In which the pond has a traditional Thursday outing with its favourite chooks, parading as reptiles ...

 

 

 

 

 

The pond enjoys the savvy Savva for a simple reason - her contempt for SloMo is so thinly veiled that it acts as an emetic and a corrective to the pond's occasional reading of a simplistic Simon Benson or a bouffant Shanahan bout of SloMO hagiography. 

 

Every so often, the pond thinks it should crawl up SloMo with them, just to feel what it's like, and to see what it might discover in the entrails, but then each Thursday the savvy Savva comes around, and puts a halt to that bizarre, uncomfortable thought ...

 

 

 

 

You see? The pond at once set to clucking about the house, wondering if it should name that damned mynah bird out the back after Salome or Delilah, or some other biblical name which would surely appeal to SloMo ...

 

Perhaps Lot's wife, since the bible didn't even bother to give that wretched female pillar of salt a name, forcing some Jewish traditions to invent one ... you know, like Edith, which isn't much better than Karen when you think about it for a nanosecond SloMo speaking in clucking tongue ...

 

But back to a kind word for Josh, and then more of the trashing ... 

 

 

Yes, yes, forgive the watches, talk of SloMo over-the-top, and then on to the biggest scandal ...

 

 

Until our Gracie turned, the pond thought of the savvy Savva as the last of the Turnbullian wets dwelling amongst the reptiles... 

Speaking of Malware, the glorious former leader has been much out and about of late, with stories of him signing former chairman Rudd's petition challenging News Corp media dominance, and defending the Aus Post chief over luxury watches fiasco. 

"Not a hanging offence" was his verdict, and as a man who should have been hanged for the ruination of the NBN and the vast consequent expense and cost to taxpayers, who could argue that he doesn't know whereof he talks?

Of course there's been other wet treachery out and about, shocking Sky News to its chicken coop core ...

 

 

 

But the infallible Pope had the matter well in hand, with the plucky team trapped, but ready to make a Star Trek quantum leap into the coop to escape the villain ...

 

 

 

Meanwhile, the bromancer was out and about this day ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pond left its taste for reptile Comrade Dan bashing on the bedpost overnight with the chewing gum, but couldn't resist seeing what the bromancer made of it all ... apart from his desire to drag his imaginary friends into the matter via the power of useless prayer ...

 

It turned out that the reptiles saw a chance to stick in various click bait videos, in a bid to turn a profit on the shameless bromancer, so the pond had to do a little editing ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hmm, perhaps they should have sent Killer Creighton to do the job ... or one of the other Murdochian loons keen to replicate the achievements of the UK, Europe and the USA ... 

 

The pond could already write the column in its sleep: send all the old farts to lock down, and if they die, they die, but please, let the young and the economy run wild and free ...

 

All the same, it wouldn't be a reptile story without Comrade Dan in a mask, looking shifty at best, malevolent at worst...

 

 

 

 

Indeed, indeed, and how wise of the bromancer to overlook the Ruby Princess, and the federal responsibility for aged care, where much useless killing has taken place, and so on and so forth, because in the end, the virus doesn't give a flying fuck about political allegiances or ideology ...

 

 

 

 

The bromancer has always been something of an outlier in reptile ranks when it comes to the virus, and quoting Fauci is probably as low as it gets in terms of Murdochian loyalty ...

 

The reptiles showed how desperate they were to deal with the bromancer by running a snap of shopping in Melbourne ... and for once the pond didn't do the cull, because it wanted to show just how desperate things had got, a bit like SloMo joining Albo in congratulating Victorians for a job well done ...

 

Pray to imaginary friends while living in COVID HQ in Surry Hills with Killer Creighton, where the reptiles of his ilk bloviate daily? Thanks, but no thanks,  the pond thinks cartoons are a better way to improve its chances ...

And so to the bonus of the day, which was started by the reptiles with this story ...

 

 

 

 

The pond immediately looked past the ANZ story and all that net zero emissions guff. 

 

What had the lizard Oz editorialist made of it? Were they suddenly in favour? Had they suddenly had a change of heart about the planet? Would there be a rousing cry for net zero emissions? Might renewables feature in a renewed economy?

 

Oh foolish, gullible pond ... 

Oh wonder of wonders, the demand for thermal coal was going up, huzzah,  the country was saved, and the planet with it ... and that explained that Graudian story here ... and that made a complete nonsense of the ANZ story, and why it passed by the lizard Oz editorialist like a bad dream in the night ...

And so on and on ... and so back to the lizard Oz for a final gobbet, feeding the chooks their daily serve of grits and coal ... (sharpens the beak, produces a glossy coat, and aids with digestion, and when you want your chook roasted, remember to turn the planet up a few degrees to get an evenly heated oven) ...

What a remarkable achievement. After using the ANZ story as a hook and a pointer, the lizard Oz editorialist managed to avoid the point of the story entirely ...

Only the lizard Oz could produce such a singular achievement ... but luckily the sound of the pond farting its disbelief found a resonance in the immortal Rowe, with more resonance always here ...