There's nothing like a Dame Slap litany for a Sunday meditation, unless it's a barking mad dog botherer howling denialism at the moon ...

 

 

 

It's probably a bit arse up, running with Polonius's prattle on a Saturday and saving Dame Slap's usual litany of woe for a Sunday meditation, but now that Gladys has bunged on a lockdown, the pond felt in need of a little light relief, and there's nothing much lighter than the thought bubbles of Dame Slap ...

Better still, they're cheap as chups. 

Did anyone catch the Weekly Beast's news that they're wanting $174 smackeroos for punters dumb enough to fork over the readies to listen to simplistic simpleton Sharri do her Wuhan thing?

Fuck the pond dead, in a gentle manner, there's no end to these hustling Elmer Gantrys doing their shake downs ...

It's also true that the pond could have found better things to do on a Sunday, such as celebrate Marina Hyde roasting the door Matt ...

...In some ways, the only thing you have to remember about Hancock – apart from the app and the parkour and the crying on telly – is that when Prof Neil Ferguson was discovered to have broken lockdown rules in the conduct of a relationship, Hancock went on TV to fume: “You can imagine what my views are. It’s a matter for the police.” So, yes – a shame to see sex cop Matt Hancock busted for sex crimes. But a reminder that cancel culture always devours its children.
Anyway. To the many, many, many sentences your 2019 self would not have understood, do please add: “BUT THIS WAS TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE BAN ON HUGGING WAS LIFTED!” Absolutely devastating to think that a full 10 days after The Clinch occurred, Hancock went on telly specifically to warn people thinking of hugging a loved one that they “should do it carefully”. Turns out we could have hugged people really hard, with tongues. Unless they were our relatives, I think?
“I’m really looking forward to hugging you as well, Dad,” Hancock smiled into the camera in that same interview. “But we’ll probably do it outside and keep the ventilation going. Hands, face and space.” Honestly, did you ever? How can I possibly trust a politician to lecture me on how to cuddle after this?
Back to the present day, though, and an early statement from another of the health secretary’s aides – disguised as an unnamed “friend” of Matt Hancock – would only say of the sensational revelation that “no rules have been broken”. Hancock himself has since said he accepts “that I breached the social distancing guidance”, which is one way of putting it; while this morning, he had his honour defended by Grant Shapps. Which doesn’t exactly feel like the Kitemark. Arguably the only way this story could now be more dignified is if a “friend” suggested that the health secretary had – out of an abundance of caution – used a tongue condom.

A tongue condom! 

Which is why the pond recommends an eye condom when approaching the thoughts of Dame Slap ...

 

Um, political views? The pond thought this was going to be about the Riddster and his scientific views, but apparently not. 

But why is the foolish pond surprised? Being totally ignorant of science, Dame Slap has always conflated and confused science and politics, never better than in her tirade about the UN back when she could be more open, less sly and deceptive about her IPA chairman attitudes ...

 

 

 

Just as Dame Slap has her litanies, the pond has its histories, and every so often it likes to dig that mouldy old monstrosity out of the crypt ... now back to today's litany ...

 

 

Speaking of how embarrassment, Dame Slap has never returned to the good old days when she donned the MAGA cap ...

 

 

 

Yes the pond has run it before, a zillion times, and will run it a zillion times more, because when Dame Slap gets on her bullshit liberal wagon, it's an eternal reminder of what she really believes ... 

These days she speaks more softly, if at all about the orange one, but it should never be forgotten that she once threw her cap into the ring ... and now back to today's litany ...

 

The notion that Dame Slap is somehow in tune with the liberal zeitgeist is one of the richer IPA chairman jokes doing the rounds ... but now, after enduring a Vaile of tears, we can finally get to the Riddster ...

 

 

 

Oh just fuck off and tell that to the orange one and "Lord" Monckton and all the other hustlers and hucksters and snake oil salesmen you've travelled with, before and after becoming the IPA chairman for Gina's mob and the selling of fossil fuels as the solution to the planet's woes ...

And now with news of the savvy Savva's departure from the lizard Oz still ringing in the pond's ears, the pond wondered how long our Gracie might last ...

Somewhere along the way our Gracie had a sea-change and began to question the monolithic ways of the dominant reptile culture ...

 

 

The government is stale? That's not a good start, even though our Gracie tries to soften her thought crime by heiling Scotty from marketing as a clever politician ... and then comes this opening line ...

 

Not unelectable? Well it's hardly a ringing endorsement, but still it's as close as treachery and treason as a reptile might get before being sent off to sip the soma slipped into the reptile office water cooler ... and then, even more bizarrely, our Gracie claims to have had Roy Morgan do EXCLUSIVE polling just for her column ...

