The Ughmann cracks the pond's extra-special bonus late arvo Sunday slot again ...

 

The pond almost gave up on including the Ughmann this week, but heard a forlorn cry in the distance, "won't someone think of the Ughmann?"

On second thoughts, that was likely delusional, the result of an overdose of the lizard Oz, which can be a bit like licking the skin of a poisonous toad - a brief high from the madness of it all, then terminal brain damage.

There will be no prizes for anyone guessing the topics outlined in this late arvo post. 

If nothing else, the Ughmann is supremely predictable ...

Okay, okay, the pond got lazy, and resorted to screen caps, but how else to cope with this sort of bog standard rant?

The pond realises that there might even be some correspondents more anxious to watch thugby leaguers play gladiator and give each other CTE than experience the degenerative condition from reading the Ughmann.

Giving Jimbo a stiff arm to the chops was just the beginning. (*"Stiff arm" is an ancient, Tamworth-approved form of play. Straighten arm, stiffen into cricket bat, swing wildly at opponent's head)

The Ughmann carried on with his litany, his Ginsbergian howl of pain ...

If you traced the Ughmann's pedigree back far enough you'd find a failed seminarian, but does that stop the Ughmann from carrying on like a pork chop?

That's purely a rhetorical question, a bit like wondering if an Ughmann story could ever be run without featuring dark Satanic windmills ...

Just then they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that rise from that plain. And no sooner did Don Quixote see them that he said to his squire, “Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we ourselves could have wished. Do you see over yonder, friend Sancho, thirty or forty hulking giants? I intend to do battle with them and slay them. With their spoils we shall begin to be rich for this is a righteous war and the removal of so foul a brood from off the face of the earth is a service God will bless.”
“What giants?” asked Sancho Panza.
“Those you see over there,” replied his master, “with their long arms. Some of them have arms well nigh two leagues in length.”
“Take care, sir,” cried Sancho. “Those over there are not giants but windmills. Those things that seem to be their arms are sails which, when they are whirled around by the wind, make energy and keep the lights on, except in the lizard Oz, where they prefer to live with the lights permanently off.”

The pond can't vouch that that's the precise wording in Cervantes' novel, and besides, it turned out that this time it was just a humble power plant of the old-fashioned kind.

Never mind, there was a cute little bot as the next snap, as cute as an AI button ...and relax, the Satanic windmills did come in for a slagging ...

As always, the Ughmann was dead keen on ways to destroy the planet ...

Even as the Ughmann decided we desperately needed to go full AI rogue, the reptiles featured another story about AI going rogue, for a moment top of the digital page ma ...

There's no need to bother with that reptile version. The both siderist NY Times will do, especially as the full text is on hand in the intermittent archive ...

Did any of that give the Ughmann a twinge, a moment of doubt, a pause for concern? 

Nah ...carry on Ughing ...

True enough. The planet's well on the way to a right royal stuffing, and the reptiles are busy helping prepare the stuffing ...

And the 'toons for this late arvo outing are ...