In which the pond as usual asks the Major, studies the movement of flood waters in quarries and welcomes back an old dog who never learned any tricks ...

 

 

 

What's a sure fire way to get the reptile readership agitated? Show them a shot of wind mills ruining the landscape. They get an extreme case of the heebie jeebies, they wet their pants, they run screaming from the room ...

It's also a great introduction to the pond's popular Monday segment, "ask the Major." As in if the planet looks like it's fucked, what should we do Major?

The answer, as always, is to blame the ABC and the Graudian, blame China, and don't forget to slip in a plug for good old clean virginal pristine Oz coal ...

 

 

Should we ask the Major about the reality of the reptiles' headlong rush into climate science denialism and steadfast addiction to it no matter what might go down? Of course not, that might mean awkward questions, perhaps an accidental look at headlines outside the world of the reptiles  ... 

 

 

 

 

...when it's so much simpler to do nothing, or better still, just blame Asia and the Chinese, and jolly Joe, because things were so much better under the orange one, who really did win that election ...

 

 

Indeed, indeed the Major's mob is right into it ...

 

 

 

No doubt that's why the Major paused in the middle of his yarn so that a snap of pure dinkum decent Oz coal, oi, oi, oi, might be inserted into his story ... 

 

 

 

Of course there's also blame the Europeans ... how silly of the pond to forget ...

 

 

 

It would be remiss at this point of the pond not to note the reptiles current campaign to pretend that everything is fine with the reef, which featured this day on the front page of the tree killer edition ...

 

 

 

 

Yes, hope and a wing and a prayer and she'll be right, because the reptiles are terrified that someone might draw attention to climate science and future projections and heritage listings and such like, and where would this lead us? Why a story up there with "Planet turmoil: climate science virus loose in the villages."

So relax, we've asked the Major, and the Major has patiently explained why we shouldn't do anything. We certainly shouldn't set an example, hector others, show the way, because fuck it, it's only the planet, and soon enough we'll all be going to hell in a handbasket, or perhaps be joining the billionaires in getting the fuck out of here ...

 

 

And so to another regular pond Monday feature, because it seems that the reformed, recovering feminist, the Oreo, remains banished in the wilderness ...

Instead students can indulge in a study of the movement of floodwaters in quarries with the Caterist and, handy expert that he is, learn how to get federal government cash in the paw as a grant, in aid of the scribbling of blather ...

 

 

 

Game to follow Bojo on freedumb day? Of course the pond is, what could go wrong?

 

 

 

Inspirational flip-flop stuff ...

 

Um, please you go first. Don't lurk behind a keyboard counting the government cash in the paw, go out and score a dose, and show us how harmless it is ...

But of course there's a reason for the bold bravery of the Caterist, who is unlikely to want to do a Herman Cain ... you see the Caterist's financiers are in a spot of bother because it turns out that Gladys was something of a fool's gold standard ...

 

 

And so the Caterist must run cover, by running the line that there's nothing to worry about here, we can all get out and about and have a jolly good time, except for septuagenarian construction workers. Such a fine wit ...

Yes, it's the old look over there routine, which is handy, because if you look over here, it's a right royal fuck-up, given the vaccination levels and the transmissibility, and so what is needed is a fuckwit as silly as Bojo to pretend that if you just block your ears and whistle, the virus will go away, a lesson learned long ago from the orange one ... and didn't that turn out well?

 

 

Yes, the Caterist will seize on any excuse, any port in a storm, and it reminds the pond of his uncanny ability when it comes to predicting the movement of floodwaters in quarries. 

As for Bojo, a kindly reader sent in this tribute to the fearless leader ...

 

 

 Curious. In a way it also perfectly evokes the Caterist pounding away on his keyboard, insulated from harm and with a generous government grant in the kit ...

 

 

An error of judgment? Well the quarry whisperer would know all about that, and at this point, the pond has taken to looking at the reptile triers who didn't make the Monday cut, up against the weathered, rugged, reptiles, experienced at the skill of navel gazing, fluff gathering and contorting themselves so that they might fit comfortably up themselves ...

 

 

 

Hmm, Claire putting the boot into quacks? But the way ahead is surely to be an actual quack of the Major or Caterist kind. Forget Zed's talk of helping the neighbours, what we need to do is party like it's 1999 ...

A tip for these two if they want to make the Monday cut. Fuck the neighbours, and learn to sound like a couple of cunning old reptile quacks peddling coal and the futility of wanting a cure ...

Oh the pond almost forget.  Look, there in the middle, there's poor old simplistic Simon, given the job of yet again coaching SloMo on what to do.

How silly is that, especially when the reptiles did a bit of Burke and Hare, a little gravedigging and exhumed the onion muncher this day ...

Bizarre. The pond has no idea why they'd bring this old dog back to discuss a dog's breakfast, though it has to be conceded that if anyone knows how to bung on a dog's breakfast, this old dog does ...

The best thing the pond learned from the onion muncher's time in power wasn't the art of onion munching, handy though that was.

Rather it was the importance of donning a vest

 

... so you could pose as a visionary, earning top honours from the Major ...

 

Graudian away here on those happy coal-loving days, reincarnated in Barners, as the onion muncher shows that it's not just Malware with a feeling of complete irrelevance, and the need to mumble on ...

 

Is there any upside to this virus and our current situation? After all, the pond routinely gets snaps sent to it  showing the desolate state of Melbourne ...

 

 

But the pond has thought of one upside. Just imagine if the onion muncher had been in charge! 

Oh sure the pond routinely mocks fool's gold standard Gladys and Scotty from marketing and such like, but imagine how fucked we'd be if the onion muncher had been in charge, and decided to offer his bull at the gate, action man response. You know, don't worry about the virus, just go for a jog, or hop on a bike, or go for a surf ...

 

Still, better not get too excited. That snap was used to illustrate a story "Tony Abbott injured while surfing", which might be matched by a headline, "Pond injured while suffering whiplash from indulging in onion muncher memories" ...

Good old bouffant one. It's a bit like heading off to the old folks home for another session of "in my day, young whippersnapper, there was none of this malarkey doing the rounds. We just got up, sprung into action, and made sure the duke realised he was a dinkum knight."

The pond is pleased that Shanners would do his duty, show a keen interest, pretend to be listening ... but sadly the pond must step away from memory lane, and instead wrap up with a Rowe contemplating the current situation, with more Rowe wrappers here ...