In which the pond recants, revives Dame Slap but still ends up with old men reliving ancient battles ...

 

Not happy comrade Dan, and with that "bonjour tristesse" out of the way, the pond can turn to confessing that it boxed itself into a corner yesterday by announcing bans on a variety of reptiles.

The pond is determined to keep a few bans going - the bromancer frothing and foaming at the voice is too wearisome to contemplate on a Sunday - and the pond even added a few more, such as a gibbering Gemma ...

As soon as someone says "Period", channeling that infamous loser dropkick Sean Spicer nakedly lying  "This was the largest audience to ever witness an inauguration, period.”, the pond understands that only a gullible Gemma would think she was on to something ...

And then there was this yarn that was atop the lizard Oz yesterday, apparently unaware that the reptiles have taken a stern view on all that Dark Emu nonsense ...

Sure, the pond was gobsmacked, but felt no need to get back into that debate when bashing the notion of an indigenous voice was the new flavour for this reptile year of living dangerously ...

But if the bromancer, Gemma, and bashing the pesky, difficult, uppity blacks were out of bounds, what to do? With a guilty heart, the pond recanted, turned back to Dame Slap, did a Musk and lifted the ban ...

Now the ban was essentially right and proper, but these are desperate times.

The pond has less than zero interest in the lifestyles of the rich and famous in Sydney's eastern suburbs, but this is the sort of turf that Dame Slap infests in the way that a fish manages to deal with water, and there would be certain lines that would reveal more than the pond needed to know about her psyche ... and so it came to pass ...

Be warned, it's a long one, but that snap featuring the tragic suffering of the rich should give a clue, what with Dame Slap herself a Cranbrook user ... and what do you know, somehow the pond's reptile word of the week, here elevated to "most woke", somehow wormed its way into the yarn ...

The pond has done "woke" and the murder of the English language and will do its best to avoid the random stabbings in the dark that follow ...

The pond will grudgingly concede one point. Not enough is said about the "toxic femininity" incarnated in Dame Slap, and the notion that toxic masculinity might be calmed by seating a boy next to Dame Slap in full inflammatory mode is surely problematic ...

But enough of the trauma of the rich, and boys having to deal with girls, because Dame Slap soon got bored with all that, and turned to the reptiles current straw dog, Lisa Wilkinson ...

Not content with having hounded her from the town square, when you're a professional bitch from hell, you keep on with the never-ending bitching ...

You had to go to Media Bites (YouTube) to get a short summary of all the abuse hurled Wilkinson's way ... (yes, Media Watch is still off the pond's viewing list)

Not that the pond much minds, not having the slightest interest in Wilkinson, and able to say with some fair pride that it has never watched a full episode of The Project the entire time it's been airing ...

It's only useful to know about such things because of what it reveals about the pathology known as Dame Slap ...

For some reason, the pond drifted off into a re-write of Jane Austen ...

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife, or at least some relief from being made to sit next to a girl in school.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it."

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

"Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.

"YOU want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."

This was invitation enough.

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week."

"What is his name?"

"Bingley."

"Is he married or single?"

"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"

"How so? How can it affect them? All he did in school was ineptly aim spit balls at the ceiling with the help of a ruler ...

Back to a final gobbet, celebrating the anguish of the rich, and yearning for schools to be more like tertiary institutions ... but before we get there, let's celebrate young men and women working together in search of knowledge and Catholic Xian compassion ...

Those were the days, and now the pond has made it to the final gobbet ... and a healthy desire for discipline, of the kind loved by Percy Grainger ...

Sorry, no links to the reptiles, and no illustrations, that was just to pre-empt Dame Slap's deep love of a little discipline ...

And on with that talk of discipline ...

Meanwhile, in the real world, far from Dame Slap and her eastern suburbs chums, students will head off to state schools, wondering that they're missing out on, and not realising it's likely to be a young Dame Slap in full whining, bitching and bullying mode ... a fate worse than death for any student, whatever their gender ...

But why did the pond relent and go with Dame Slap? 

