In which the pond samples the savvy Savva and the bromancer, before rejoining the Canavan caravan ...

 

 

A couple of asides to begin the pond's day. 

The pond barely got to know creationist Mr Poots, and completely forgot to farewell him on his rapid departure, but it's never too late to acknowledge the sheer delight of his name, which kept evoking in the pond's mind the many pleasures it shared with Mr Pooter in George and Weedon Grossmith's Diary of a Nobody.

And right now, Sydney is in the grip of the plague, and it occurred to the pond that if this had happened in Melbourne, the reptiles would have already set up such a screeching and wailing and finger-pointing at the despicable Comrade Dan that the dial would have gone beyond eleven and perhaps even reached the twelfth of never ... when in reality the plague pretty much doesn't give a flying fuck about politics, it just wants warm bodies ...

Will the reptiles give sweet Gladys the sort of hard time they gave comrade Dan? In your dreams... or your virus-laden, unvaccinated nightmares ...

And so to today's top of the digital reptile page ...

 

 

 

Yes, there she blows, sympathetic coverage at the talk of a lock down, Pfizer on the way (the vaccination roll out a splendid SloMo triumph),  the Xian Porter pot still kept bubbling along by the reptiles in the mistaken belief that doing a Crabb on the ABC will see the matter steal quietly into the night, high society in a hair tizz, and of course the savvy Savva, as usual blaming it all on the marketing man ...

 

 

 

 

To be fair, the notion that a bumbling doofus who wished a mouse plague on city dwellers - to teach them a lesson in the ways of country bumpkins pulling wings off flies - could shine, if allowed even an infinite amount of space - or at least a substantially* infinite amount (*ABC approved usage) is a curiously optimistic, nay delusional, notion ...

 

No matter how anyone might have gone about it, polishing Mr MrcCormack's brain so that it might sparkle reminds the pond of the restoration challenges that can be found littering YouTube (you can restore an 1857 Colt, but please, don't try to fire it). Easier to polish a dinosaur turd so that it might glisten in the light.

 

Never mind, the point is surely that the fuckwitted SloMo is surely responsible for all the fuckwittery in the world, and who can argue with that?

 

 

He was made to look supine? Well to be fair to cats, whenever he abandoned lolling in the sunshine on the sofa, he sounded like a right royal twit ... (Graudian here)

 

It's true that he did his best to be a mindlessly moronic, always supportive variant of Mike Pence down under, but some of that remarkable achievement must be credited to him. Even SloMo, speaking in tongues to imaginary friends, shouldn't be credited with all McCormack's thought bubbles, but do go on ...

Indeed, indeed, but here there are so many fuckwits to share the blame, not limited to but including most of the reptiles who provide reading matter for the coalition on a daily basis, and the assorted loons in government, ranging from beefy Angus's deluded strategies to the bizarre ramblings of the likes of the Canavan caravan ...

While the planet burns, we have to read Graudian stories such as Senate sinks Angus Taylor's plan to allow renewables agency to invest in fossil fuel technologies.

Fossil fuels! Only beefy boofhead Angus could come up with that one.

Sure, SloMo presides over a carnival of clowns, but please, some credit to the skills of the other clowns ...

 

Actually if the pond isn't mistaken, he's there to provide the low comedy on country matters that Bill always used to enliven his tragedies ...

 

And so with that final cry of a pox on his house still ringing in the pond's ears, the pond headed off to other parts of the rag this morning ...

 

Oh it's tempting stuff, what with Barners having previously stuffed the Murry Darling, but there's always more stuffing to be done ... and so it was with a heavy heart and sense of loss that the pond turned to the bromancer seeing hope, being optimistic in the usual bromancer way when confronted with sublime loonacy ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

The reptiles knew the right way to go ... start with a dystopian vision of a five year plan full of government-funded coal mines, but the pond had to put a stop to that cunning with a screen cap ... and instead settled for a steady supply of snaps of the serene Tamworth statesman in action ... 

