There's nothing like a Dame Slap litany for a Sunday meditation, unless it's a barking mad dog botherer howling denialism at the moon ...

 

 

 

It's probably a bit arse up, running with Polonius's prattle on a Saturday and saving Dame Slap's usual litany of woe for a Sunday meditation, but now that Gladys has bunged on a lockdown, the pond felt in need of a little light relief, and there's nothing much lighter than the thought bubbles of Dame Slap ...

Better still, they're cheap as chups. 

Did anyone catch the Weekly Beast's news that they're wanting $174 smackeroos for punters dumb enough to fork over the readies to listen to simplistic simpleton Sharri do her Wuhan thing?

Fuck the pond dead, in a gentle manner, there's no end to these hustling Elmer Gantrys doing their shake downs ...

It's also true that the pond could have found better things to do on a Sunday, such as celebrate Marina Hyde roasting the door Matt ...

...In some ways, the only thing you have to remember about Hancock – apart from the app and the parkour and the crying on telly – is that when Prof Neil Ferguson was discovered to have broken lockdown rules in the conduct of a relationship, Hancock went on TV to fume: “You can imagine what my views are. It’s a matter for the police.” So, yes – a shame to see sex cop Matt Hancock busted for sex crimes. But a reminder that cancel culture always devours its children.
Anyway. To the many, many, many sentences your 2019 self would not have understood, do please add: “BUT THIS WAS TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE BAN ON HUGGING WAS LIFTED!” Absolutely devastating to think that a full 10 days after The Clinch occurred, Hancock went on telly specifically to warn people thinking of hugging a loved one that they “should do it carefully”. Turns out we could have hugged people really hard, with tongues. Unless they were our relatives, I think?
“I’m really looking forward to hugging you as well, Dad,” Hancock smiled into the camera in that same interview. “But we’ll probably do it outside and keep the ventilation going. Hands, face and space.” Honestly, did you ever? How can I possibly trust a politician to lecture me on how to cuddle after this?
Back to the present day, though, and an early statement from another of the health secretary’s aides – disguised as an unnamed “friend” of Matt Hancock – would only say of the sensational revelation that “no rules have been broken”. Hancock himself has since said he accepts “that I breached the social distancing guidance”, which is one way of putting it; while this morning, he had his honour defended by Grant Shapps. Which doesn’t exactly feel like the Kitemark. Arguably the only way this story could now be more dignified is if a “friend” suggested that the health secretary had – out of an abundance of caution – used a tongue condom.

A tongue condom! 

Which is why the pond recommends an eye condom when approaching the thoughts of Dame Slap ...

 

Um, political views? The pond thought this was going to be about the Riddster and his scientific views, but apparently not. 

But why is the foolish pond surprised? Being totally ignorant of science, Dame Slap has always conflated and confused science and politics, never better than in her tirade about the UN back when she could be more open, less sly and deceptive about her IPA chairman attitudes ...

 

 

 

Just as Dame Slap has her litanies, the pond has its histories, and every so often it likes to dig that mouldy old monstrosity out of the crypt ... now back to today's litany ...

 

 

Speaking of how embarrassment, Dame Slap has never returned to the good old days when she donned the MAGA cap ...

 

 

 

Yes the pond has run it before, a zillion times, and will run it a zillion times more, because when Dame Slap gets on her bullshit liberal wagon, it's an eternal reminder of what she really believes ... 

These days she speaks more softly, if at all about the orange one, but it should never be forgotten that she once threw her cap into the ring ... and now back to today's litany ...

 

The notion that Dame Slap is somehow in tune with the liberal zeitgeist is one of the richer IPA chairman jokes doing the rounds ... but now, after enduring a Vaile of tears, we can finally get to the Riddster ...

 

 

 

Oh just fuck off and tell that to the orange one and "Lord" Monckton and all the other hustlers and hucksters and snake oil salesmen you've travelled with, before and after becoming the IPA chairman for Gina's mob and the selling of fossil fuels as the solution to the planet's woes ...

And now with news of the savvy Savva's departure from the lizard Oz still ringing in the pond's ears, the pond wondered how long our Gracie might last ...

