In which it is an honour for P to gong our erudite Henry ...

 

 

Oh sheesh, he would say that, wouldn't he? Why do the reptiles bother? Why would the pond bother? Read Rove? Might as well do the biblical thing with the eyes, and get on with the plucking rather than the mind fucking ...

For a start, even in the header, he manages to get things dead wrong ...the President's first weeks have seen a Foxian race to genuine weirdness ...

 

 

Oh yes there's plenty of Google links at the moment, though who knows about the future.

Meanwhile, the Q is inside the Murdochian hen house! Not that we should feel left out or at a loose end. The Q is also alive and well at home ...

 

Trust the plan, listen to the Murdochians, join SloMo in speaking in tongues to imaginary friends, and soon the world will be transformed ...

Up against this sort of stuff, the rest of the reptile stew has a hard time holding the pond's attention ... look at this wretched mob, and the wretched front page of the wretched tree-killer edition ...

 

What to do, oh dear sweet absent lord and Q, what to do?

Luckily, as his wont, the erudite hole in the bucket man was to hand, and the reptiles had yet another chance to show off a prize loon in our Henry's featured photo ... what a lovely pair they make, so alike ...

Ah, that's better, the pond felt immediately at home, back in the world where the world was created in seven days, Adam and Eve were around to set the domestic housekeeping rules for angry Sydney Anglicans in search of a complimentary woman, and Leviticus might warn of the dangers of shellfish and mixing fabrics ...

And yet there was still a powerful temptation, a yearning to learn more about that Crikey story here ... likely paywall affected ...

 

By golly, that's rich ... Tucker on board, and the movement well advanced down under, and SloMo's secret plan to secure the next election, and slaughter all the pedophile-loving, pizza-devouring leftists and greenies ready to be enacted. 

Just remember you heard the tip from P ... as the pond would like to be known going forward ...

Never mind, the pond is of course of an elevated mind set, and always turns to our erudite Henry for sage advice and historical references, and so we should begin today's journey with that homophobic bigoted image of a woman whose only discernible ability - before she went barking mad and turned into one of the pond's aunts - was to hit tennis balls around a court, as meaningless an activity as reading the reptiles ...

 

 

What the fuck? Our Henry has wheeled out Hobbes to explain a love of gongs, including those of the scrambled eggs kind? How on earth does this help with the desire to play ostentatious dress-up games, be a good frock wearer like the Pellists, or don a penguin suit, or drone on like a portentous pompous ponce, and be rewarded with the chance to wear academic garb?

And is it half as interesting as the current crop of barking mad loons intent on a new sovereign order, and them so close to home?

 

 

How Tucker and the Murdochians would approve ... that race to weirdness is consuming the world, and all poor old Henry can do is invoke nasty, brutish and short Hobbes:

For such is the nature of man, that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be more witty, or more eloquent, or more learned; Yet they will hardly believe there be many so wise as themselves: For they see their own wit at hand, and other mens at a distance.

Now there's a challenge for our Henry, who else has he got in his portentous locker of references?

 

Rousseau! Another passing fair noble reference. Is there a celebration of mortifying wanking to go with it?

No doubt our erudite Henry, should he have lived in Adolf's times, would have been pleased and honoured to receive the Goethe Medallion for Art and Science (oh how the Nazis loved their awards and they had the best uniforms too, such a divine black, and wiki up an award for yourself here).

But was it all as interesting as Q being in the hen house, and not just in Congress, but alive and well with Tucker and among us down under?

 

Never mind, bewildered supporters ... just remember what comes before Q! And join P in attending to the next gobbet of the erudite Henry ...

 

Oh fuck, the cancel culture seamlessly woven into an echoing Robespierre, and talk of the scythes of tall poppy hunters in a rhetorical flight of fancy that shows the spirit of Q is alive in our Henry ... but really, it's no biggie, it's simply that the chance to stand in front of a dangerous, destructive lunatic and collect a gong, or even an award remembering the empire of good Queen Bess, sometimes loses its appeal ...

For those wanting more, with active links, the story is at the NY Times here ... and now for the big reveal, as our Henry takes a firm stand, and refuses nobly in his final gobbet to accept a meaningless gong from either Adolf or the Donald, and doesn't think much of a system that rewards a barking mad bigot for the ability to bash a tennis ball ...

 

Oh fucketty fuck, sorry, he didn't, he just offered more pompous, portentous blather, as is his wont ... but never mind P followers, when it comes to our erudite Henry, he'll be on hand next week, and P guarantees the best is yet to come ...

Speaking of the best coming, how nice of the immortal Rowe to share the pond's delight in SloMo's leaky vessel ... with more chances to sail with Rowe here ...