In which the pond sings for King Chuck, does a tour of tykeland's cliché city, and ends up in a Dame Slap wasteland of monomaniacal, obsessive compulsive repetition ...

 

Now that the fuss has died away, the pond thought it might sample The Times, courtesy of the lizard Oz. 

What with the Brexiters suddenly forced to pay heed to the departure of the tooth fairy in No US trade deal on the horizon, admits Truss as she flies in for Biden meeting, and things pretty crook regarding cost of living, energy, and the whole damn thing, you'd expect The Times to be deeply focussed ...

As usual, the pond was completely clueless about the state of the reptile mind. It turns out that the Murdochians are obsessed with a rough equivalent of the King on the five dollar note ... but this time it's whether to sing the national anthem ...

Really? Really ...

Desperate stuff, to invoke comrade Corbyn, long gone from the scene, and with the country about to be given a good trussing...

Sky News is broadcasting an interview with Liz Truss by Beth Rigby, the Sky political editor.

Q: Why is it fair for people to take the pain of higher energy bills when energy companies are making such big profits?

Truss says the plan to deal with energy bills will cost the government money. The government also has a plan to guaranteed long-term energy supply, she says.

She says she would not allow the burden to fall on people and businesses.

Q: But you would rather the taxpayer foots the bill than business?

Truss says on Friday the chancellor will explain how this will be paid for.

The energy plan is likely to reduce inflation by five percentage points, and encourage growth, she says.

Q: Labour’s policy, a windfall tax, is backed by 68% of the public. You are prepared to be unpopular, aren’t you?

Truss replies: “Yes. Yes, I am.” (Graudian, live, so it'll fall off the twig)

At least the pond can celebrate with a Graudian cartoon by Jennings ...

Silly yuppies ... the solution is to sing god save the king ... but with gusto, perhaps cantare forte, using the trick of messa di voce ...

Perhaps a celebration of King Chuck III is in order, courtesy Rowson?

Meanwhile, back to the idle blather ...

It was around this point that the pond felt a deep welling of sympathy for Zoe Williams ...

Somebody else turned the radio off and turned to music? 

Now all that's needed is for someone to tell Hugo to wrap it up, and head off into the distance singing long live the talking tampon, long may he rain over us...

Yep, the country is deeply, truly fucked, and will go on being in a state of Brexit fucked-ness for quite some time to come ...

But why did the idle pond spend some time with a fool measuring out his life with coffee spoons and anthems?

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled, 
Or perhaps scribble a column for The Times on anthems golden ... (almost Orwellian)

You see, by way of explanation and apology, the pond was left with a dire choice this day. 

Dame Slap was rabbiting on as usual about the voice ... it really has become a monomaniacal fixation of a weirdly obsessive kind, down there with donning MAGA caps and worshipping "Lord" Monckton ...

But there was very thin gruel elsewhere, and the pond was left with little choice.

Take this as an example... go on, take it ...

Somehow the reptiles managed to dig up a scribbler who knew all the clichés of reptile speak, was very fluent in them, but clearly was a bear of little brain ...

Up to this point, the pond was going with the flow. Sure Chermside should now be called King Chuck III hospital - why not a motif of tampons on the coat of arms? - but then the scribbler dropped the bundle.

You see, whenever the pond hears the words "virtue signalling", or variations thereof, it's inclined to run screaming from the room ... and sure enough ...

There it was again, in the penultimate par: "virtue signalling". What a maroon, but could it get any worse?

He wouldn't resort to "culture vultures" would he, even though in the context of his scribbling the notion is entirely meaningless?

Eek, he would, he bloody well would ...

Phew, it all became clear, he's studying in tykeland, and their taste for clichés and for blathering to imaginary sky gods is world famous ...

What started all the fuss, and the reptiles making space for a comrade Dan lover? Found here ...

Shocking. 

The pond now has plans to re-name Gunny gah noo the King Chuck III slopes and plains ... (Goonoo Goonoo to you) ... and if you're a rolled gold maroon, why would you care?

Here, have a Wilcox ...