Somewhere along the way our Gracie had a sea-change and began to question the monolithic ways of the dominant reptile culture ...

 

 

The government is stale? That's not a good start, even though our Gracie tries to soften her thought crime by heiling Scotty from marketing as a clever politician ... and then comes this opening line ...

 

Not unelectable? Well it's hardly a ringing endorsement, but still it's as close as treachery and treason as a reptile might get before being sent off to sip the soma slipped into the reptile office water cooler ... and then, even more bizarrely, our Gracie claims to have had Roy Morgan do EXCLUSIVE polling just for her column ...

 

 

The pond isn't sure where our Gracie is going with all this data, but is sure we'll arrive somewhere ...

 

Phew, that's a relief. For a naosecond, the pond thought our Gracie might be doing a savvy Savva, and contemplating turning to the dark side. Why the reptiles might even have begun to think of the wonders of pairing petulant Peta with the onion muncher as a dynamic commentariat duo.

But in the end, she came good, with the stale government redeemed by a clever politician with a cunning, relentless suburban shtick ... go sharkies ...

The reptiles' Central  Scrutinizer could read the piece and give it a bare pass. Sure there was a flirtation with heresy, but in these uncertain times, our Gracie could still see a path forward for the clever one, speaking in tongues to imaginary friends, laying on healing hands and producing yet another miracle to astonish unbelievers ...

And so to the bonus for the day, and the pond has saved some genuine loonacy for the stayers who've lasted this far ...

 

 

 

 

It should go without saying that the dog botherer is by far the weirdest of the reptiles, a barking mad loon much given to howling at the moon. Only when the Killer gets cranked up at the thought of wearing masks is there another reptile who could go a round in the ring with the dog botherer ...

 

Today's piece is such an exemplary example of loonacy on the go that the pond thought it would make a fine, if lengthy dessert, a genuine after dinner mint delight ... because only the dog botherer could join together a pandemic and climate science ...

 

 

 

Astute readers will note that little billy goat buttism that the dog botherer slipped in along the way ..."There can be no denying the seriousness of the pandemic abroad ..."

Of course the dog botherer couldn't do the same for climate science, because he remains a stout-hearted denialist ...

But still the "no denying" was a moving attempt at sanity, rather akin to the efforts made by Mr Dick, as outlined by Charles Dickens ...

..Every day of his life he had a long sitting at the Memorial, which never made the least progress, however hard he laboured, for climate denialism and King Charles the First's head always strayed into it, sooner or later, and  then it was thrown aside, and another one begun.  The patience and  hope with which he bore these perpetual disappointments, the mild  perception he had that there was something wrong about the climate and King Charles the First, the feeble efforts he made to keep them out, and the certainty with which they came in, and tumbled the Memorial out of all shape, made a deep impression on me.  What the dog bothering Mr. Dick supposed would come of the Memorial, if it were completed; where he thought it was to go, or what he thought it was to do; he knew no more than anybody else, I believe.  Nor was it at all necessary that he  should trouble himself with such questions, for if anything were certain under the sun, it was certain that the Memorial never would be finished. The haunting, haunted head and climate denialism would go on forever ...

Hmm, perhaps that didn't quite come out as Dickens had originally intended, but it's in the right spirit, just as it was right of the reptiles to tweak the dog botherer with an illustration ...

 

Indeed, indeed, holding up a sign and protesting makes Australians completely unrecognisable to each other, and clearly threatens our egalitarianism, because the reptiles prefer to cancel the sheep and keep them in their pens ...

And so to a rant about all the wrongs done in other states, because movingly, the dog botherer seems to have scribbled his piece before the Sydney lockdown came into effect ...

 

Ah yes, the sensible utegate, bomb the shit out of Iraq and fuck the country proportionate response ... but we all know there's a terribly good reason not to panic ...

 

And so to a comparison of opportunist premiers up against the courageous competence of our Gladys ...

 

Fair dibs. It's not just the toilet roll buyers who've been in a panic ... as even the Daily Terror was forced to note ...

 

 

Yes, there was panic in the bunker, and finger pointing and flight and ...

But on to other matters ... as the dog botherer pours oil on troubled waters, perhaps sensing the chance to light it later on and really put the cat amongst the climate science pigeons ...

