In which the pond does the usual Blue Hills rounds ... with episodes featuring the Major, the Oreo and the Caterist ...

 

 

 

Sometimes the pond wishes it had the theme to Blue Hills to hand on a daily basis. You know, the pond presents the Major's Blues by the Major ...

For years the pond couldn't escape its sounds, little realising how it could have been a splendid accompaniment as the narrator introduced another episode featuring the Major, in which the Major explained how everybody else didn't get it, and only the Major and the reptiles were right. 

Or perhaps an episode in which the perfidious French came to town and ruined a poor innocent virginal Tamworth girl's life ... sorry, sorry, that might have been the episode featuring a reptile clutching a lump of coal in claw ...

Never mind, however you cut it, the Major is something of an interminable saga, and today is no different ...

 

Indeed, indeed, the Major is full of diplomacy, though the pond is mystified why he dialed down the skilled diplomat in him, when "fuck off Frog, we don't needs ya" might have been a little more subtle, and certainly to the point ...

The pond should probably have mentioned in the preamble that it's all the fault of the ABC, though The Insiders was worth watching just to catch Andrew Probyn's reaction to the sort of gibberish being peddled by the Major ...

Even the reptiles couldn't resist recycling it ...

 

 

Back to the Major's bloody nonsense ...

 

 

At this point, the pond should note that the reptiles slipped in a snap of an adoring Chuck simpering at the speaker in tongues and clutcher at coal, evoking a kind of rapture  ...

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, but relying on Getty means that the reptiles missed the real picture, brilliantly caught by the brilliant Alex Ellinghausen ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Has there ever been a better capturing of "what the fuck?", "who is this fucking loon, and why am I listening to him?", or perhaps "how the fuck do I get out of here?", or even "oh no, you've snapped me in a moment of sheer terror, way worse than being a tampon, stuck with a loon blathering on in some weird way I can't comprehend ..."

 

Sorry, you must take your humour where you find it when dealing with the Major, because as usual, the Major next decides to stick his head up the reptiles' bum collective ... and so we get to see not a shred of light ... (though it could be called fluff-gathering, and so some would be blinded by the Major light) ...

 

 

Dear sweet absent lord, the pond should have stuck to the metaphor of the Major with his head up the reptile bum ... and so to a final gobbet ...

 

 

Oh sheesh, not petulant Peta, anything but that, and so the pond should note that Mike Carlton was trending when it came to his summary of Phil Coorey ...

 

 

 

Good one Phil ...or should that be a nod to Bonaparte Mike?

And so on to the Oreo, and the pond might wish it were different, but it turns out it's just another reptile episode, with the Oreo as blue and down in the dumps as the Major at the thought of the perfidious French and their treacherous ways. Fancy getting agitated about a little deception and the odd porky pig ...

 

 

 

It goes without saying that being a reformed, recovering feminist the Oreo really knows how to hurt, and she's adept at singing Randy Newman's song about short people ...

Short French people got no reason
To live
They got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin' great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feet
They stab you in the back
And think it's funny and sweet

Or something like that. Of course reformed, recovering feminists with a taste for genuine Oz diplomacy would also hint at small dicks ...

 

 

He did what an honest person would do and leak a confidential exchange? Sheesh, you wouldn't want an Oreo as a partner, would you?

And so to another short gobbet about short people, because it seems that the reptiles can't get enough of snaps of Macron ...

 

 

A side note while the Oreo dishes it out to the perfidious French.

The pond on the weekend discovered nother reason for watching The Insiders ... it included a reminder that every so often the infallible Pope splutters to life on Twitter ... and then you can see how things are going well ...

 

 

 

 

Not only does it capture the spirit of the original, it enhances it with that touch of the mask ...

 

 

 

Oh wait, is the infallible Pope being fair? 

The poor old Pew has been in the politically correct wars of late, and comparing the hapless lad to the speaking in tongues man is surely defamatory and worthy of a squillion dollar settlement ...

And so to another short gobbet of the Oreo, ending with yet another snap of the French warrior  ...

 

 

The Oreo has spent an entire column ravaging Macron, and he's expected to cop it, smile, kiss and make up? Apparently so ...

 

 

There's diplomacy, and then there's reptile diplomacy in recovering, reformed feminist style ...

They got little baby legs
That stand so low
You got to pick 'em up
Just to say hello
They got little Renaults
That go beep, beep, beep
They got little dicks
Goin' cheep, cheep, cheep
They got grubby little fingers
That bury a post-feminist French loving future
And dirty little minds
They're gonna get you every time

Or some such thing. The pond was never much good at poetry or Oreo style diplomacy ... but rest assured there's nothing like reptile diplomacy to bury the hatchet, preferably in the little fucker's gonads, because that'll larn him ...

As for the natural born liar? What a sweet, innocent pure liar he is ...he just speaks in tongues and lays on healing hands, and doesn't worry too much about climate science or the delivery time for subs or getting on with the perfidious French, because surely the rapture is just around the corner ...

And so to the bonus of the day, because how could the pond ignore the Caterist, especially when he does his splendid imitation of Helen Lovejoy crying out "ooh, won't somebody please think of the children!"

 

For once the pond shares the Caterist concerns ...

The pond is routinely alarmed at the thought of a clever child downloading an app and getting into mischief. 

Sure, some might do the sensible thing and head off to Imagefap, but there's likely a wayward child that might head off to the lizard Oz, and the next thing you know, they're reading the Caterist, and thinking they know everything there is to know about the movement of floodwaters in quarries, or might even begin drafting an application to the Federal government for some much needed cash in the paw ...

A truly terrifying prospect, to see the innocence of childhood so cruelly twisted and warped ...

 

 

 

Indeed, indeed, innocent children might be absorbing the Caterist, and be mentally scarred for life ... they might even be reading this very column. Oh shoot the pond now, make it quick and clean ...

Of course some children might have enough nous and resilience to realise that the Caterist is full of horseshit.

Back in the day, the pond used to be told on a regular basis how comics were ruining its mind, not to mention television, and even further back the pond is reliably informed, radio was considered the way to a quick ruination ...

Vox has a good piece by Alex Abad-Santos on The insane history of how American paranoia ruined and censored comic books ... and the least the pond can do is take a break from the Caterist having a nervous nelly fit to celebrate one of the images ...

 

 

 

 

Now there's a role model for reformed, recovering feminists, but sigh, for the nonce, it's back to the righteous salt mine with the Caterist ...

 

 

Of course you need to monitor them, on a daily basis, minute by minute. It's the right Orwellian thing to do ...

Who knows, otherwise they might be off at the Graudian feasting their wicked eyes on stories in the Graudian about Jeremy Deller ...

 

Next thing you know they'll be standing around watching the bloody things melt ...

Poor, hapless, sweet, innocent vulgar youff ... don't let this happen to you. Be wary of the full to overflowing intertubes ...

Don't just give up on Facebook, give up on the reptiles too, or you might face endless horrors and nightmares, not least the sights and sounds of a Caterist droning on, with muffled noises emanating from far up his bum ... 

Oh fuckety fuck, whenever the pond sees a Caterist blathering about the sanctity of childhood, it reaches for its Glock ... because that's the right Faux Noise thing to do ...

And so to wrap things up, another image of a beast that's certainly not safe for children or work, thanks to the immortal Rowe, with more images of beasts slouching towards Canberra here ...  

Well they would be if they could just catch the light rail from Sydney's west, and the pond always wondered why we didn't get proven Melburnian technology, and now the pond knows why ... because New South Wales is full of fucking idiots ... but then, we could be Amerricuh ...