And so there was no avoiding it any longer. The pond had to turn to Dillon's reptile friend, Dame Slap herself, giving pesky, difficult, uppity blacks a good slapping and a hearty spanking, yet again ...

The pond only does it because it's a Wednesday and that's Dame Slap day, and so here she is ...

Sure we've heard it all before, and we'll hear it all again, but you have to keep a watch on patients inclined to go off their meds.

How long will she keep on with her campaign? 

Well she gave climate science and "Lord" Monckton a good shake for a decade or more, and she was in the MAGA camp, at least until she realised she couldn't get with the QAnon music and finger pointing and the flavour of the cult cordial ...

But the pond digresses. There's a new flavour of Kool-aid in town, and these days Dame Slap sips on it as she plays her new game ... monotonous, relentless, monomaniacal, obsessive compulsive, never ending blathering about the voice ...

A polite suggestion?

Oh puh-lease, but in search of a distraction, the pond did begin to wonder whatever happened to "Lord" Monckton. 

Sure he's still got his listing on Skeptical Science, but the glory days seem to have gone, and Dame Slap now spends her time black bashing ...

The pond did a quick search and he seems to have dropped off the google charts ...

Back in the day, Dame Slap was as obsessive compulsive about him as she currently is about the voice.

Will Dame Slap ever return to her first rapture, first experienced back in October 2009?

Lord Monckton himself only became aware of the extraordinary powers to be vested in this new world government when a friend found an obscure U.N. Web site and searched through several layers of hyperlinks before discovering a document that isn't even called the draft "treaty." Instead, it's labelled a "Note by the Secretariat."

Interviewed by broadcaster Alan Jones on Sydney radio Monday, Lord Monckton said "this is the first time I've ever seen any transnational treaty referring to a new body to be set up under that treaty as a 'government.' But it's the powers that are going to be given to this entirely unelected government that are so frightening." He added: "The sheer ambition of this new world government is enormous right from the start—that's even before it starts accreting powers to itself in the way that these entities inevitably always do."

Critics have admonished Lord Monckton for his colorful language. He has certainly been vigorous. In his exposé of the draft Copenhagen treaty in St. Paul, he warned Americans that "in the next few weeks, unless you stop it, your president will sign your freedom, your democracy and your prosperity away forever." Yet his critics fail to deal with the substance of what he says.

Ask yourself this question: Given that our political leaders spend hundreds of hours talking about climate change and the need for a global consensus in Copenhagen, why have none of them talked openly about the details of this draft climate-change treaty? After all, the final treaty will bind signatories for years to come. What exactly are they hiding? Thanks to Lord Monckton we now know something of their plans. (Sorry, the pond doesn't link to the WSJ)

No? Oh well, never mind, on with the black bashing, it's a good, old-fashioned colonial sport, and it could run for a few years, a kind of reptile Phantom of the black-bashing Opera ...

And the pond should have expected this never-ending hysterical screaming from Dame Slap, but the good news is that there's just a gobbet to go ...

Meanwhile, there's a war in Ukraine, with fake referendums being organised by a dictatorial warlord, and the planet in deep trouble:

Guterres’s appeal came in his most urgent, and bleakest, speech to date on the state of the planet, and the will of governments to change course.

His first words were: “Our world is in big trouble.”

“Let’s have no illusions. We are in rough seas. A winter of global discontent is on the horizon, a cost-of-living crisis is raging, trust is crumbling, inequalities are exploding and our planet is burning,” he told the assembly. “We have a duty to act and yet we are gridlocked in colossal global dysfunction. The international community is not ready or willing to tackle the big dramatic challenges of our age.” (Graudian)

What do do, how to respond? 

Don the MAGA cap? Worship at the feet of "Lord" Monckton?

Nope, just carry on with the black bashing, and perhaps enjoy an infallible Pope, though perhaps enjoy isn't quite the right word ...

Dear sweet long absent lord, that image is almost psychotic, and is now deeply embedded in the pond's brain ... with Rowe taking a break, is the infallible Pope trying to take his place?

It's where the pond thinks it's heading each time it exposes itself to the reptiles ...