 

 

Yep indoody, there's nothing like having a mob of fundamentalist Xians in charge, speaking in tongues to imaginary friends, and laying on hands to help with the healing ... not to mention having a fucking good time fucking around with their staff ... because didn't the long absent lord say though shalt not commit adultery, except when you're urgently in need of a fucking good time ...

Sorry, the pond just had a spurt of country randiness - a hangover from its Tamworth days. Now where were we? Oh that's right, showing off snaps of the redeemer to hand ... and the bromancer suddenly turning gloomy ...

Surely there's some good news, and not just a glowering pollie doing an impression of a cane toad?

Oh for sure, there were very substantial and good reasons to vote for the orange one, and that other one with a different kind of hair affliction ...

There are good people on both sides, Mussolini made the trains run on time, Hitler gave the world the autobahn and the people wagon, and these days the entire comedy industry would be out of work if it hadn't been for all the fun ... and it's still going on ...

 

 

 

Entertainment central, and Colbert even scored a Peebody for his jokes, though peeved that Kimmel was the one mentioned in the orange one's despatches ...

And to be fair, the bromancer himself is a pretty decent stand-up comedian when it comes to one liners of the very substantial and good kind ...

 

Yes, and even more importantly, he knows how to kowtow to Gina and her mob, and so will be the high priest for big mining ...

 

 

Such a happy couple, such a bright future together.

Well it's been good fun - anyone got a lazy 40k? to help with the hits and the memories - but there's only a short gobbet to go ... with some sage advice from the bromancer as he sums up ...

 

Around this point the pond felt in urgent need of a Rowe, with more Rowe always here to vaccinate against reptile ramblings and put on a grand show ...

 

 

And so, being in a box seat at plague central, the pond thought it should hunt around for one last truffle for the day, and so ended up below the fold ...

 

The pond just wants to commend the bouffant one. 

Who else but Shanners could talk of Labor pain and Barners not being red-faced, when we all know Barners prefers beetroot as his colour and his nickname.

As for Barners knowing when to switch off the vaudeville routine, the pond simply gasped in astonished admiration. Fuck it, if the pond ever wanted a forelock tugging, lickspittle apologist of the first water, a prize reptile hack and flack and stooge, Shanners would be the first cab off the reptile ranks ...

And then there was the lizard oz editorialist shedding a vaile of tears ... fancy having something against someone with a deep love of dinkum, clean, virginal Oz coal ...

But there can be only one winner, and surely it had to be the pond's chance to redeem itself and hitch a quick ride with the Canavan caravan, because he knows that dinkum coal batters ...

Sure it's a lazy, slack arsed illustration in the new reptile style, but it's fitting too, matching the fuckwitted headline about there being a law about being made in Australia.

Still, it was a confident start, and in the moment, the pond felt a deep regret that it had prematurely left the Canavan caravan for poseurs and ponces, when really nobody could match the Canavan style ...

 

Huff away here, while the pond joins the huffing Canavan, showing Shanners the right way to do grovelling, turd polishing, lick spittling and forelock tugging, as if to the manor born ...

 

Yes, it''s Australia first, just as it's America first, just as it's every country first, and why not bung on a do to see Who's on first, because the pond thought Who was on second ...

Here the pond must interrupt the Canavan broadcast to note a mysterious event which occurred yesterday in the skies over reptile la la land ...

For just a nanosecond, it was possible to see this story ...

Of course no reptile hand was involved, and it was soon swept under the carpet, disappeared so to speak, but you can read about it in the Graudian here anyway ...

 

But for a moment, just a moment, the pond thought that something weird was going down in reptile la la land ... and then as if staring at one of those electro bio-mechanical neural transmitting zero synapse repositioners featured in Men in Black, the pond forgot all about it and returned to the moronic mutterings of the Canavan ... still insisting Who was on first, along with the land down under ...

 

Yes, the planet is welly and truly fucked, and good old fuckwitted Mattie is helping with the fucking ... and all that's left is for the pond to turn to the infallible Pope for a sign of some kind of redemption being at hand ...

 

Oh fucketty fuck, beefy Angus and SloMo in yet another remake of Ocean's 11, but are you not entertained? Perhaps a final drink, a final toast, before the temple falls down around your ears?