Alas and alack, this is a time for meaningless anniversaries, as if 50 or 100 are somehow sacred numbers, and so the right time to head back in time to contemplate navels and do fluff gathering ...

Polonius was at it with his prattle, and inevitably first up there would be a tedious history lesson ...

As soon as Polonius announced it wasn't his intention to rain on Gough's parade, the pond knew that it was going to bucket down, with every chance of a hail storm and ferocious winds, because when he gets going, Polonius is reliably windy ...

One thing we mustn't expect is any reflection on the way that Polonius himself for a time travelled with the DLP and B. A. Santamaria and the like, a mob of ratbags who gravely distorted the ALP for a considerable period of time ...

All standard stuff, and Polonius is in his element, refighting battles from the ancient past, understandable perhaps given the dross currently doing the rounds in his team ...

It's when he gets on to the Vietnam that the pond perked up again, because Polonius was mightily conflicted by that battle, and for years, he went around claiming it was a victory of sorts, as here ... (warning Sydney Institute link, the usual ABC bashing)

Actually Cambodia's still fucked, no thanks to being bombed, and Malaysia is rife with deeply embedded corruption and Thailand suffers army coups as regularly as the Sydney Institute goes searching for sponsors, but back to the put down ...

Migrants! We all have memories there ...

When Polonius gets on this sort of hobby horse, some get irritated, as in this ancient letter to the editor ...

Indeed, indeed, and how good it would be to see Polonius spend a column urging Australia to help out the Afghan people who helped Australian forces when in country in that Taliban-ruined land ... or giving help to Ukrainian refugees suffering from the effects of Vlad the sociopath ...

But no, Polonius is just interested in the ancient business of old warriors fighting old wars, and never mind the new ones at the doorstep ...

Sadly after outing there was even worse news to follow ... nattering "Ned" on the same themes and at even greater, more tedious, and unimaginably, more portentous and pompous length... 

Count them, eight bloody interminable gobbets, it's not so much a column as a life sentence

Did "Ned" just refer to Ming? Now there's a revealing slip, up there with that Ming vase ...

There's an explanation of the nickname here ... not that younglings will care ...

The second nickname, ‘Ming’, derives from the Scottish pronunciation of Menzies; ‘Ming-is’. The Clan Menzies is a prominent Scottish family, and Menzies preferred (in vain) that pronunciation of his name. Shortened to Ming, the name also echoed a popular science-fiction villain, ‘Ming the Merciless’, from the Flash Gordon comic books and later films serials.

Some might prefer "Mingies" as a way of evoking the Scottish pronunciation, but the likeness is immediately apparent...

Sorry, it's going to be a long slog, and the only upside the pond can offer is that at the end there's a conclusion likely to terrify Polonius ...

His temperament was explosive and egocentric? Perhaps that's why the reptiles ghosted that report, which was invisible on the lizard Oz this weekend ...

You might find The Bell report on Morrison’s multi-ministries provides a bad character reference ... and that noted,  the reports which are actually mentioned in the lizard Oz are decidedly strange ..

.

Sheesh, time for Polonius to write an angry letter to the UK government?

Ancient Troy is a temptation and a possible distraction, but the pond is stuck with "Ned" ...

Why bring that up? Did "Ned" want to remember the free-wheeling times and Little Patti?

The pond suspects a deeper ailment, a fit of nostalgia for lost times and lost souls, but it will only come at the end ... meanwhile, enjoy "Ned" talking about the "vibe" ...

Ah yes, the stick they got for that ... and yet ...at least it was out in the open, unlike some ...

Sheesh, the pond will have to stop interrupting, there are miles to go, and a reveal to keep ...

And there we have it, peak "Ned" analysis ...

Perhaps if you want to dress it up you might throw in  a reference to  Manichaeism.... but the pond must pick up speed and head to that reveal ...

And so on and so on and so far removed from the surly Polonial overview that the pond began to wonder what was happening ... what had possessed "Ned", as surely as Linda Blair had been?

And so to the reveal in the very last par of the very last gobbet, and here the pond must do a little spade work and prepare the ground ...

