Like the ancient kraken, waking from the deep, or perhaps like a rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem, Lloydie of the Amazon has woken from his slumbers and turned up to celebrate Dan "the man" Tehan ...
But there seems to be some kind of induced energy lethargy, because Lloydie could only manage two brief gobbets, as he celebrated the deep north's commitment to the coal industry - what could possibly go wrong? - a return of the climate wars, and pending victory on action on climate change via "pragmatic common sense":
Ah, got to make the planet safe for the lizard Oz's "superintelligent" answers to everything, though "42" would save a lot of coal.
The pond asks again, what on earth could go wrong, and luckily had saved up an infallible Pope to provide an answer ...
Meanwhile, the bromancer decided to revert to full Trumpism, and what could possibly go wrong?
Read that line and weep: "On policy substance, most of the merit rests with Trump".
Muh lud, is there a counterpoint?
Well, you could turn to Paul Krugman, in a missive which came to the pond via email but which could be found on Substack here ...
Well yes, all that and more at the link, with musical coda, and what a relief to find there's some sanity left in America, but sadly not in the bromancer ...
Rest easy, tech bros, the bromancer has your backs ...
Or better still, imagine the reptiles in charge ... if you dare ...
And so it's back to that tired old both siderism, "Trump has done good and bad things", and it's all the fault of left wing critics and never mind those who have avoided ideology and retained a shred of sanity ...
Very early this morning, this was the headline that greeted the pond ...
The reptiles never sleep, but the pond thought it should at least allow Geoff to chamber his round ...
Almost bromancerish - there can be no higher praise - what with that agitation about lefties taking a view on the mad king ...
Geoff continued his dirge ...as a snap showed the extreme distance Albo had put between himself and the Donald ...
Finally it was time to moan about awards ...
All this posing in public? What could possibly go wrong?
With the intermittent archive on the blink, or at least being spoofed by the lizard Oz, the pond's usual tactic - a note observing her presence, a quick despatch to the intermittent archive, and moving on - won't work.
At the same time, it's incredibly easy to offer up some screen caps as a reminder of the power behind the throne which led to the early demise of the hapless onion muncher's reign.
The pond realises that screen caps have no charm, and are just deployed in the pond's current never ending moving emergency, which will continue for some weeks.
They're just a brutalist way of flinging together a blog post quickly, but time is short, and the petulant one is all on board with the Dan "the man", and so attention of some kind had to be paid ...
The pond realises that a triumphant Petulant Peta can become an unnerving, nauseating experience - that talk of "climate nonsense" being consigned to history might send those with the slightest awareness of science spiralling out of control, but the pond promises that it will be done and dusted in three gobbets, and that the furriner bashing is up there, or more correctly, down there with Dame Groan ...
Where would the reptiles be without furriners to bash? (But then where would Herr Adolf have been without "cosmopolitans" to bash?)
Cue a stern-looking beefy boofhead to set up the final gobbet ...
There, done in three gobbets, and no damage done, apart from the odd rush to the toilet for a heave.
What an inspiration for those into fear, loathing and general hysteria the petulant one is, and what an inspiration King Donald is ...
Don't you worry about the meek and the mild and the suffering, just set Killer on to them and he'll worry them to an early death, like a dog sensing blood with a lamb in the Tamworth sun ...
From the pond's observation of those who've made a living doing hard yards yakka, 65 can still be a stretch.
The shearers in the pond's extended family all developed back problems that made life extremely hard in their later years, and the pond guesses that the worst Killer has suffered is the occasional wrist and finger strain from extended keyboard use ...but that's the name of the Killer game. If you've spent a life doing manual labour, you're a disposable item.
The real players, the contented oldies, are generally are rich as Croesus in Killer's world ... we are all Lydians now:
If the pond has one wish left, it's that Killer gets old, but the pond guesses that he's managed to build a nice nest egg, and to hell to those left behind ...and what's a little tendonitis in the wrist?
Now on with bashing unfortunates who might be on struggle street for one reason or another:
Back to sheltered workshops, you heathens and bludgers, Killer of the IPA has spoken ...
And so to the immortal Rowe to round out this day's offerings ...and what could possibly go wrong?
That really is a truly noble chair ...
So many temptations ...
So many audio distractions ...
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