In which the pond begins a weekend rolling festival of reptiles ...

 

 

After its recent "blogging with the Donald" day, the pond had decided on another shake-up - a weekend rolling festival of reptiles.

Instead of cruelly lumping all the reptiles together, each reptile will be offered a moment in the sun, a chance to shine, rather than to look like a sorry, bedraggled bunch in an animal smuggler's pouch. 

Just as in a festival of films, there will be regular screenings through the day ... throughout the weekend.

But why this weekend, why now? Well, the Donald was a serial tweeter, so why not serial blogging. And as for timing, the pond has always followed Humpty Dumpty ...better a multitude of unbirthdays, and thus better a multitude of reptiles.

But which reptile should be given the honour of opening the festival? Opening and closing nights are very important events and there are many hot items out and about this weekend, standing by to star in the festival ... nattering "Ned", Killer Creighton, the venerable Polonius ...

But there can be only one winner, and so the honour falls to the bromancer, announcing world war III ... because frankly, apart from climate destroying the planet, what's better than humans doing the job?

Of course no reptile can war game alone, and the pond is sure that, in his acceptance speech,  the bromancer would like to thank other reptiles for their assistance in bringing on the much yearned for war with China ... like those brave warriors who led the way this day with an EXCLUSIVE ...

 

 

But the current pandemic as world war III? That shows a severe lack of imagination. What we really need is the bromancer to crank up and get the juices flowing ... with full Dolby surround sound so we can hear the nukes go off, while the bullets zing and zap from speaker to speaker ...

 

 

 

There's nothing like talking of world war III to make people grow-up ... and what a boost for a man with authoritarian instincts of a war-mongering kind ...

Now throughout the bromancer's piece you'll find artful pieces of sophistry of the "war is unthinkable, but you should think about it" kind ... but of course when dealing with grown-ups, you have to dissemble a little to lead the horse to water, or better still, world slaughter ...

 

 

Surely a Stalinist totalitarian system? Lenin was but a pup against Stalin? But the pond digresses, because the war gaming has only just begun ... so let us consider a basic scenario ...

By golly, there's nothing like quality time with an armchair general. It will be noted that the bromancer doesn't hint at nukes, keeps it all conventional warfare, and has delusions of grandeur in relation to the Collins-class submarines - we'd be lucky to have a couple capable of taking to the water.

Why? Well of course he doesn't want to sound like some maddie out of Dr. Strangelove ..

Your commie has no regard for human life, not even his own. And for this reason, men, I want to impress upon you the need for extreme watchfulness. The enemy may come individually, or he may come in strength. He may even come in the uniform of our own troops. But however he comes we must stop him. We must not allow him to gain entrance to this base. Now, I am going to give you three simple rules. First, trust no one, whatever his uniform or rank, unless he is known to you personally. Second, anyone or anything that approaches within 200 yards of the perimeter is to be fired upon. Third, if in doubt, shoot first, and ask questions afterwards. I would sooner accept a few casualties through accident than lose the entire base and its personnel through carelessness. Any variation on these rules must come from me personally.''

Please, if anyone notices barbed wire around News Corp in Surry Hills, or journalists out and about sandbagging the front door, just keep moving along.

And now enough of ancient movie history, back to today's main feature ... 

Before continuing with complete destruction, please, let the bromancer and the pond stress that this is all unlikely. The chance of the Collins-class subs winning the war with China is a tad remote. But we must imagine all scenarios as we plunge into world war III ...

 

Yes, there's nothing for it, but all hands on deck ... and so the pond does a hard cut to the war room in Surry Hills where the bromancer is discussing the situation with a fellow reptile going by the peculiar name of Mandrake ...

Bromancer: Now, why don't you just take it easy Group Sub-Editor. And please make me a drink of grain alcohol and rain water, and help yourself to whatever you'd like.
Mandrake (salutes General Bromancer) : Sir, as an officer in His Murdochian Reptile Forces, it is my clear duty, under the present circumstances, to issue the recall code, upon my own authority, and bring back the wing. If you'll excuse me sir. (Mandrake tries all exits and finds them locked) I'm afraid sir, I must ask you for the key and the recall code. Have you got them handy sir?
Bromancer: I told you to take it easy, Group Sub-Editor. There's nothing anybody can do about this thing now. I'm the only person who knows the three letter code group.
Mandrake (voice cracking): Then I must insist, sir, that you give them to me.
Bromancer (lifts a folder off of his desk and tosses it aside, revealing a blued, pearl handled .45 automatic).
Mandrake: Do I take it, sir, that you are threatening a brother journalist with a gun?
Bromancer: Mandrake, I suppose it never occurred to you that while we're chatting here so enjoyably, a decision is being made by the President, the Joint Chiefs and of course Generalfeldmarschall Rupert in the war room at the Pentagon. And when they realize there is no possibility of recalling the wing, there will be only one course of action open: total commitment. Mandrake, do you recall what Clemenceau once said about war?
Mandrake: No. I don't think I do sir, no.
Bromancer: He said war was to important to be left to the Generals. When he said that, fifty years ago, he might have been right. But today, war is too important to be left to politicians. They have neither the time, the training, nor the inclination for strategic thought. It must be left to journalists, crusading journalists like me, not afraid of a little skirmish, a little biff and bother. I can no longer sit back and allow Communist infiltration, Communist indoctrination, communist subversion, and the international Communist conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids.

Okey dokey, so now the war gaming is really heating up ...

 

Yes, a totally fucked planet. But what a victory! And so to a very dull conclusion, as once again the bromancer has second thoughts and waves the white flag ...

 

 

Yes, this entire bout of war gaming turns out to have a very dull conclusion ...

 

Credible system of mutual deterrence? Yes, those bloody Chinese are shaking in their boots at the thought of those Collins-class submarines ...

As for the subject being undiscussed and even worse unexamined, many will be disappointed at the bromancer's complete lack of imagination when it comes to world war III. Where are the heavily armed teens who head up into the hills to fight a rearguard action, and find the chance to indulge in a little heavy petting?

Never mind, there we have it, the first outing in the pond's weekend festival of reptiles, and what a stirring beginning it made, a real red carpet effort.

Naturally no Saturday matinee is complete without a cartoon, and luckily the immortal Rowe is always to hand here, evoking a government which has handled the virus with such skill that world war III will seem like a doddle, a walk in the bromancer park ...