In which prattling Polonius kickstarts the pond's lengthy Sunday meditation by running up a white flag regarding the reptile war on China ...

 

The pond was vastly relieved to learn from the Weekly Beast that the lizard Oz doesn't set targets for its reptiles. It simply wouldn't have been fair to prattling Polonius to set a target for him, when the only reason he seems to exist is to target a world record number of mentions of the ABC being a conservative-free zone.

And speaking of targets, how pleasing to see that the parrot's numbers had plummeted to a humble 45,000. 

But the other figures were pleasing too. After all, only 67k tuned into petulant Peta, and the Bolter only compelled 60k and Paul Murray meandered through the river bends with 51k. 

When you think that of the c. 25 million Australians out and about and with many a viewing target, how pleasing that the Sky's heavies were down in the doldrums.

Those abject figures help keep things in perspective, and provide a necessary reminder that herpetology is a specialist study.

But enough of talk of targets, it's time to ruin the pond's own hits by turning to Polonius's prattle for its Sunday meditation ...

 

The pond could already sense incipient alarm. Was Polonius going to be able to slip in a mention of the ABC being a conservative-free zone? Why was Polonius taking a pot shot at the poodle? Is there anything wrong with being an arms dealer lobbyist and talking up the main game? How else to get a decent commish on a decent sale?

Is there anything wrong with a poodle looking like a prize rosella? Which means at least he's not a galah or even a Major Mitchell...

But the most sobering question of all concerned the reptile war on China. Had Polonius run up the white flag, abandoned the field, left the gatling jammed as he scarpered?

 

Reasons to be concerned?! Polonius expresses concern? But what of the reptile war on China? Was Polonius doing a quisling routine, was he white-anting the fight, subverting the reptile cause? Shouldn't he be handing out white feathers to those who refused to join the reptile war?

 

Say what? Polonius has a dig at at White harking back to 1914, and then harks back to that ancient fundamentalist tyke B.A.?  

It should be remembered that Polonius thought B.A. was on the correct side in the Spanish Civil War ... which is to say on the side of the fascist Franco, who invited in Nazi planes to bomb Spaniards. Oh what joy there was in those days ... as remembered by the Pellists ...

Of course Polonius had a few caveats about that here, but the pond must get its kicks where it finds them, and today it seems Polonius will not be going for a record mention of the ABC being a conservative-free zone ...

 

Yes, we need more manly men speeches of the hastie Pastie kind - only those wearing death skulls welcome, leave your pussies at the door - and more of the mutton Dutton kind, and dare the pond say it, more of the bromancer speaking ruefully of war ...

 

Indeed, indeed. The pond has already pointed to the glory days of the bromancer's war mongering, here  ...

 

So now we must cop the mea culpa ... because while Polonius has long been fixated on the notion that we coulda, shoulda won in Vietnam, the bromancer has discovered saucy doubts and fears ...

 

 Actually that ABC link provided a guide to the bromancer's ability at long term thinking ...

2011? Oh ancient, ancient history ...

And now for the crunch, the confession ... it'll take some time to get there, but the bromancer has a ready made excuse. Blame it all on the Yanks, and not on the servile lickspittle chaps of the bromancer kind, who fell into line, Lord Haw Haws chanting for victory and seeing a way forward, until suddenly there wasn't and the helicopters (and civilians and women and whatever) had to be tossed off ships into the welcoming sea of despair ...

 

And so finally, as if extracting teeth, it comes: "I supported the initial military intervention in Afghanistan and the Australian role in it," but it's all the fault of the Yanks, and nothing to do with me or my kind, and by the way Pilate, can I borrow your bowl, because I'd like to do a little paw washing in your water ...

 

Given all the folly, why should anyone care in the slightest what the bromancer scribbles? We've fallen into line as the United States fucked Vietnam, fucked Iraq and fucked Afghanistan, and it's passing rich to blame it all on them, especially remembering the ways when a reptile cheer squad of the bromancer kind cheered them on ...

 

Ah yes, the Indo-Pacific ... bring on the war with China (Polonius can always retreat to New Zealand and rail at the NZBC) ... but at least the infallible Pope offered some hope ...

 

And so to the bonus, and here the pond was torn. 