 

The parallels with climate alarmism are compelling?

Only in the infinitely deluded world of the dog botherer. For one there's a vaccine, if we ever get a government who knows how to distribute it. For the other, there's just a bunch of denialists of the dog botherer kind intending to fuck the planet over the long haul.

Here we should remember the dog botherer's idea of climate science ... and beefy Angus's technological solutions ...

 

And here we should remember that if anyone looks back in time from a troubled future in search of climate science denialist criminals, the dog botherer should be the first in the dock, for his assiduous work in helping fuck the planet ...

 

Who among us will stay calm and carry on?

Well the dog botherer will certainly carry on, getting hysterical and alarmist each week about climate scientists doing the science, a science which has a remorseless, demonstrable logic, and a remorseless demonstrable conclusion and with remorseless demonstrable logic, as currently being seen in locations as wide-ranging as Antarctica and the United States ... yet like the incomprehensible denialist loon that he is, the tough guy who purports to have all the answers, of a utegate kind, the dog botherer keeps carrying on, frothing and foaming at the mouth, and leaving the pond with only cartoonists for comfort ...

In which the pond remembers there's a use for the tree killer edition, and prattling Polonius and nattering "Ned" explain why ...

 

 

Please, bare with the pond a little, or if you will, you can also grin and bear it, because before beginning today's theme, the pond would would like to track the slow evolution of the lizard Oz in a matter close to the heart of inner Sydney dwellers.

It started slowly, yesterday ...

 

 

There it blew, and what a complete marvel of contradiction it was. 

See, below that talk of a lock down? Yep, a pointer to the lizard Oz editorialist sagely advising that a proportionate response, i.e., Glady - not comrade Dan or all the rest - avoids lockdowns, while above it, "lockdowns in place."

The reptiles continued to struggle, as they often do, with their alternative reality, and this followed ...

 

Now it was The Economist helping to explain how to be strategic when working remotely.

Now there was reptile talk of a Sydney scramble amid lockdowns, and still a pointer to the reptile editorialist proposing "proportionate response avoids lockdowns."

Elsewhere of course, there were those urging bigger lockdowns ...

 

 

Why is all this so dear to the pond's heart? 

Well just up the road in King street, the pond can witness the marvel of local lockdowns. 

On one side of King street, and in the pond's area of Camperdown, the pond can rush hither and yon to collect its supplies of urgently needed toilet paper, and on the other side of King street, the lockdown applies ... theoretically the street should have emptied, and City of Sydney rules apply ... and there's not a toilet roll in sight, and only the lizard Oz available to scratch at your bum ... yes, there is a use for the tree killer edition ...

And so to today, and the reptiles suddenly realising that their Gladys was just like all the rest, and was in a spin, and had locked in a million, and sent out the dog botherer to deal with the panic ...

 

 

It was the same in the only toilet paper to hand, the tree killer edition, with the covid spin locking in a million ...

 

 

Well the pond doesn't have to deal with the dog botherer today, not when the reptiles have put up a different talking point, and it isn't Gough in China, because you see right next to that yarn, right at the top of the page, was nattering "Ned" trying to cope with the return of Barners.

Before we contemplate poor old "Ned", what about a warm-up act in the shape of prattling Polonius, a solemn pedantic old codger and something of a covert climate denialist ...

 

 

The reptiles love Barners because it means they can always start with a hand-waving, shouting, beetroot coloured sort of man of a certain age, the reptiles' core demographic ...

 

Now at this point in the history lesson, you'd think Polonius might be startled by the remarkable instability, and the shocking stupidity of climate science denialism in government ranks, but as noted, our Polonius is something of a covert denialist, so instead he must prepare a welcome mat for the blustering bully from Tamworth ... and how better to do it than with his own comedy stylings, of a truly unique kind, calling on the Canavan caravan, Barners and Bid to do their thing as top performers and clowns ...

 

There, you see how it's done, Catholic style? You can fuck around all you like, but a trip to the confessional and you're ready for a bit of human flesh and blood on a Sunday, or even, Boris style, an ability to pretend previous marriages never happened, and so you might yet get hitched in a Catholic church ...

