, with expert climate science credentials, if you count history and politics as science …

What's the rhetorical damage indeed, here no real damage, no real damage here, and if an emeritus history prof tells you, you'd better pay attention …

Ah fucketty fuck, in the glorious tradition of harking back to the olden days, though strangely for an emeritus history prof, no mention of 1851, thereby preventing the pond from re-running a comment by one of its readers …

Never mind, the pond has a shekel on "the climate always changes" routine, and 1.3%, scoring a mention, and by golly, the pond rarely loses this kind of bet ...

It's vintage reptile climate science denialism, proving that the prof has at least read all the reptile routines and absorbed them, and can do a Lloydie on the likes of Lindzen and Curry …

If all things were equal, the pond might consider the good prof a parrot of the first water, but sadly all things aren;t equal, and he might merely be considered a moron with a token grasp of reptile climate denialist memes … because here comes that 1.3%, and never mind Australia's exports of coal … because they go somewhere else, and it's nothing to do with us ...

Actually if the pond might be so bold, when the onion muncher was in his prime, he had a special formula that went something like this: "climate change aka science is absolute crap."

OAKES: “That was specifically about your attitude to climate change and an emissions trading scheme. You’ve had more positions on that than the kama sutra, haven’t you?”

ABBOTT: “That’s an old joke, Laurie.”

OAKES: “But it’s true.”

ABBOTT: “Look, I have always thought that climate change happens. The important thing, though, is how do you deal with it, and I think that the best way to deal with it is to take practical action that will achieve the 5 per cent emissions reduction target by 2020.”

OAKES: “That’s now. But last year you wrote an op ed piece in a newspaper saying the best thing for the Coalition to do was to pass the emissions trading legislation, get it out of the way.”

ABBOTT: “I was trying to support the leader. And, obviously, the leader then had a rather different position to me on this.”

OAKES: “Then you said climate change was crap.”

ABBOTT: “I think what I actually said was the idea of the settled science of climate change is a bit aromatic.”

OAKES: “And then you said you only said that, in fact on this programme you said you only said climate change was crap, because you were trying to persuade a group of Liberals in Beaufort, Victoria that negotiating an improved ETS scheme would be the best thing to do.”

ABBOTT: “Sure, Laurie. Look, we can go over all the history. But the important thing --” (here)

Sure we can keep going over denialist history, but things keep changing just like the climate.

And that's because the important thing is to keep ringing in the changes on denialism, doing a little fancy footwork, a tap dance here, a waltz away there …if the climate's changing, so must the denialism … and that's how you can get from 5% in 2020 to 26% in 2030 … but still love coal, and achieve three fifths of fuck all doing anything about that pesky, difficult business ...

Never mind, the compleat denialist tract of the moment wouldn't be complete, wouldn't be replete, without a mention of 'moral panic' … so come on down last gobbet ...

Oh the tragedy. In the glory days, it could all have been blamed on God, and perhaps if anyone had been Billy Connolly, they might have decided to sue God … 

Now we must continue the dilatory tap dancing, and the evasive waltz, and hug even closer to our hearts sweet dinkum clean Oz coal, before it is cruelly snatched away from us. One sure way to help is to blather about complex implications and crucial issues, a sure fire way of doing sweet fuck all. Thanks history prof, you've done a denialist ripper… how the reptiles must be proud of you …

And now, just to show how desperate the reptiles are, and the pond has become, here's a dash of Gra Gra … from the Swiss bank accounts and hookers on the Gold Coast man himself …

Now the pond isn't going to go into it at length - the first part is just about Catholics v Mormons, the Pellists and such like, but at the very end, Gra Gra turned to take a look at Barners, and Barners being at the top of the page, it seemed only fitting that Barners should also be at the bottom ...

And there you have it. Cherchez la femme. Poor old Barners, the hapless male, led astray by some bloody Mata Hari, some Cleopatra of the north west, and completely unable to do anything about it …

Why in Gra Gra's day, hanging out with hookers was a virtue, and brown paper bags didn't just conceal bottles of grog, and how sad it all is …

What's happened to Western Civilisation, when a politician as deeply corrupt as Bob or Joh can't get a little tickle from the cash in the paw?

Bloody Christians, with their righteousness and rules …as if something was wrong with greasing the wheels just to keep things turning …

Well it might seem a little odd, what with all the reptile blather about the wonders of Judeo-Christian western civilisation, but really, that's only so that hypocrisy and irony might continue to earn their place in the dictionary of life ...

And on that note, the pond must wrap things up with a splendid Rowe, which brings together sad news - the loss of Spartacus, in a movie the pond always had a soft spot for, because it was an early troubled Kubrick outing and was written by one of those whom Joe McCarthy banned, here twisted into a new wrinkle just for Mitt (and with more immortal Rowe here):

Oh if only he could have worked in a reference to oysters and snails …