In which Dame Slap will be in the pews by Easter, and the dog botherer disses climate alarmists yet again ...

It was a cruel juxtaposition, but a good one, because anyone moronic enough to think that donning the MAGA cap was a good move was probably moronic enough to head down to the beach in search of a dose of the virus …

Did Dame Slap do that? Did Dame Slap join the revellers?

Or was she up in her eerie shouting out advice to her readers, urging them on while doing her best to stay out of harm's way?

Immediately the pond felt in urgent need of a vaccine, because Dame Slap was recycling the Donald with that blather about the cure being worse than the disease, as if death was better than living … strange how Xians suddenly want to stay alive in the end times … Jerry Falwell's flock aside …

Could be another New Orleans mardi gras in the making there … while the Donald has presided over a country plunging into crisis and chaos, and which has become the world leader in infections …

There's more here and it's outside the paywall, and probably easier to read at The New Yorker, but the pond just wanted to move on to the next bit, before returning to Dame Slap, because it tags that bullshit about the cure being worse than the disease … which began emanating from the Donald, and now has been picked up by the mindless morons at News Corp, including Dame Slap …

And now back to Dame Slap's follies …

Say that again about the Donald? Hope? You must remember that song …

I grew up in the country
beside a chicken shack
so I left for the city
and I didn't look back
Now I'm living in hope
Living in hope
Yes, I'm living in hope
Living in hope 
Walkin 'round the city
feeling all alone
nobody told me
the streets are paved with stone
But I'm living in hope
Yes, I'm living in hope
I'm living in hope
I'm living in hope 

What a fuckwit she is, how determinedly moronic, what an infinite capacity for stupidity she sees in the Donald's offer of hope, and packed churches by Easter … and so the pond had to retreat to The New Yorker for one last gobbet ...

Enough already,  back to Dame Slap, peddling the same uncertainties being peddled by a Vietnam war draft dodger with a phoney foot problem …

Ah, there we have it. "I had passed on the Minister's assurances to try to allay the concerns …"

And now I'm passing on the Donald's hopes that the churches will be packed by Easter, because I still have a job scribbling bullshit for the lizard Oz ...

Actually the virus doesn't give a flying fuck about what Dame Slap is thinking, or unthinking, and when you're dead, you're dead for a long, long time …but anyone who dons the MAGA cap is by definition a moron, and anyone who associates the Donald with intellectual curiosity and ferment is beyond the valley of the morons ...

But never mind, if you want to die, feel free to join Dame Slap and the Donald on the beach or in the church pew …you might end up sharing bench space with Christopher Hitchens in atheist heaven … or some such thing …

For its druthers and its kicks, the pond would rather spend time with the infallible Pope …

And so to the second reptile of the day, and did the pond have a choice?

No, it simply wasn't possible to go with the bromancer, so far up Scotty from marketing's bum that it seemed a new and vibrant bromance had been born, with the onion muncher just a dim, irrelevant memory, a faded love, a rose that had lost its colour … up against that sheep so vividly conjured by the infallible Pope and so besotting for the bromancer … (it's not just New Zealanders that fall in love with sheep, you know).

Besides, who could resist an epic pointscorer, a spiteful vicious verbal bully, madly deploring pointscorers showing their true colours?

Sadly, you have to abandon any sense of irony when you visit the reptiles, especially when it's the dog botherer, who has been using this crisis to advance his misguided and erroneous agenda, not least in assorted attacks on the ABC … all in the service of a master, who knows the wisdom of having a rural retreat …

Oh yes, we're all preppers now in search of a bug out … and so to bugging out with the dog botherer …

Oh fucketty fuck, the pond didn't realise that it was going to be a contest as to who might be the most uxorious in their love for SloMo …

Sure, the dog botherer had opened strongly with talk of the usual petulance, partisanship and ego-driven posturing, without delivering much, but wait, his usual display of petulance, partisanship and ego-driven posturing is sure to follow ...

And there you have it.   What better example of the dog botherer's usual petulance, partisanship and ego-driven posturing than to fling in a sally at "climate alarmist points" … because really, remember that tale of the scorpion and the frog, so how could the dog botherer resist fomenting unrest and division, not least by dusting off the moths and dragging up Brexit and reminding the pond of Boris …

Oh it's a three ring circus alright, but the dog botherer is keen to appreciate the work of the clowns ...

No, no, no, households are reading Dame Slap, and looking forward to being in church pews by Easter, if not on St Kilda beach by yesterday …

Gallows humour? No, the gallows humour comes with the dog botherer's idea of methodically going through the process of dealing with Centrelink …

He really doesn't have a clue, does he, living as he does in Chairman Rupert's ivory tower of complacency and self-sufficiency ...

The pond isn't exactly sure what the dog botherer has been taking, but the pond wonders if it might be so bold as to head out to Myers in search of that kool aid …

Oh wait, that's a tad tricky at the moment …

Instead the pond must settle for an immortal Rowe, with more Rowe here …

In which the pond dallies with our brave hole in the bucket man Henry and is so excited by new Moorice that a little time travel is needed ...