It was an early reading of Boccaccio that first turned the pond to thinking of atheism, admirably outlined in a blog posting here, which begins this way ...

 

Oh yes, there's plenty of laughs in transubstantiation.

And so back to Polonius, sharing his blessed faith with Barners ...

 

And here, as he usually does, the pompous portentous nature of prattling Polonius's pronouncements delivers a real zinger ...

 

It's easy for commentators to laugh at Joyce? Indeed, it is, just as it's easy to laugh at Polonius, and to chortle with glee, along with David Rowe ...

 

 

Unfortunately the laughter is usually followed by a crying fit, as you note the dead fish, the smokestack hat, the chook with little pride, and the dung heap of excreted coal, and the realisation that the swishing tail that deserves a switching is lashing the planet towards doom ...

And so to nattering "Ned", also trying to deal with the return of Barners ... in his own interminable way.

Note that the reptiles, to suit the relentless droning of "Ned", have this time attempted to show the beetroot man in more stately pose ... but a suit and a tie simply can't hide the smirking Tamworth bogan, a species the pond knows only too well ...

So he's been silent after his elevation? So what. We all know what he stands for, we all know how he rolls ... we all know what he will do ...

 

Yes, they're obsessed with that bushwhacker in another place too, but the pond as punishment for reading Boccaccio, is stuck in purgatory with "Ned", and this time the reptiles return to form with a snap of the pointing beetroot man ...

 

Barners was careful after winning? On what known planet, apart from the bizarro world where the reptiles dwell?

 

...The reboot accelerated with Nationals picking a fight on water they had zero prospect of winning. This heartwarming saga began in the Senate on Wednesday when Nationals blindsided their Liberal colleagues by introducing amendments to a government bill to reduce environmental flows under the Murray-Darling Basin plan.
Just for the record, the egregious legislation requiring urgent amendments was actually brought forward by the water minister, Keith Pitt, who was a Queensland National, managing the water portfolio in the Morrison government – at least at the time of publication.
I say at the time of publication because people say Bridget McKenzie wants Pitt’s water portfolio – hence the flags running up flagpoles in the Senate, which is McKenzie’s chamber.
In any case, on the Nationals went, bagging their own legislation. The Liberals were having none of it, so the uprising was crushed in the Senate.
The whole circus then shifted to the House of Representatives, where the Nationals’ whip, Damian Drum, had another go at amending Pitt’s legislation. Drum’s talking points asserted South Australia didn’t need fresh water, because (wait for it) “rising sea levels will mean the SA lower lakes system will not need environmental water”. So things were deeply weird.
But the bathos was heightened by two factors. Firstly, Pitt, the responsible minister, was in the chamber spectating as Drum, his party colleague, moved amendments to his legislation. Secondly, McKenzie had escaped her own chamber and was sitting up in one of the visitors galleries in the House of Representatives, shouting encouragement down at Drum.
As you do.
If you are on the gantry during an elimination challenge on MasterChef.
Less often in the Australian parliament, it must be said.

Yes, comedy has returned to politics, and you can Murph that surf at the Graudian here ...

Oh heck, just a little quote from that other place, that other piece, though the pond doesn't like admitting to reading the Hartcher ...

...When Barnaby was last in the deputy PM post and under pressure over his affair with Vikki Campion, the government member who most pressured the then PM, Turnbull, to declare his “bonk ban” was none other than Scott Morrison. Joyce has told many of his colleagues of the bitter moment when, as he entered Turnbull’s office to confront his leader in the heat of crisis, he saw Morrison leaving, looking as pleased as Joyce was feeling wrecked.
Two men who don’t like each other very much will have to forge a professional relationship if the Coalition is to function. But the Liberals are anxious.

Forget all the talk of the planet being fucked, there's a bull loose in the china shop, and things are likely to get broken, and it's easy to forget, as "Ned" tries to lull readers into a stupour with the endless tedium of his natter ...

 

Barners as pragmatist? Deal with Barners pragmatist to pragmatist? Barners is a loon, but a dangerous one, and at this point, the reptiles confirmed it by inserting an irrelevant snap of a man the pond dimly remembers ...

