In which beefy Angus is cut cold by cruel nattering "Ned" and stern Dame Slap ...

 

 

Very disappointing.

Almost shocking. Certainly disturbing.

There was brave beefy Angus setting out his bold new world energy policy, not least including his brilliant ability to pick winners, and all that came from the lizard Oz commentariat this day was a brazen, sullen silence.

It might come later in the day, too late for the pond's early morning outings, or later in the week, but surely someone should be paying attention. Is there anyone at home? Is there anyone to lead the cry of "gas, gas, pure dinkum clean inexpensive gas" and "lock coal up"? 

There's Killer Creighton on an uncertain high wire, and talk about political prisoners and gaming the system, as if there's actual life in universities worth gaming, but it looked like Angus was trying out for another remake of Wells' The Invisible Man.

Must the pond head elsewhere to read outrageous stories of the kind, By 2020 standards, Angus Taylor's low-emissions technology statement is not really a climate policy, with the outrageous assessment: "Australians are just expected to trust the minister and his advisers to successfully pick winners deserving a crack at $18bn in taxpayers' money."

The pond has every confidence that the Minister has a white board, because white boards have always worked well, and as a result, things will work out tremendously well for his mates, as is the Liberal way ...

Unfortunately the only chant left to the pond was "read nattering 'Ned' and die of boredom ..." ... with the only question intriguing the pond was whether the ponderous old fart, in his budget musings, might actually note that we had a brand new energy policy of scintillating beefy Angus brilliance.

The opening splash didn't seem promising, what with its talk of pragmatism overcoming ideology, just as beefy Angus launched an ideological moonshot with an uncanny ability to hit the rim every time ...

 

The only upside the pond could see in the whole sorry saga was that the pond might get through the entire "Ned" piece on a gaseous wing and a prayer, searching for a mention of beefy Angus's brilliance ...

 

Not a single mention of beefy Angus in "Ned's" opening gambit, just the usual blather ... 

Would the second gobbet show a change of heart, or would "Ned" just go about the usual SloMo business and blame the states for everything that has, is, or will go wrong?

 

If it were possible to feel a shred of sympathy for rascals of the beefy Angus kind, surely now would be the time. It began to dawn on the pond that "Ned" intended to cut Angus stone cold dead, like a cruel Becky Sharp ignoring some useless cad in Vanity Fair.

That's it? The totalitarian regime in its new five year plan has embarked on serious interventions in energy markets?

The pond felt the urgent need to redress the situation, pay due respect, honour beefy Angus, and what better way to do it than with a Rowe ... with more Rowe here ...

That's better, and with the brave roadster celebrated, the pond could move on to another reptile ... because as usual the pond never has much choice, and the reptiles had already decreed at the top of the digital page what should fixate and compel their readership this day ...

 

Yes, alongside "Ned", there was Dame Slap, and another of her famous whines and moans, because the reptiles aren't so much cancel culture as whinge culture, and the chance to get sulky and petulant about a celebrity also offers the chance to show off said celebrity in a gimmicky Vegemite pose ...

It's a win-win attention-seeking scenario, and it used, in the old days, to be called trading off, and considered something of a shameful ploy, a tabloid trick, but Dame Slap never had any shame ...

 

The reptiles seem to find the notion of a global pandemic a tad hard to grasp. It's like "Ned" moaning about the way that comrade Dan apparently has been a "majority winner and cult figure" despite the reptiles presiding over the most frantic fear and loathing campaign in recent history, at least until their world war on comrade Bill. 

And all for what? Fancy people preferring to live than to die in the reptile cause!

But back to Dame Slap doing her whine. The pond is always reminded of that song "what about me, it isn't fair, I've had enough, now I want my share, can't you see, I wanna live, and fly to Rome and imagine that I'm in the fountain scene in Fellini's La dolce vita, but you always take more than you give, and shatter my dreams ..."

 

 

Or some such. There's always a seething sense of entitlement in Dame Slap, and it's easy to imagine her in her young Princess days, stamping her foot, and saying "I must have it, and I must have it now ...I shall travel papa, and you shan't stop me, I must run wild and free, and dance in the fountain of youth" 

 

 

There's nothing quite like the Dame Slap rage machine, full of seething resentment, and unbridled anger, and even poor hapless SloMo can't escape a good slapping when she's in the mood, and there's nothing like a Tom Hanks or Warnie sighting to set her off ...

 

Since when have the reptiles had it in for the rich and the privileged? Isn't that the entire point of the lizard Oz brand?

 

 

The pond feels Dame Slap's righteous rage, even though the pond has no particular interest in hopping on a plane right at the minute, nor even a desire to pop into a restaurant in King Street, and these days some countries are just too weird to contemplate visiting for any reason ...

 

Sorry, the pond needed something to stop it nodding off during Dame Slap's rant ... you see, a photo of Warnie is likely to produce induce a bout of Colber fatigue ...

 

Okay, back out of it now, hit the pond with that Warnie shot, and remember, more anger, more self-pity, more righteous rage and indignation, a regular milk churn machine ...

 

Trials at Heathrow? We're not going to Rome, we're heading to London? Sorry, the pond just took a look at the Graudian's headlines for the day ...

 

Sorry, the UK is right out for the pond, what with its brutal leftist dictatorship imposing all kinds of restrictions, as its singular incompetence soars to second wave levels ...

And so for that matter is the United States, still riven by mask-less members of the Jonestown brigade lining up for a sip of the cordial, or a sniff of the virus. 

The pond remembers the glory days when Dame Slap slipped out into the street in her MAGA cap, but it's getting really weird ...

 

 

And with that it was time for the last Dame Slap gobbet, and who knows, she might yet manage to fly abroad, and never be seen or heard from again.

Okay, okay, the pond has a rich fantasy life ...

 

Indeed, indeed, what of hopping on planes, and travelling about, and bringing it back and maintaining a virtuous circle of infections so that Dame Slap will have her wish of the virus continuing its rampaging ways for years ...

But forget all that, more importantly, what of the reptile silence, what of the cruel cutting of beefy Angus, what of his positively brill plans?

It has to be said that Dame Slap's and Ned's silence is disappointing. Sure, Dame Slap has done her best to allow travel to all parts of the world, because we can never have enough pandemic ... but must it be left to the cartoonists to honour beefy Angus?

Never mind, the reptiles always disappoint, and as usual, the pond has to revert to an infallible Pope for an insight into the infallible logic that filled the news cycle only yesterday ...