Yes, way back when, the lizard Oz was a real newspaper, with a real editor, intent on doing good things, and abruptly sacked for his pains by the Chairman, though his work helped him score a place in the Hall of Fame ...

Not many remember when an ageing, once idealistic politician tried in Fame is the Spur to get a sword from Peterloo Massacre days down from the wall and pull it from its scabbard, only to find it rusted tight...

But perhaps there's something of that in "Ned's" final gobbet ...

"Ned" knew Gough, and "for those who knew him, the memory of good Gough glows far brighter", but that sword has long been rusted hard in its scabbard and the old pompous blowhard hasn't the strength to tear it free and wave it about ...

And now he ekes out his years, his dreaming of Deamer long gone, a useless husk locked into nostalgia and memory, every so often producing a imitation of a desiccated coconut, while co-joined at the hip to the worst of the worst ...

In which the pond overdoses on blather about woke virtue-signalling ...

 

What o'clock is it? Must be the weekend and time for a fresh serve of reptile clichés, perhaps topped with the stench of climate science denialism.

Still, the aversion therapy is working for the pond. There was no way the pond could deal with nattering "Ned" with "woke" at the top of the column ...

That sort of anachronism reminds the pond why the reptile mindset, the relentless revisionism, the application of now to then, is so deadening and soul-destroying.

And Dame Slap was playing the same game, with "woke" deployed in her header ...

The only thing? It's such a moronic thought, from such a toxic scribbler, and coupled with "woke" yet again, that the pond simply couldn't go there either ...

But it's always the same ... wherever the pond looks, there's always an abuse of language, an abundance of clichés of the mindless parroting "woke" kind, and, it goes without saying, a goodly dose of climate science denialism ... not to mention the plagiarising of the pond's use of Chicken Little ...

Ignore the reference to Chicken Little propaganda.

Note instead that blather about "a gently warming climate", and "significant benefits", and the Book of Exodus, and the implication that of late there hasn't been one disaster after another.

And is that reference to frogs going missing post-meta ironic? Australian frogs are on the brink of extinction, and four species likely already lost, scientists say

Would Covid stand in for boils?

Never mind, ever since the Riddster has gone full IPA, he's veered from eccentric to full-blown weird, and as always it's the language, and the complete absence of science that calls out this pathetic member of Gina's mob and the climate word games he plays

Yes, that old saw, "climate alarmism" is trotted out to be given another beating ...

Strange, what was that alarm bell? Was it mindless blather of an enormously stupid kind, the bit about "groupthink", a post-ironic abuse of the language that could only emanate from one of Gina's mob ...

What was that talk of tools of Gina propaganda? And how did this slip past the IPA censor: "it might be that the net effect is a major problem"?

It might be that the abuse of language is just the beginning of major problems ... because these days the Riddster is reduced to mindless suggests of conspiracies .... of the "we should all worry" kind ... 

Oh poor Riddster, a scientist reduced to being one of Gina's mob, scribbling for the IPA, and drifting into political advocacy rather than science, observation and objective prediction, all conspicuously lacking in this outing, as opposed to ominous hints and bland proposals that we might even find that some of what we have been told is wrong ... and never mind that the Riddster is doing that telling, with false equivalencies and all the rest of the routine regularly played by reptile climate science denialists ...

In short, this in service of that ...

Let's hope the Riddster ends up with the very best pillows, because otherwise he might have trouble sleeping at night ...

And so to another reptile expert in the abuse of language ...

Yes, thar she blows again, and truly if the reptiles paid for proper word use, "woke" would be a squillionaire. 

Even Humpty Dumpty would have had to pay up ...

'And only ONE for birthday presents, you know. There's glory for you'

'I don't know what you mean by "glory,"' the pond said.

The dog botherer  smiled contemptuously. 'Of course you don't-- till I tell you. I meant "there's a nice knock-down argument for you!"'

'But "glory" doesn't mean "a nice knock-down argument,"' the pond objected.

'When I use a word,' the dog botherer said in rather a scornful tone, `it means just what I choose it to mean--neither more nor less.'

'The question is,' said the pond, 'whether you CAN make words mean so many different things.'