Who?

“Who is the third feather who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
A lost soul, a withered feather plucked from a chook
-But who is that feather on the other side of you?”

Apologies to T.S. as we return to "Ned", still trying to make the best of the situation, still trying his best to avoid the comedy ...

This is, in the end, the world the reptiles have created, nurtured, watered and fondled, this is the tepid denialism of "Ned" and Polonius in action, this is the reason that Australia will do its bit in helping fuck the planet ... the work of Bid, and the Canavan caravan, and Barners are all just natural extensions of the scribblings of the dog botherer, the Bjorn again one, and the rest of the pack ...

 

Always with the both siderism, always with the wringing of hands, and the sighing to the heavens, and yet a wild beast has been let loose, and marches on SloMo, another fragile denialist ...

 

 

Oh how they once delighted each other and amused the crowd ...

 

Will we help fuck the planet? If the reptiles have anything to do with it, we surely will ... and "Ned's" gormless blather about an epic political shift is a reminder of what happens when senility catches up with you ... and that's why, in times of trouble, the pond always turns to the infallible Pope for help in just such a crisis ...

And now, just to complete the circle, and to please gloating Victorians, and to offer sympathy for those suffering in Sydney, no matter which side of King street they're on, and while the pond stays inside for fear of zombies, the pond thought it should offer up the lizard Oz editorialist's thoughts on lockdowns ... just fish and chip wrapping really, and only of appeal to bin chickens, but still ...

Yes, we all needed a laugh in these fucked-up vaccination roll out, hotel quarantine plague times... because there's nothing quite like being mature Sydneysider adults in the pond manner ...

 

But the lizard Oz editorialist was determined to keep on with the laughs ...

 

And so to wrap up, here's a book well worth reading to your kids ...

In which rehabilitation or restoration is the reptile theme for the day ...

 

 

The theme this day is rehabilitation or reclamation or reconstruction or making good or whatever.
 

The pond has anxiously waited for weeks to draw attention to a piece in The New Yorker on the rehabilitation, the restoration, of the highly esteemed Nero …

Luckily it's outside the paywall at this moment, and spoiler alert, it ends this way ...

 

 

Poor sod. He only killed his mum, but who hasn't been provoked by their mum? Clearly he was just a naughty boy, a spoiled boy of the BoJo kind, and where's the harm in that?

Anyhoo, talk of Nero seemed right down our our hole in the historical bucket man's alley, and sure enough, our Henry, noble lad that he is, today strides through history in search of answers ... 

 

Indeed, indeed, just as the orange one and QAnon and such like and poor sweet Nero have been done down by malicious gossips, it takes a Henry to find the truth ...

 

Now at this point, the pond can hear its old history teacher say, "this is all very impressive and you have wandered off down assorted halls of history to show off, but there's more to life than showing off ...you haven't addressed the question ... you must always have an introduction and a conclusion, and show the workings to arrive at the conclusion". 

The ancient pedant would have noted that our Henry has simply asserted that things unravelled, and then without any further reference to the matter at hand, trotted off to bung on an ostentatious feather display of studious book larnin' ...a portentous display of remarkable irrelevances ...

And what do you know, there was even more to come ...

 

What the fuck has this got to do with QAnon or the Jews being responsible for the lack of water in the south west of the United States? Not to mention those space lasers ...

The pond is sure that talk of Robespierre is up there with the reclamation of Nero, but really, what about the actual matter to hand?

 

Indeed, indeed, it takes a singular ability to talk of conspiracy theories, without recognising the modern font for them ... the Donald, Faux Noise, the GOP, and sundry others aping their QAnon ways down under ...

Sadly our Henry's romp through history must be graded as a D+, and while some might think that a generous mark, an astonishing ability to avoid modern times should be nurtured in all Murdochians ...

 

And there you have it, our Henry joining in the parade of reptiles denouncing the ABC on a daily basis, yet apparently unaware that's what you do when you join the reptile conspiracy ...

No doubt a crackpot calling others crackpots seemed like an easy way to end the column, but the pond was left with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that our Henry was himself a perfect fit as a loon pond topic ...

And so to another restoration, this one involving the Riddster.