So there are souls here brave enough to head off to Catallaxy? And then discover L'Age heretics in their midst?

If only the pond could be so bold and brave, rather than cowering and quivering in place, with only The Mocker to hand to identify heretics, deviants and preverts …

Does it ever occur to this zealot - long suspected to be the cowardly dog botherer anonymously parading his spleen - that it might equally be said, "sadly, and to the detriment of all, the lizard Oz simply cannot let go of its agenda, even in a national emergency. The furious scribblers are far too busy wallowing in their ideological zealotry."

Of course we've seen portrait assemblies of deviants and heretics in other times …

But enough of smashing Godwin's Law, and more than enough of the Mocker, because the pond has had more than enough of ABC bashing from the reptiles, as they seek to prop up their flailing, failing business model, and besides, that was yesterday, and the pond has other bigger, fish to fry this day …

Yes, our hole in the bucket Henry has bravely stepped forward, abandoned his attempt to find straw to fix the bucket, and announced his willingness for all old people, himself including, to join Glenn Beck in dying for the young …

Even better, our Henry has been blessed by the cult master Lobbecke for his righteous willingness to die, or at least consign others to death, purely out of economic necessity and the survival of the fittest …

Hmm, there seems to be something of a double edge in that image …was that intended? Is there a little undermining going on here, in the manner of someone rushing off to L'Age? The pond needs interpretative help here … what does it mean? The dollar sign entwined with pirates or Nazis? Are we in the land of Totenkopf?  Must there be another breach of Godwin's Law?

Never mind, let's get on with our Henry's sacrifice. No, please, you go first, the pond is happy to hang back a little, you go first ...

May sound hard-hearted? Geometric progression, moi? Tragic choices …?

No, you go first, the pond is happy to insist that you go first … and so on, and on, and on ...

Ah, dear sweet brave bold Henry. The pond is ever so pleased he's decided to step out of the tent, and may be gone for a little while. 

No, you go first, the pond insists. The pond is happy to stay inside the tent, and cling to whatever warmth and sustenance it might find. Please, it's no trouble, you go first ...

Courage? Why dear sweet bold brave Henry, all the pond asks is that you go first …

And so to a Low cartoon the infallible Pope dug up and tweeted here … from The Bulletin, 13th February 1919 … (click on to enlarge)

What a ripper, and how the pond needed a little breathing space after our Henry's noble sacrifice, before moving on to the musings of Moorice …

Strange, once upon a time, Moorice was ever so keen to keep shovelling more and more of our dinkum pure clean Oz coal down Chinese throats, oi, oi, oi … 

But it seems this is a time for sacrifice, and Moorice is now advising that we must never ever give the deviant, tricky and dangerous Chinese a single lump of our precious vital bodily fluids ...

Oh heck, this is a bit dull. If the infallible Pope can do a flashback to 1919, surely the pond can travel back in time to 2013 ...

The trouble is, of course, that the pond has set the new model Moorice running, and should really keep the motor firing for completists who can't get enough of Moorice's current thinking ...

There's no doubt that there are hints of the old Moorice there, but what of those who hunger for the genuine Moorice of 2013? 

Should the pond stiff them, or should the pond continue on with its routine William Burroughs' inspired cut and paste, celebrating mugwump Moorice past and present? Okay, back into the time machine, and back to the future ...

Why, with this strategy, it's just another quick jump into the time machine, and we're back with current Moorice, and he's just a gobbet away from completion ...

Strange. The reptiles completely forgot to round out the piece with a list of Moorice's incomparable credentials …

As to his arguments, the pond can only marvel at his willingness to go first, and abandon all coal sales to China … because that'll learn 'em …

It goes without saying that back in the day, the reptiles were always willing to round off a Moorice piece by acknowledging his important work and deeds and advanced thoughts, all done in the name of the onion muncher ...

Oh well done Moorice, well played through the ages, and how pleased you must be to read the news, which even managed to break through all the talk of that virus ...

You have to hand it to Moorice and our Henry. There are many ways to fuck people and the planet, and they won't stop until somehow they manage to complete the job ...

And so to an immortal Rowe to wrap things up with a little wild swinging fun, with more immortal Rowe here ...

Unlike Hopper, the pond is not a big fan of Fragonard or The Swing, and isn't certain that Rowe needs to apologise, since the re-working is more fun than the original ...

In which the bromancer goes full batty ...

 

The news continued to be grum this day, as a Kiwi might say - oh no, not Prince Chuck - and the reptiles decided, in their tree killer edition to celebrate solidarity, just as NSW and Victoria were deciding they'd had enough of slow march SloMo …

But of all the mixed messaging, could there have been any better (or worse) if you like than that offered by the bromancer yesterday?

