What a dull Monday at the lizard Oz, what a relief that this is a first world problem...

 

The pond woke up to the news on News Radio, as is its wont, a guaranteed way of avoiding the partner's rage at RN regurgitating lizard Oz talking points, as apparently they did this morning at extreme and offensive length ...

The pond later checked in with the online cardigan wearers, and there the story was ... Long COVID has cost the Australian economy billions in lost work hours, new research says.

It was in the likes of L'Age too (soft paywall), featuring the two things that terrify Killer Creighton ...

On the old fashioned wireless, some expert had been blathering on about the usefulness of masks and vaccines, and all the pond could think was what was needed was a dose of the outgoing Killer to fix everything ... (the report was here, The public health and economic burden of long COVID in Australia, 2022–24: a modelling study, but the pond settled for the abstract. Reading too much detail can be a dangerous thing when the point of the day is studying the lizard Oz).

Another certainty was that the detritus of a plague wouldn't disturb the equanimity of the reptiles on a Monday, and so it came to pass...

The pond isn't sure if a deep sense of ennui and nausea are symptoms of any disease, but they certainly arise on a regular basis.

With cackling Claire carrying on about Canada, there seemed to be no alternative to the Caterist railing at furriners (the pond routinely draws the line at simplistic "here no conflict of interest" Simon as an outing, though he scored top billing for those in the hive mind who care about such things) ...

Now it will not escape the notice of some that the Caterist is himself a furriner, a migrant, who landed here and then proceeded to soil the nest ...

Why is it always the reptiles who seem to think it's okay for me, but not for thee (the pond hastens to add that it too is the product of migration, but at a little more of a remove than the Caterist).

You'd think being a migrant might produce some empathy, some self-reflection, but instead the Caterist carries on in a way typical of those migrants who've scored top jobs in the Tory party ...pretending that they're more dinkum than others, excessively dinkum to the point of zealotry ...

There were the usual distracting snaps, suggesting somehow it was all the fault of cavalier Kier ...

Yes, somehow Bomber ended up in the parade of distracting snaps ... who'd have thunk it was all Bomber's fault, but apparently it was, because if you're a Caterist, you carry grudges to the grave, and possibly beyond ...

For once the pond thought the Caterist had a serious point. Consider: if we'd kept control of our borders, we maybe wouldn't have the Caterist in our midst railing at the multicultural globalist project ...

If only we could persuade people like him to shut up, or better still, get back to where they belong.

Oh dear, the pond should probably head up to King street and the new gay civic centre square and bung on a riot ... what with the Caterist festering away on a regular basis in the lizard Oz ...

Instead the pond will contemplate, in a bemused way, the sense of entitlement that leads a migrant to defamation actions, climate science denialism, and an impervious sense of their own righteousness, not to mention an ability to dog whistle ...

In any other context, "globalist" has a specific dog whistle meaning, one that would appeal to the far right boofheads of little England ...

The term: 'the Globalists' is now frequently used as a pejorative by far-right movements and conspiracy theorists, as in the New World Order; it is sometimes associated with antisemitism, as antisemites frequently appropriate the term to refer to certain Jews.

The wiki notes that the Romans were amongst the original globalists, an inspiration for Adam Smith and plucky little Englanders, and here we are today ...

Again the Caterist contains the seeds of truth and insight. Letting him into the country has been a horrible, socially destructive and probably irreversible mistake. 

Did we ever really need third rate sociology graduates from minor universities to infest the country and rail at progressive ideology, and provide arguments about the dangers of letting furriners like him in, accompanied by an endless sense of grievance ... and the consequent need to take to the streets to riot against invading furriners ...

It is of course an elaborate attempt at justifying the current bout of dog whistling, and the pond was pleased that the immortal Rowe was featured in Talking Pictures yesterday (the less said about the rest of the stodge, the better, the pond only goes there for the pictures)...

Can't get enough of those dogs, and who knew the Caterist could be so adroitly portrayed?

Meanwhile, came news of further suffering ...

Okay, okay, the pond gets it,  the Caterist is all me, and that doesn't leave any room for thee ...

Alas, alas, another fair point. The point about the disastrous diversity experiment is alarmingly clear.

But how to evict the Caterist? How to do it now? It's possibly too late ...

Meanwhile, enjoy the suffering ...

And as suffering is the theme today, thank the long absent lord that reading the Major is just a bit of first world suffering ... things could be worse, and of course the Major hopes that they will get worse, so that we can all turn to Captain Spud as our redeemer ...

Yes, it's the apocalyptic, "doom is just around the corner" routine, with the hint that a new messiah is waiting in the wings ...

The Major is starting to match prattling Polonius with the way his litany of weevils - the ABC, the Nine papers and the Graudian - roll trippingly off his tongue, or at least his keyboard ...

Then the reptiles attempted to troll the pond with a snap of a friend of the gambling business ...

That led the pond away from the Major for a moment to marvel at how comrade Bill would routinely pander to the worst in the country ...

The pond understands that dealers in junk need revenue to carry on, but even Little to be Proud of seemed to waver alittle in the direction of Mike Freelander ...

Sorry, the pond's contempt for comrade Bill shouldn't interrupt the Major in his apocalyptic prophecies of doom, though having a gambling addict in the house might help evoke a sense of helpless terror...

Why is there always golden age thinking at work in the Major? The "once upon a time" routine that suggests we currently live in the age of lead, when in reality any year that the ABC carries on and there's a Labor government is a time of lead, and golden ages are limited to the rule of the reptiles and the reigns of the Tories ...

If the Major really wanted to terrify the pond with apocalyptic visions, he could dangle an immortal Rowe in front of the pond ...

Now that beats a downturn in China any day of the week ...with the couch lover matching his master in astutely blending comedy routines with an impending sense of doom ... (outside the paywall) ...

Trust Faux Noise, and to be fair, it isn't talk of Hannibal, and that spectre meant the pond could swallow the last of the Major with barely a hint of a chicken bone in the throat ...

Again with the unholy trinity, the ABC, the Graudian and the Nine papers, as if done by a somnambulist, sleep walking as he phones in his copy ...

Still, it could be worse. 

The pond could have mentioned the send in your coupons Logies ...