'The question is,' said the dog bothterer 'which is to be master-- that's all.'

The pond was too much puzzled to say anything, so after a minute the dog botherer began again. 'They've a temper, some of them-- particularly verbs, they're the proudest--adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs--however, I can manage the whole lot of them! Woke impenetrability! That's what I say!'

'Would you tell me, please,' said the pond 'what that means?'

'Now you talk like a reasonable child,' said the dog botherer, looking very much pleased. 'I meant by "woke impenetrability" that we've had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you'd mention what you mean to do next, as I suppose you don't mean to stop here all the rest of your life.'

'That's a great deal to make "woke impenetrability" mean,'the pond said in a thoughtful tone.

'When I make words like "woke" do a lot of work like that,' said the dog botherer, 'I always pay them extra.'

'Oh!' said the pond. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark.

Somehow that woke the pond up, and having been awakened, felt fully woke, and able to cope with all the hysteria in that first gobbet ... so then it was time for a serve of more climate science denialist gruel ...

Always the mystery which of late has become almost as weird as transubstantiation or Trinitarianism ...

You see, climate change isn't real and isn't happening, and so renewables are a complete waste of time and energy. And besides, the solution is to nuke the country to solve the problem that isn't happening ...and per the Riddster, what isn't happening might even be a jolly good thing, if we could only learn to get along with it ... (a supply of mining royalties to the pond's bank account would certainly help).

The pond was never able to solve knotty, nutty if you will, theological problems, and as for the dog botherer ... well, this time, instead of "woke" he leads with "jellybacks", which is certainly different from "wets" and throws in blather about "Leftist bile", though why "leftist" should be capitalised is another mystery the pond can't solve ...

Should the pond feel pity for the dog botherer? Such a deeply unhappy man, pretending to be tough about love, and yet yearning for it, and suddenly shifting from "chase the love" to talk of  flint-hearted curios ... 

And yet, somehow, digging deep,  the pond summoned up the courage to tell him that the calls are coming from inside the house, his house, the house of reptiles, and his kissing cousin, the bromancer ...

There is an upside. No need to bother with the bromancer this weekend.

The pond is so bored by the day in, day out, week in, week out ranting by assorted reptiles at the voice, and the tragedy of what working for the reptiles can do to the mental and physical health of reptiles in charge ...

When Dore was editor of the Daily Telegraph in 2016 he attended a New Year’s Eve party, described by former prime minister Malcolm Turnbull in his autobiography A Bigger Picture.

“We held a New Year’s Eve party at Kirribilli House (at my own expense) and watched the fireworks from the governor general’s lawn – apart from a tirade of drunken abuse from one of Murdoch’s editors, it was a congenial evening,” Turnbull wrote.

Several sources said Dore was the editor in question and he was “incoherently drunk” at the party, which was also attended by the Australian’s then editor Paul Whittaker and his wife, and the chairman of News Corp’s Herald and Weekly Times group (and Rupert Murdoch’s niece) Penny Fowler.

It is understood that at least some of the “drunken abuse” Dore meted out was directed at the prime minister himself, at the gathering attended by friends, media executives, several members of Turnbull’s ministry and staff.

Despite this allegedly inappropriate drunken behaviour at the governor general’s official Sydney residence being apparently well known at Holt Street, Dore was promoted to editor-in-chief of the national broadsheet in 2018, the fourth Murdoch masthead he edited in his 31-year career.

The company says that Dore quit due to ill health. Two days after the shock announcement editor Michelle Gunn told staff she understood they were “feeling heavy of heart” after Dore left due to “personal health issues”.

“Chris wants you all to know that he is going to be OK,” Gunn said. “And he knows that you all join me in sending him every good wish.” (The Weekly Beast)

There's a deep, existential unhappiness at work there ... they even have to lie about the real reasons ... because it's part of being a reptile to never lie straight in bed ...

The dog botherer seems torn himself ... rich with anger and a desire to practise domestic abuse on the English language, because yes, "virtue-signallers" gets trotted out for the umpteenth kind ...