Perhaps the bromancer thought he might escape the pond's gimlet eye, but it was such a pathetic, wretched piece of self-pitying racist moaning that the pond simply had to clear space on the deck this day ...

From Anglo-Saxon (what happened to the Celts?) to Anglomorph, has there ever been a better mishmash of stereotypes and cliches?

Meanwhile, in another country …

The best of British pluck, which naturally leads to Boris Johnson and his donkeys stumble on, led by lions they try to lead ...

But back to the bromancer, wailing and moaning in a piteous way …

Actually time spent does matter, because time spent with the bromancer is a truly sparse and barren experience … imagine being stuck with him week in, week out, as the pond often finds itself ...

After all that, cabin fever had indeed set in with the pond. 

Too much time with the bromancer already … and yet what do you know, who was head of the commentary section this day, with an even more bizarre exercise in stereotypical white man thinking? You guessed it …

The pond had to immediately throw away poor old Barners' desperate attempt to stay relevant, and other contributors had to be shoved aside, as the bromancer once again fell to eccentric musing, and demanded that attention be paid … such that the pond felt the need to get it over and done with in three big gobbets ...

Indeed, indeed, and no doubt it's the deeply Confucian nature of German society that explains this …

Or is it the Nazis? It's why the won the war, except they lost it, except they're now winning the war … make some sense out of that if you will … but remember, only a bromancer rant laden with cultural nonsense worthy of a subject of Queen Victoria will be allowed entry ...

Just remember, you pick a stereotype, and you scribble nonsense how you will, and yes, the reptiles bizarrely might find some space for it (assuming there's no room at the Spectator inn)...

Oh fuck, not film and TV shows. Thank the long absent lord comics are a little too old these days and have re-birthed into terrible films, but can anyone imagine a finer assembly of meaningless thought bubbles? 

Perhaps reaching a peak form of weirdness with the bromancer managing to contradict himself in just two sentences "I am not arguing here that Confucianism is better than the Judaeo-Christian civic tradition. Nor am I arguing the reverse."

Just what the fuck is he arguing, and why did he bother? Wouldn't it have been simpler just to have scribbled "I am wanking here in public … and I am just as capable of wanking in reverse!"

And so to the final gobbet ...

"I am inexactly …?!"

Words cannot describe how inexactly, how inanely, how stupidly, the bromancer has responded to the current crisis … up there on a par with that reptile hero providing Borowitz with easy fodder …

As for the bromancer's cultural analysis? Curiously, not a mention of Fox News, the Donald, the malignant role of Chairman Rupert and his minions, Dame Slap donning her MAGA cap, and the assorted bizarre US responses to the current crisis, right down to this …

 (here in full)

The Donald, Jerry, Xians and the bromancer? Now there's a bunch of bananas.

For a guide to that magical thinking, the pond had to turn to the infallible Pope …

Bugger it, is the bromancer going to ruin everything for the pond this day?

Sure there's no room at the inn, or even a humble holiday flat in London for Barners, but the pond must make space for the savvy Savva, if only because she has been blessed with an illustration by the cult master Lobbecke … and the pond realises there are certain specialist pond readers - well at least one, you know who you are - who are expert in decoding the hidden messages in the cult master's drawings …

Just who is Gladys banning? Why the sign? What does that look mean? Is it a look to the heavens? Is it a morph to Anglomorph culture?

Who knows, but the savvy Savva doesn't bother with airy fairy notions of cultures - as if the bromancer fancied himself as some kind of latter-day Will Durant (now there's a sub specie totius name that will boggle all but the most esoteric readers of ancient follies). No, the savvy Savva is more a down to tin tacks type …or should that be brass tacks?

There are so many alternative, often inaccurate sources of news? 

Damn right, and if the pond wants even weirder, inaccurate sources of commentary, the pond looks no further than the bromancer …

...the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men builded.
And the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.
Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, let us give unto Chairman Rupert cabal television and sundry newspapers scattered across lands, that they may not understand one another's speech.
So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city.
Therefore is the name of it called the News Corp Babel; because the Lord did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the Lord scatter them, the bromancer and Hannity and Tucker and many others, abroad upon the face of all the earth.

Okay, okay, the pond is still shell-shocked by the bromancer, and finds it hard to let go, which is terribly unfair to the savvy Savva, especially as she's about to let fly on our very own local pitiful Babeler … one Stuart Robert, apparently a BFF ...

And on that ominous note, on that sword of savvy Savva Damocles hanging over Scotty from marketing's head, the pond can wrap up proceedings with the usual relevant immortal Rowe, with more immortality available here in these troubled times…

The pond does love it so when Rowe references a favourite artist, and the pond has long loved Hopper ...

But it's not just Nighthawks …

Look at the social distancing in these … just right for our troubled times ...

And look at the light in this …though the chance of seeing the brushstrokes at the DMA are pretty slim at the moment, and the pond has to settle for the print above its bed ...