In which the pond has a quiet Thursday with the savvy Savva and the bromancer ...

What on earth is going on the in the west? 

Is there a chance that cane toads might take a class action, consternate Dame Slap and the IPA in the process, and win a defamation suit? Has the baleful influence of the Daily Terror's graphics department spread throughout the land?

Never mind, today is savvy Savva day, and as usual, she's a bit grumpy ...

The pond has decided that reading the savvy Savva these days is a bit like devouring Lincoln Project ads. The pond loves their negative attack ads, and wonders why wretched, inept, feeble-minded Democrats could never match truly unhappy, alienated Republicans ... and the Savva has something of that spirit ...

You see? It's like a Lincoln Project ad savaging Tim Smith... though why they'd bother is beyond the valley of parochial Victorian politics. From what the pond understands, giving the exhibitionist, narcissist Timmie a going over, is pretty much the same as whacking a mattress with a wet lettuce ...

More here at L'Age, way back when, for those, like the pond, who never knew there could be such a thing as a Smith keen to boost the standing of Smiths, it being such a distinctive brand ... but now we must move on to Scottie from marketing ...

 

The pond could almost hear the savvy Savva snickering with glee ... and it took the pond back to a long ago, ancient world, perhaps mythical, where good old Brendan advised us it was okay to go to the gym and ride on public transport and shake hands, provided you washed your paws regularly, only for Scotty to tell us that shaking paws might not be advisable, and perhaps you shouldn't go to the footy ... (yes it was the middle of March, close to the time when bananas were first cultivated in Australia).

But idle chat about Brendan shouldn't let Scottie from marketing off the hook. Go on, Lincoln Project him, savvy Savva ...

 

The pond wasn't sure what the savvy Savva meant by crossing the line - in pond speak, crossing the line results in a dodgy cut, or dodgy eyelines, and you end up with an Australian film - but still the general thrust - a reptile abusing someone other than comrade Dan - cast an agreeable light on the morning's proceedings ...

And so to the bromancer as filler ...

Why must the bromancer be considered filler? 

Well, for starters, he approves of the choice, so there's not so many patented bromancer rhetorical fireworks, and when he talks of a weak field, he has to exclude the lickspittle, sycophant quisling on the other side, always yearning for die Mutter...

What follows then is mere pro forma, a chance to get in assorted digs at Harris and woke and such like, without going the full bromancer shiv in the prison shower ...

 

See how the bromancer clings to hope, and a close presidential race, and a slight improvement for the Donald in the polls ... and the pond shares those hopes, because how else are the laughs to keep coming, and the US and the planet to stay comprehensively fucked, in a full-blown Murdochian way ...

Is it wrong for the pond to use the bromancer as padding, spacer for cartoons? Of course not ... and so to the bromancer speciality, a rich gastronomic feast of saucy doubts and fears ... because when confronted by an uppity, difficult woman, the best approach from a male Murdochian is an air of condescension ...

But what of the best values of the United States? The ability to act as a team and handle a crisis, and show a moral stance that would leave Harris gasping in the wake?

 

Ah yes, he wishes her well ...

His wife's attending an orchid show
She squealed for a week to get him to go
But back in the bed his teen-age queen
Is rocking and rolling and acting obscene
Baby baby...
Baby baby...
And he loves it, he loves it
It curls up his toes
She wipes his fat neck
And it lights up his nose
But he cannot be fooled
Old city hall Fred
She's nasty, she's nasty
She digs it in bed
Do it again, ha
And do it some more
That does it, by golly
it's nasty for sure
Nasty nasty nasty
Nasty nasty nasty
Only thirteen, and she knows how to nasty ...

Oh yes, so many nasties, how the Donald knows how to nasty  ... 

 

And so to a final dismissive gobbet laden with condescension ...

Yes, we might never know if she's up to Harry's ability to nuke the fridge, and we might never know if she can match the Donald's high standard of government ... but as the pond and Frank were only a few gobbets ago speaking of nasty, why not drop in on the Trumpian bunker, where the nasty is a rich brew, and there's a nasty splatter on the wall, and nasty in the air...

 

Here, but okay, fair cop, that's just a segue to introduce the immortal Rowe of the day doing his own nasty here, with Mike looking in good shape, the nasty everywhere, and as always, with more Rowe here ...