Bloody women, especially depressive teen girlies, always giving the bloody reptiles a bloody hard time ...

 

 

The pond knew, right at first glance, who should lead off the last day of the Ēostre break ...

There's nothing like awesome male/reptile anxiety to behold, and the poor Caterist was forced this day to deal with uppity, vexatious, troublesome, difficult women ... 

 

Eek, a vexatious harridan, sent to haunt the Caterist. But please, let's get one thing straight from the start, and here the pond must do a little Cateristsplaining. 

That wretched harridan, Grimshaw, grim of visage, grim of interviewing, wouldn't have the first clue about the movement of flood waters in quarries. That's a manly matter requiring manly skills. And nor would the harridan understand that the size of defamation payments are an indication of penis size, in much the same way that exhaust pipes are an indication of the size and speed of the manly man ... and it should be noted that when it comes to defamation payment size, the Caterist is a very manly man ...

 

Indeed, indeed, how shocking and shameful. Is the Caterist out to foster domination and devaulation? Of course not. The Caterist merely sticks out his paw and collects generous grants from the federal government in order to peddle Liberal propaganda for said government. How is this oppressive? It is of course an indication of manly manliness. The bigger the grant, the bigger the you know what, and oh how much better the insights on offer from Cateristsplaining ...

Oh sure, a woman might be appointed to produce this servile, shameless tosh, but what you need is a shameless opportunist, ready to parade male anxiety by way of drivel and dribble ...

 

Oh dear, that bloody Grimshaw woman, as if she'd have the first clue about the movement of flood waters in quarries ... but please, don't fret, rather like male performance, male anxiety can be short fused, and so the Caterist has only one last spurt of a gobbet left in him ...

 

Indeed, indeed, but the pond would go one step further. These alien women must remember their place, they must revert to old, approved ways, they must stop being aliens, they must become Caterist-approved Stepford Wives ... or there'll be no grants for them, and no talk of quotas, and three fifths of fuck all to do in politics or research centres ...

And now in lieu of cartoons, the pond thought it might ask whatever happened to the mighty Wang?

 

 

A friend sent that image in, and somehow it evoked the reptile spirit ... come on mighty Wang, get it together ...

And so to the next treat, this time still featuring male anxiety, but this time over a bloody teenager ...

Of course the mere words "climate activist" are enough to make reptile readers huddle together in fear, but when you throw in the realisation that it's a depraved bloody girl, you can understand Sal's deep-seated hysteria ...

 

Note the incredibly subtle way that the Babones insinuates autism and depression into the discussion. It goes without saying that climate science is best understood as the mutated product of autistic, depressive people, most likely girlies ...

And as our good friend Mathias once said, who wants to be a girlie man, in economics or climate science?

Let's face it, she's just a bloody girl, and if the Caterist is to be understood, what would a bloody girl know about anything? And now let's get on with more male anxiety ...

 

That's a lot to pin on anyone actually, but our Babones is up to the task ... though perhaps he failed to understand that image of burning at the stake might be an unfortunately evocative link in the mind to the images of the burning of the planet, and associated images of extreme weather ...

No matter, the pond thanks the long absent lord that a discussion of Greta the icon skilfully avoided any actual discussion of climate science, as the Babones much prefers the shallow waters of cultural analysis and under-age lingerie models and sexy comic-book heroines ... which does at least remind the pond of the most entertaining dose of schadenfreude currently doing the under-age girl rounds ...

 

And so at last to the Major for the bonus of the day.

But why did the pond mark the Major down? Why the last amongst the few?

Sadly, of late the Major has become a major boot polisher for News Corp. There's so much News Corp arse-licking going down in recent Major outings that the Major has become a caricature of a humbug News Corp stereotype ...

Let us examine the runes for evidence ...

 

 

 

You see? Right there is an inspirational shot of our fearless leader, and anybody who refuses to bow down, to offer obeisance to SloMo and the reptile world vision will cop a shellacking at the hands of the Major ...

 

Every bloody journalist outside the reptile world always gets everything wrong. It's the Major's only rule, and it's about as useful as the rules in Animal Farm ... or a Stalinist instructing a Pravda editor on necessary skills ...

 

 

Indeed, indeed, defend Comrade Dan? What a pernicious, treasonous thing to do, entirely against the reptile world order. 

And it goes without saying that the onion muncher was entirely innocent. Who can forget his campaign against that vile witch in Snow White, an encounter which no doubt traumatised him in childhood?

 

Yes, for those who've forgotten, please, a moment's acknowledgment of the trauma suffered by the likes of the Caterist and the onion muncher in the terrifying darkness of the picture theatre ...

 

Oh vile, evil, wanton, apple-wielding woman ... the Eve of original sin and temptation and the downfall of man. Hie thee to an angry Sydney Anglican and become a proper complimentary women ... because complementary harmonising to the dominant male is the way things should be ...

Never mind, dearie, back to the Major for more humbug about how fucking great News Corp, its reptiles and its rags, truly are, and how deplorable everyone else is ...

 

How much does the Major get paid for churning out this sort of hagiographic horseshit? Well superannuated blokes gotta do what superannuated blokes do ...

 

Luckily there's only one last baying by the Major for instant blame ... and it's a short baying ...

 

Um, the world-class pandemic performance is due to SloMo? That's what going off to the footy will do for you? Thank the long absent lord for the state premiers, with the polls showing who the punters believe managed the task best.

As for the marketing man being a pragmatic centrist, as opposed to a hollow man without much going on in the brain?

The fundamentalist happy clappy speaking in tongues to imaginary friends is a pragmatic centrist? 

The man who sings along with Hillsong is now going to sort out uppity, difficult women, who should know their place, and act like the complimentary women they were ordained by God or at least Sydney's angry Anglicans to be?

The man who has this little note to his CV here ...

 

 Yes, there's your pragmatic centrist, fellow travelling with Hillsong and Q.

Actually the pond only threw that last bit in so it could end with a cartoon, with the hope that the immortal Rowe and infallible Pope soon return to business ...