Saturday, May 14, 2022

In which the pond boldly wades through cosmos, encountering angry Sydney Anglicans, a slappy Dame Slap, a meandering "Ned" and even bellwether Gracie ...

 






The reptiles were in a state of complete dismay and utter panic, but did their very best to pretend that a one person bulldozing wrecking machine could magically and miraculously transform into buttered bliss ... but it was something else at the top of the digital edition that caught the pond's eye ...






There was the talk of the bulldozer rebuilding, a peculiar notion about change and bulldozing, and the reptiles had sent out Dame Slap, top of digital page ma, to do a hit job, and more of that anon, but look, the revolting, appalling angry Sydney Anglicans had made it to the top of the page too ...

The pond drifted back in mind to the days when the angry Sydney Anglicans and their search for complimentary women was one of the more enchanting parts of the pond's life ... and for the reptiles to drop everything in the middle of transforming a bulldozer, and shove them at the right hand side of the digital page ... why, it had to be worth at least a footnote ...






Excellent stuff, but when the pond wants to know about the inside workings of the angry Sydney wankers, the pond always turns to Muriel Porter, who turned up in The Conversation this week ...

Porter tried to make sense of Sydney Archbishop Kanishka Raffel blathering about the church being in a perilous position and same sex-marriage being a tipping point, and there was no point Anglicans talking to each other ...






Ah bloody women, it reminded the pond of one of the posters in the infallible Pope this day ...








The full Pope much later as a reward, but by golly that wide-eyed look is straight out of Margaret Keane ... and yes the pond once did visit the gallery in San Fran to get its dose of nausea...






But enough already, time to finish up the lizard Oz, no match for Porter when it comes to angry Sydney Anglicans ...






It's jolly good stuff and the pond might once again take an interest in the doings and deeds of angry Sydney Anglicans, and bigotry in the name of Jesus, and the never-ending search for complimentary women ...

Meanwhile, the pond came down with a thud, because when Dame Slap gets going on a hit job, the last thing you can call her is a complimentary woman. There's never a compliment in sight ...






When last the pond checked, Dame Slap still had her MAGA cap in the cupboard, and she was proud chairman of the IPA, and so all the pond needs to say is that she would say that, wouldn't she, as she rabbits on and on ... and inevitably we were in a time machine, back to the days of Chairman Rudd and Margie...







Ah a bloody woman, and just to remind the readership, the reptiles stuck in a snap of the bloody woman in question. What a piece of fluff, and with fluffy policies too, and might a bulldozer yet turn into a piece of fluff?







Oh where's the bulldozer, or perhaps the wrecking ball, when he's needed?

Then it was back to Dame Slap and the pond knew that the reptiles sensed that the liar from the Shire was in trouble, and so the attack dog had been loosed upon the moors ... or at least Cronulla beach ...






Yes, we need a bulldozer. Oh wait ...

And then a final snap of an independent hussy and Dame Slap was done ...






Then it got even worse for the pond as it looked at the reptiles comment section and copped the dog botherer doing climate science denialism - a late arvo slot for him - and Shanners sounding almost teary and praying for a miracle ...






All we need is a miracle ... can bulldozers speak in tongues to imaginary friends? ... but it was in the reptile triptych of terror that the pond knew its destiny ...







Claire de loon immediately ruled herself out by asking why freedumb boy was under attack. Only someone as dumb as Claire might even think it a question ... and so the pond's destiny was set, another interminable bout with nattering "Ned", the most stupendous bore of them all ...






The pond won't interrupt much, but the notion that "Ned" is asking a question - "Is he up to the job?" - is such a fatuous non sequitur and waste of space that the pond couldn't help wondering why the reptiles keep pandering to a pretended, faux objectivity. Wouldn't it be better and simpler to start with "not up to the job, lacks the ticker" and so on and so forth, and save the pond from this meandering morass of a journey ...






One thing the pond will note. Poor "Ned" scribbles in a way that suggests perhaps the bulldozer has run out of puff, or steam, or diesel, or whatever ...








The bigger point surely is that it would have been simpler to say right at the start that he's not up to the job, and what is needed is a bulldozer ...

Oh wait ... here, have a snap of the rogues gone wild instead ...






