In which the pond offers "Ned", Barners, the careening Canavan caravan, dashing Donners, HolyWeen, mehitabel and a good groaning, and you dare to say you're not entertained?

 

 

 

The pond thought it should start the day in a serious mood. 

You see, the pond has never seen anything like it (well, at least since the weekend). 

"Ned" is traumatised, "Ned" is agitated, "Ned" is flinging his arms about and sighing to the sky as if to evoke an ethnic stereotype. "Ned" has donned sackcloth and ashes and is running about the back yard as headless as a chook that met an axe. "Ned" is doing his best Chicken Little impersonation, or if you prefer a local version, he's shouting at clouds that we'll all be rooned. 

In short, "Ned" is in urgent need of a natter about the Nats, and who is the pond to stand in his way? 

After all, early in the morn, the reptiles had "Ned" at the top of the digital page, and that haunting Barners visage had also haunted the tree killer edition ...

 

 

Oh and the reptiles were still taking money from the freedumb party, because climate science sure doesn't trump cash in the reptile claw ...

And so on with the increasingly agitated "Ned" ...

 

 

 

News Corp went all in on a sea change about climate change, though none of its lizard Oz heavies went with them, and so the company came to a fork in the road, and went both ways? That's smart? Nope, it's Bolter heavyweight dumb ... or so the traumatised "Ned" might think in a fearful, featherless, feverish moment ...

And now poor "Ned" is in a state of wild-eyed fear and indignation ... and it's left to the likes of simplistic Simon to do his best, while wicked, evil Nats campaign against this climate science nonsense ...

 Oh the distilled agony of it all ... and the Canavan caravan on the road, to remind us all that dear  sweet innocent Oz coal still batters, or matters, or whatever ...

 

 

Oh hearken ye unto the prophet. There is a lot more trouble to come.

For the planet? No, don't you worry your blonde locks about that, there's trouble afoot for the speaker in tongues to imaginary friends, to the hand healer, as the Satanic one points and gibbers at him ... and naturally that puts "Ned" in a frightful tizz ...

Of course the pond had to turn the closing click bait video into a harmless screen cap, for fear the world might end long before Xmas, but the pond does like to be a compleat record of the reptile follies ...

 

 

And now what other dread beast, its hour come around at last, stalks the lizard Oz digital pages?

 

 

 

So much to read, so much entertainment, and the pond will offer a couple of samples, but first it must hit the road with the Canavan caravan, because there'll always be room for climate science denialism at the lizard Oz inn ... and here at the pond we keep the stables ready ...

 

Dear sweet long absent lord, the original Satan, the first anti-Christ, as bold as brass and just beneath the Canavan himself. 

Usually the reptiles would run with a snap of Greta - the horror of a vulgar youff and teen harridan is usually more than enough - but it must truly be serious to see this dire figure leap from the vault just before JesusWeen ...

 

Indeed, indeed, and when in need of a metaphor, the Canavan caravan is the first one the pond would join.

The fearless funster was celebrated last night on Media Watch ...

 

 

 

Yes, it's all changed, the transformation is complete, yet, as the bishop said to the chorus girl, here we are just a day later ...

 

 

As for the planet? Ah fuck it, time for a Rowe cartoon, with more Rowe here ...

 

 

 

Now it's time to move on, in the spirit of the Rowe, it's time for some entertainment, and what better way that with a dose of dashing Donners ... who, it turns out, is on a promotional book tour, and so is leaving no reptile stone unturned ...

 

 

Now those pond readers who know and love dashing Donners will have heard, or at least read, it all before ... but fuck it, the pond will do it live, because recently the pond had thought it was just being trolled by this quintessential sighting, as recorded at C and L ...

 

 

Talk about a classic trolling, but fuck it, on with the real master of Xian comedy stylings... though the pond knows some will be disappointed at the failure of Donners in the first sentence to mention the long march through the institutions. Where's Gramsci, or even Dutschke, when sorely needed?!

 

 

 

Oh it's classic, vintage Donners, and it chimes in well with the seasonal entertainment ...

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, what about Holyween, dashing Donners? Sorry, just more blather because our Donners is truly haunted by neo-Marxists, and truth to tell, the pond avoids King street, because the chance of bumping into a neo-Marxist is truly frightening ...

 

Well the pond promised to provide some entertainment to make up for the climate wars, and so as a special bonus, here's the week's Groaning ... which is, as is often the case, full of a fear of burdensome, difficult furriners ...

 

 

To say the pond was startled by the lizard Oz subs lumping Dame Groan with a shot of terrifying wogs invading dinkum Oz is something of an understatement. The pond hasn't been that traumatised since it first watched They're a Weird Mob ...

but then it dawned on the pond that there was nothing to fear, just a chance to offer a distraction, and what better way than to imagine dame groan and her groaning as first cousin to mehitabel the cleopatra cat ...

you see, mehitabel has of late been mentioned in correspondence, and there's no point in getting the groan onto the couch to give the groaning a good freudian going over ... so why not a dose of mehitabel, as found here ...

this is the song of mehitabel
of mehitabel the alley cat
as i wrote you before boss
mehitabel is a believer
in the pythagorean
theory of the transmigration
of the soul and she claims
that formerly her spirit
was incarnated in the body
of cleopatra
that was a long time ago
and one must not be
surprised if mehitabel
has forgotten some of her
more regal manners
i have had my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today i herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as i caper and sing and leap
when i sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell

...and so to the song of the groaner, singing her wild free tune, piss off furriners, wotthehell, wotthehell ...i was once cleopatra on a handsome stipend from the reptiles, $357k a year, and so am in touch with the common folk and their common needs ...

 

 

...put it another way

under the blear eyed moon
i am pelted with cast off shoon
but wotthehell wotthehell
do you think that i would change
my present freedom to range
for a castle or moated grange
wotthehell wotthehell
cage me and i d go frantic
my life is so romantic
capricious and corybantic
and i m toujours gai toujours gai
i know that i am bound
for a journey down the sound
in the midst of a refuse mound
but wotthehell wotthehell
oh i should worry and fret
death and i will coquette
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

oh sing, sing, and dance, or at least groan with the groaner ...

 

... oh she was once an innocent kit, on $357k a year, and so knew the common folk and had a common touch, wotthehell, wotthehell ....

i once was an innocent kit
wotthehell wotthehell
with a ribbon my neck to fit
and bells tied onto it
o wotthehell wotthehel
but a maltese cat came by
with a come hither look in his eye
and a song that soared to the sky
and wotthehell wotthehell
and i followed adown the street
the pad of his rhythmical feet
o permit me again to repeat
wotthehell wotthehell
my youth i shall never forget
but there s nothing i really regret
wotthehell wotthehell
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

...speaking personally, the pond thinks this is much better than trying to argue with dame groan, or comment on her groaning,  but alas and alack, the pond has reached the end of the groaning before the end of mehitabel's song, but those who prefer mehitabel to dame groan can follow the link ... while devotees keep cultivating their fear of furriners, yowling at us like alley cats and terrifying dame groan ...

 

the pond could have kept on with mehitabel, but with the groaning over, it's time to end, and what better way to end than with an infallible pope planting an ear worm far too close to the pond's brain ...

 

 

A skeleton? No, surely a deadpanning clown, in the spirit of the song ...