The pond almost never takes a look at the oscillating fan, and at the same time, the Angelic one was in a state of utter misery about not being able to talk to her imaginary friend. Apparently she didn't understand the Whitmanesque notion of her imaginary friend being everywhere, such that she might hug a tree and talk to it, and thereby commune directly with her imaginary friend in the church of nature ...

Bugger it, the pond thought, it's Sunday, so why not take a look at both. Oh it will be long and tedious and some will return to bed to devour their carefully nurtured easter eggs (how the pond hates choccie hoarders), but tourjours gai Archie and oscillating fans ...

 

You see? The pond felt righteous from the get go. What an inspirational shot of Scotty from marketing, so dignified ... anyone would feel safe buying a used car from this man, especially if he threw in the Trucoat ... and the oscillating fan was in a buying mood ...

 

Note well how the oscillating fan manages to keep a superficial foot in both camps, while burnishing up the hopes of the speaker in tongues ...

 

How good is self-promotion by a man with a book to sell? Say it again ...

One risk Morrison’s critics likely haven’t thought about is that the mainstream rebels against the pile-on, regarding it as over the top, a pile-on driven by so-called elites or Morrison haters. I know them when I see them because I’ve had honorary membership for some time, courtesy of many and varied attacks on the Prime Minister’s failings since he took office. Such underperformances are chronicled in the new book by Wayne Errington and me, How Good is Scott Morrison?

And yet, as it read that paragraph over and over again, the pond had not the foggiest clue what the oscillating fan was banging on about ...

Is it always this way with the oscillating fan? Ineluctable, mysterious, and always a Janus ...

Indeed, indeed. The pond felt it might be better off reading what social media had to say, because the oscillating fan's expert imitation of a member of the clueless commentariat was all that the pond came away with as a lasting memory. What percentage could be satisfied with this dismal pundit's performance?

Perhaps the pond should have led with the Angelic one, but sometimes being last is better than being never ...

 

Trapped in a golden cage.

Sheesh, how the cult master could have transformed those needles into a golden cage epic abstract, worthy of Braque ...

But the needles do at least indicate that the Angelic one has strayed into a pale echo of the astonishing effort by the dog botherer yesterday ...

She won't be a match for Killer Creighton, of course. A quick viewing of the Killer's Twitter feed reveals a deep, certainly Freudian, possibly hysterical view of masks and doing anything about the virus ...

It's been noted before in the pond's comments section, and explanations offered, but explanations aside, it's deeply weird and profoundly neurotic.

Coming up against the Killer in anti-mask fear mode reminds the pond of encountering Uncle Cyril's breath after he'd knocked off a bottle of metho ... but do go on Angelic one, do go on with your own brand of imaginary friend fear ... (though really if you caught the virus and died and got a fast track to heaven, surely that's just a sign of a benevolent god, showing She can be worthy of a lesbian crush) ...

 

In the midst of confusion and chaos, middle Australia is just going about its business ... and what's the bet that the first time there's another outbreak, the rush for toilet paper will show the quiet joys of quietly going about your business ... but now to the real issue, the question of that imaginary friend ...

 

Look, it's not for the pond to hector Xians about god and cathedrals and all that, but how about a bit of dinkum pantheism ...

And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.)
I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.
Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign’d by God’s name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe’er I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.

And if panthiest Whitman spotting god everywhere, but not in a cathedral, isn't to your taste, what about a dose of William Blake?

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage
A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thr' all its regions
A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State
A Horse misusd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood  (the rest here)

Heaven in a wild flower?

But no, the grumpy Angelic one hungers for freedumb and a sojourn in a cathedral, in the approved reptile manner ...

 

 

Lift all restrictions and people will get vaccinated?

The pond wants the sort of shot that the Angelic one seems to be getting ... but at least she provides an excuse for the pond to run an old First Dog, with more First Dog here ... as a way of concluding this interminable Sunday meditation, because if we can't have a war on China, we can certainly have a war on vaccines ... or a war on the virus... or a war on whatever ...

Remember we can sensibly take matters into our own hands, because vaccines are everywhere to be found, and there's not a hint of a problem anywhere to be found in the land ... is there, First Dog?