And then it was back to "Ned" and the reptiles were so mind numbingly bored that they felt the need to slip in a click bait video to keep the readership awake, or at least distracted ...






The pond neutered it of course ... and plunged on with "Ned" ... as he turned mindreader ...







You see? The portentous, ponderous old fart thinks there's some sort of genetics at work, ingrained instincts, and only he can deciper the call of the wild, act like a spiritualist confronted by ectoplasm ... with an "Albo will be", and an "Albo will", and so on, until the punchline ...





And that's what gives the game away ... "if Albanese wins". It's a belling of the cat, and a tolling of "Ned's" sense of impending doom ...

Now at this point, the pond would usually say enough already, what with angry Sydney Anglicans, Dame Slap in a frenzy, and "Ned" almost making a concession speech, but for once the pond would like to do an Ancient Mariner, and stoppeth our Gracie for a chat, because the pond likes to think of our Gracie as the kind of Eden-Monaro of reptile scribblers ... a bellwether indicator.

How is the bell feeling this day?






Hmm, our Gracie is sounding a bit tetchy, what with unions and all, but the pond can lure distracted readers on by reminding them that the full infallible Pope will be on hand at the end to make a final pitch ...






Still no clear indication as the pond fossicks through the Gracie entrails and checks the runes and the bellwether remains a little murky ...






A sign, a sign ... talk of contradictory messages, tortured logic, and tortured minorities and a dismissal of tranny bashing, or gender identity if you will ...

The bellwether might finally have joined in "Ned's" own belling, or tolling if you will ...

And now as promised, that infallible Pope celebrating the final pitch ...







4 comments:

  1. Dorothy, you refer to ‘Ned’ being able to predict how Albanese might manage diplomacy - because of genetics.

    It may seem trivial, but earlier in his column, referring to veterans from the Rudd-Gillard era, he tells us that ‘They will carry that experience in their political DNA’.

    The casual mentions of ‘DNA’ as some kind of metaphor, by so many writers, simply shows their lack of understanding of how DNA functions. This comes from writers who tell us how they - the writers - are so much better informed, and so much better able to interpret the ways of humanity, (‘only he can decipher the call of the wild’), than we proles, yet they show no intuitive understanding of the last 60 years of biological research.

    Apart from the fact that it is difficult to construct a useful metaphor involving DNA (or RNA) - Ned’s suggestion that daily experiences somehow influence any kind of genetic code is simple Lamarckism.

    Is this important? Well - given the utter tosh that has appeared in Rupert’s outlets about a certain virus over the last couple of years - yes it is. That it may be casual, rather than deliberate, disinformation does not excuse it in any way. It does confirm that any money contributed to any of Rupert’s productions is not just wasted, it contributes to the intentional reduction of intelligence in the world.

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    1. Now be fair, Chad: we do know that environmental factors can epigenetically impact the gene expression and thus affect the phenotype without altering the genotype. And epigenetic effects occur throughout a lifetime so our 'Rudd-Gillard veterans' could have been continuing to modify all their lives.

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    2. Which could trigger some interesting speculations, GB, about people who immerse themselves in particular faiths - but that is a long way on from what Ned has displayed for this day, as his understanding of what DNA does.

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  2. So Our Gracie asks: "Are union officials the new quiet Australians?" Well "until now at least, the union movement has kept a low profile in this election campaign...". Clearly an evil Union-Labor plot; but then again, there's a lot fewer unionists and union organisers nowadays than for a very long time.

    Though I did like this one: "... some of the Labor base, who come from the mindset that every dollar created in a society belongs first to that society, and therefore to the government." And of course it does: without society and government there wouldn't be any dollars at all, and we'd all still be grubbing out an existence by life-long hunter gathering with no retirement age pension. Though they do reckon that hunter-gathering only took about 3 or 4 hours a day - a little longer if trying to knock off a mammoth or a mastodon - so a much easier working life than now when so many people (about 867,000 according to the ABS) have to work more than one job just to survive.

    And then, as she says: "The Prime Minister seems to think the working class vote can be captured by brief references to culture war topics." Well if he follows the Murdoch media, that's exactly what he'd think. But I reckon he's saying anything that comes to mind to anyone who will listen in the hope that some of it, somehow, convinces somebody to vote for him.

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