 

 

The pond isn't sure where our Gracie is going with all this data, but is sure we'll arrive somewhere ...

 

Phew, that's a relief. For a naosecond, the pond thought our Gracie might be doing a savvy Savva, and contemplating turning to the dark side. Why the reptiles might even have begun to think of the wonders of pairing petulant Peta with the onion muncher as a dynamic commentariat duo.

But in the end, she came good, with the stale government redeemed by a clever politician with a cunning, relentless suburban shtick ... go sharkies ...

The reptiles' Central  Scrutinizer could read the piece and give it a bare pass. Sure there was a flirtation with heresy, but in these uncertain times, our Gracie could still see a path forward for the clever one, speaking in tongues to imaginary friends, laying on healing hands and producing yet another miracle to astonish unbelievers ...

And so to the bonus for the day, and the pond has saved some genuine loonacy for the stayers who've lasted this far ...

 

 

 

 

It should go without saying that the dog botherer is by far the weirdest of the reptiles, a barking mad loon much given to howling at the moon. Only when the Killer gets cranked up at the thought of wearing masks is there another reptile who could go a round in the ring with the dog botherer ...

 

Today's piece is such an exemplary example of loonacy on the go that the pond thought it would make a fine, if lengthy dessert, a genuine after dinner mint delight ... because only the dog botherer could join together a pandemic and climate science ...

 

 

 

Astute readers will note that little billy goat buttism that the dog botherer slipped in along the way ..."There can be no denying the seriousness of the pandemic abroad ..."

Of course the dog botherer couldn't do the same for climate science, because he remains a stout-hearted denialist ...

But still the "no denying" was a moving attempt at sanity, rather akin to the efforts made by Mr Dick, as outlined by Charles Dickens ...

..Every day of his life he had a long sitting at the Memorial, which never made the least progress, however hard he laboured, for climate denialism and King Charles the First's head always strayed into it, sooner or later, and  then it was thrown aside, and another one begun.  The patience and  hope with which he bore these perpetual disappointments, the mild  perception he had that there was something wrong about the climate and King Charles the First, the feeble efforts he made to keep them out, and the certainty with which they came in, and tumbled the Memorial out of all shape, made a deep impression on me.  What the dog bothering Mr. Dick supposed would come of the Memorial, if it were completed; where he thought it was to go, or what he thought it was to do; he knew no more than anybody else, I believe.  Nor was it at all necessary that he  should trouble himself with such questions, for if anything were certain under the sun, it was certain that the Memorial never would be finished. The haunting, haunted head and climate denialism would go on forever ...

Hmm, perhaps that didn't quite come out as Dickens had originally intended, but it's in the right spirit, just as it was right of the reptiles to tweak the dog botherer with an illustration ...

 

Indeed, indeed, holding up a sign and protesting makes Australians completely unrecognisable to each other, and clearly threatens our egalitarianism, because the reptiles prefer to cancel the sheep and keep them in their pens ...

And so to a rant about all the wrongs done in other states, because movingly, the dog botherer seems to have scribbled his piece before the Sydney lockdown came into effect ...

 

Ah yes, the sensible utegate, bomb the shit out of Iraq and fuck the country proportionate response ... but we all know there's a terribly good reason not to panic ...

 

And so to a comparison of opportunist premiers up against the courageous competence of our Gladys ...

 

Fair dibs. It's not just the toilet roll buyers who've been in a panic ... as even the Daily Terror was forced to note ...

 

 

Yes, there was panic in the bunker, and finger pointing and flight and ...

But on to other matters ... as the dog botherer pours oil on troubled waters, perhaps sensing the chance to light it later on and really put the cat amongst the climate science pigeons ...

 

The parallels with climate alarmism are compelling?

Only in the infinitely deluded world of the dog botherer. For one there's a vaccine, if we ever get a government who knows how to distribute it. For the other, there's just a bunch of denialists of the dog botherer kind intending to fuck the planet over the long haul.

Here we should remember the dog botherer's idea of climate science ... and beefy Angus's technological solutions ...

 

And here we should remember that if anyone looks back in time from a troubled future in search of climate science denialist criminals, the dog botherer should be the first in the dock, for his assiduous work in helping fuck the planet ...

 

Who among us will stay calm and carry on?

Well the dog botherer will certainly carry on, getting hysterical and alarmist each week about climate scientists doing the science, a science which has a remorseless, demonstrable logic, and a remorseless demonstrable conclusion and with remorseless demonstrable logic, as currently being seen in locations as wide-ranging as Antarctica and the United States ... yet like the incomprehensible denialist loon that he is, the tough guy who purports to have all the answers, of a utegate kind, the dog botherer keeps carrying on, frothing and foaming at the mouth, and leaving the pond with only cartoonists for comfort ...