In which the pond apologises for consorting with the mutton Dutton, before moving on to Lloydie of the Amazon and a jolly good rorting with our hole in the bucket man ...

 

The pond must begin today with an abject apology. Yesterday the pond had no intention in assisting the undermining of national security - it had merely thought it was regurgitating the thoughts of a kinder, gentler, more sensitive, deeply aware politician, much changed since his time as a plod ... but given the depths of News Corp's involvement in treason and undemocratic coups of the US kind, the pond should have known better.

It's true that the history of US submarine acquisitions under the coalition were an unparalleled success. To alienate the Japanese and French defence establishments were masterstrokes, but now the pond finds itself involved in consternation emanating from diplomatic, military and academic circles ... with the United States bewildered and bemused, and the UK's nose out of joint ...

As a result the pond, albeit in a minor way, has contributed to the latest coalition triumph, by freeing the mutton Dutton's thoughts from the paywall, though the heaviest burden must surely still belong to him and the reptiles ...

2GB? Let's not distract from the lizard Oz's front page splash, the mutton Dutton's opinion piece for the rag and a slavering lizard Oz editorialist ...

Oh indeed, indeed, who would indulge in cheap political pointscoring when national security is involved ... now back to the sensitive skill of the much changed mutton Dutton ...

Dammit, damn them all, the lizard Oz editorialist was wildly excited ...

There's no doubt that two subs would make all the difference in confronting dictator Xi, and purloining US kit would help the cause, and so breaching national security makes eminent sense ... if you happen to be a reptile trying to help the mutton Dutton show what a sensitive, intelligent, deeply changed plod he is ...

Sadly, as a result of the pond's involvement in this national security breach, the bromancer has had to be held over to a late afternoon slot - he brings the good news that all is well with the US.

Instead there's just room to squeeze in Lloydie of the Amazon, and the usual piece by our Henry, a man deeply interested in protecting boondoggling, corruption, rorting, favouritism, pork barrelling, perquisites, payola and plum political patronage ... 

First to Lloydie, sorting out the pond's correspondents with a what's what on climate science ... with an astonishingly original snap at the start of proceedings ...

It's more of the same of course, and as a matter of routine, the pond must note how yet again, the reptiles have begun the story with an image of a dark, satanic windmill, the sort of metaphorical crucifix on which Christ was tortured ... (sorry, our Henry will deal with Xian theology, because Christ always loved a little cash in the paw to help smooth the way and get the palms out on a Sunday) ...

The pond has no idea where the reptiles got the idea to capitalise Russian Gas, but it's a splendid ploy, along with the news that occasionally there's no wind.

But what of the planet and climate science and all that jazz? Alas and alack, there are probably a few pond correspondents who will take issue with Lloydie of the Amazon, apparently unaware that they are deep in the grip of a devious theology. They need to return to the true church of decent, dinkum, clean, pure Oz coal, or perhaps the new church of the nuke, so they can join Lloydie in nuking the country, and in due course the entire world ...

Ah, good old nuclear fission ... and never you mind that the planet might already be comprehensively fucked, its goose well on the way to being truly cooked. You must look at the next century as the real time line, and forget all that climate science blather about minor matters like stewing in juices right at the moment...

The pond was deeply disappointed that there was only one gobbet of impeccable Lloydie of the Amazon solutions to go ...

Ah, the usual: "the catastrophisation narrative of a climate emergency", when good old Lloydie has a serve of sweet nuclear fusion in the sweet bye and bye, which will save us all ...

The pond had only a minor difficulty in swallowing this guff whole ... roughly equivalent to swallowing a nuclear sub from the mutton Dutton. If the whole thing, climate science and all that jazz, is a nonsense, and an exaggeration and hysteria, why should anyone give a flying fuck that Lloydie's solutions might just work sometime by the year 2100? What's the problem we're trying to solve here? Let's just get back to burning coal, and everything will be fine ... it goes without saying you can trust the reptiles on matters of national security ...

Stumped by these irreconcilable thoughts, the pond moved on to a final offering, the defence of rorting, as ably conducted by the hole in the bucket man, with reference to Aristotle, the Bible, Aquinas and such like to give the defence a splendid sheen ... because a rort's not a rort when it's been properly tithed and given to your favourite fuck ...

Silly old Aristotle, if the country needs never to be built car parks, or you might want to piss away $5.5 million in Wagga Wagga to help out a lover and a mob of clay shooters in urgent need of cash in the barrel, then what the fuck, it's just the demos showing that they know how to kratos ... and now to get Xian about it ...

Indeed, indeed, all this talk of corrupt behaviour is vastly overstated. What's the use of having power if you can't do an Obeid?

By this point, the pond had forgotten its false step into national security interests, and was almost moved to tears by our Henry's passionate defence of rorting ...

Thank the long absent lord, there'll be no recoiling here, what with low recoilless shotguns an important part of the game ...

Now please wheel out the whiteboard so that our hole in the bucket man can dispense largesse ...

Indeed, indeed, thank the long absent lord that we have the hole in the bucket man to hand to stand up for truth, justice, and the right to splash cash on your favourite fuck. 

That way you get to enjoy the fuck, fuck the electorate, fuck the country, and dress it up with pious blather about Aristotle, Xian theologians, and all the other bullshit for which our Henry is famous in his own lunchtime ... err, that meal will be going on our Henry's tab, won't it? It's one thing to get bored batshit during a luncheon with our Henry, quite another to have to lash out on the delicious pork ...

And with all that, an epic day for the pond surely, the pond must squeeze in the Rowe of the day, with more Rowe here ... with fragrant echoes of Lloydie of the Amazon ...