 

 

 

 

 

The pond was exceptionally keen to learn the High Court's decision, and who better to bring the good news than this Morgan, honouring the proud tradition of piratical thinking?  Sure the pond was made suspicious by that video click bait at the get go, a sure sign the reptiles wanted a distraction, but the pond rendered that harmless with a screen cap and moved on ...

 

 

Yes, yes, noble and heroic and all that, and never mind the recent vile talk of the reef being in trouble, we all know that's a Chinese government plot - speaking, as our Henry does, of conspiracy theories - but what of the actual verdict?

 

 

Tremendous information and a wonderful shot of a pristine reef, surely putting the lie to all this monstrous talk of the reef being in trouble ...

Look at all this nonsense you can find in the Graudian ...

 

 

Now maestro, drum roll please, and if you will, the verdict ...

 

Oh indeed, indeed muh lud, fine and worthy arguments, and not a single mention of the reef, because, after all that snap showed the reef in tip top exceptional shape, but at the risk of repetition, what of the verdict?

 

 

Ah fuck a duck, it will be several months before the decision is handed down, and meantime our Morgan has just been doing his Gina ordained IPA duty?

The pond apologises for its grievous error and quickly moves on to another rehabilitation, or perhaps restoration is more appropriate ...

 

 

 

 

A lot of the reptiles have chipped in - of course Gra Gra of the Swiss bank accounts and Gold Coast fun would think messy private lives are a big turn-on for voters - but the bouffant one has been the most diligent of all ...

 

 

How many days since the beetroot man did down his rival? And yet already the gamble has paid off ... in spades or whatever ...

 

Sheer undiluted optimism, worthy of an infallible Pope's inspirational hopes ...

 

 

 

 

Naturally the bouffant one kept his inspirational news short ... "authenticity" is the name of this rehabilitation and restoration game ...

 

Luckily because the bouffant one kept it short, it's possible to do a bigger study of his diligence. Here he was beavering away a few days ago, full of triumph...

 

This is tough work, but some reptile has to do it, and is there anyone more worthy of a koala stamp for diligence than the bouffant one?

 

Splendid stuff, catastrophe averted, rehabilitation achieved, and just time to savour a Wilcox cartoon ...

 

 

But no reptile should travel alone, and the pond was delighted to see that the oscillating fan was also hard at work celebrating the return of the reformed and rehabilitated Barners ...

Why just look at the first photo to feel a sublime surge of confidence ...

 

 

Tremendous snap ... though not by a reptile photographer, just another service from AAP ...

There are, in fact, any number of snaps and screen capped videos in the oscillating fan's effort. Clearly the reptiles recognised it was just an average day's turd polishing, and so it needed some help ... but it turned out that the reptiles thought it only a two minute read, so what the heck ..

What a splendid couple they make in that snap ... almost a classic ...

 

 

But on with the oscillating fan ... only two minutes of your time required ... and best of all, if you happen to be in NSW at the moment, you might need a little distraction...

 

 

Yes, we're not Victoria, and don't you forget it, or we might send some infectious sod your way to do some infecting ...

Now where was the pond? Ah, yes, off with the oscillating fan celebrating definite upsides, while having to neutralise yet another click-bait video ...

 

 

Phew, luckily the pond could stop that clickbait video, because the beetroot one looked like he was about to take a turn ...

Instead let's keep celebrating the oscillating one,  whose next piece will likely celebrate the revival of Pauline Hanson ...

 

Indeed, indeed. So many positives, so much rehabilitation. Thank the long absent lord that the member for Manila might be persuaded to go around again ... and meantime, since this is a hagiography, the pond had to neuter another click bait video before carrying on ...

 

Yes, he's an asset of the first water. Never mind the water in the Murray Darling, come to think of it, never mind the planet being completely fucked, in the world of the oscillating fan, all that matters is blather about micro levels and assets and such like, and plenty of snaps as filler for the folderol ...

And so ends today's extended reptile effort in rehabilitation and restoration. Not of things like the reef or the planet, but of loons of the Barners and member for Manila kind ...

It's a tough job, but they never shy from their daily work, and they surely deserve this Rowe cartoon, with more deserving Rowe always here ...