Did the dog botherer miss an opportunity here? Of course he did ... he didn't mention nuking the country, the solution to the non-existent problem ... he forgot to slip in a tip of the hat to SMRs, all the rage in current reptile outings ... and instead he persisted with the abuse of language ...

The pond just has to interrupt, not because the reptiles slipped in that click bait video featuring the dog botherer, but because the pond scored a full house when it picked up the "Orwellian" card.

Projection is the process of displacing one’s feelings onto a different person, animal, or object. The term is most commonly used to describe defensive projection—attributing one’s own unacceptable urges to another. For example, if someone continuously bullies and ridicules a peer about his insecurities, the bully might be projecting his own struggle with self-esteem onto the other person. If someone continuously uses the term "Orwellian" to bully and ridicule, it's likely  that the bully might be projecting his own struggle with his self-esteem and his Orwellian tendencies, with his abuse of the English language shorthand for his abuse of himself and the world ... (sorry, the pond made that last bit up and added it to the source, but if the Orwellian cap fits, why not wear it?)

By this point, with a full house in hand, the pond had no need for a language straight, and so the final gobbet offered some relatively mild abuse of the English language ... 

A lame, tired repeat of "virtue-signallers" simply doesn't cut it, and all that a reference to fully franchised angsty teens simply reminds the world that the dog botherer is now officially a boring, tedious old fart, not so far from a Colonel Blimp figure (not that angsty teens would get that reference).

And speaking of projection, should the pond feel for the dog botherer, valiantly attempting to feel the love and feel the voice, and so forced to pound the keyboard to produce "You have to feel for Dutton (and me?) because most of the policy directions would be clear to him, even on the voice, I suspect".

Nah, fuck him, having a thing for the voice can't undo the damage he does with most of his projections, urgings and abuse of the English language ...

And now, with sundry reptiles having been ruled out, Dame Slap and the bromancer at the head of the pack, what to do for a bonus?

Well those down south have an election on this day, and to celebrate the pond decided to return to our Gracie ...

The story, for those who came in late, is that our Gracie in recent weeks has been on an IR binge, like every reptile under the sun, and so was curtly cut by the pond, in the Victorian manner, but today she went full parochial, and it was vastly amusing to the pond ...

Oh dear, rolling eyes syndrome, it can only mean she's been reading the lizard Oz, home to talk of leftist cults and moronic sheeple and other Orwellian language abuse ... and for some reason this seems to have triggered our Gracie, or at least it triggered a carefully neutered reptile click bait video ... and thank the long absent lord Killer wasn't around to see it, or it might have triggered an attack of mask hysteria...

Poor Gracie, apparently unaware that the calls came from inside her house, and yet here was the lizard Oz editorialist still beating that tired drum in December, a full month after that landslide ...

In the wash-up the reptiles could never admit to being screw-ups ... but of course one of the rules in reptile la la land is that there should never be any reflection, introspection or contemplation, because navel-gazing and fluff-gathering is something only done by woke virtue-signallers ...

Still that lizard Oz editorial outing does make the pond wonder about her talk of how "the issue evaporated out of public sight the day after the election."

Gad, sir or madam, no issues ever evaporate at the lizard Oz. Climate science denialism and African gangs forever, and if there isn't a gang in sight, at least there's a deep conspiracy involving steps!

Still the pond would have appreciated a heads-up from our Gracie regarding her willingness to consort with reptile riff raff, as if it's all the fault of Sydney shock jocks, and News Corp had nothing to do with it (no, the pond won't be having a serve of the HUN on the menu).

And so to a last gasp of defiance from down south ...

That fall down the stairs? Our Gracie is too kind. "In the media" doesn't really convey what her friends at the HUN got up to ... yes, it was the HUN wot did it, and our Gracie kissing cousin to those reptiles in the great south land ...

You scribble for the same company, Gracie, so why the bleating? Have you thought about scribbling for a rag that will do the least damage to our society and economy? That's all scribblers can ever do ...

And now, as all that's been terribly parochial, here's a mangled infallible Pope, but at least his mangling of wretched autocrat-loving FIFA is clear enough, with a red card in the offing ...