Thursday, February 22, 2018

In which Barners babbles to Fairfax, while the reptiles savage a scuttling rat ...

  


Good old Barners remains top of the news cycle in the Terror and the lizard Oz in big and small 45 min ways, but the rustic one has committed a great crime and perhaps also a mortal sin, by talking to Fairfax …

 

But credit where credit is due, this was all thanks to the Northern Daily Bleeder …


The tide will turn? By talking to Fairfax?

It's an outrageous, unforgivable thought crime, and the reptiles will have their revenge …at that moment, the pond had a sinking feeling that Barners was gone. Oh he might get on the phone, and try to rally the troops, but he'd talked to Fairfax ...

Meanwhile, the commentariat at the lizard Oz began to get back to normal …


Dinkum Oz coal, oi, oi, oi … but there was something wrong here. 

Why was it that trusty Alan Moran was leading the charge, and not the leading conservative in the land, the man the pond has stayed loyal to through thick and thin?

Why was Mad as Hell's very sensible suggestion ignored by Malware's mob? 

After all, there was a handy, experienced replacement for Barners standing by and at the ready to step into the acting position at a moment's notice...


And here the pond must report the sorriest news of all …

Et tu bromancer?


Say what?

Misguided? The onion muncher's push is dead?

Why the next thing you know, reading the bromancer might feel like reading the Graudian, as the vindictive, cardigan-wearing English imports gleefully reported on Scottie and the others having a go at the man who would still be king ...


But the unkindest cut of all came from the bromancer ...


A hundred per cent wrong? A populist panderer? A wannabe Harry Hardheart looking for a populist corner of resentment? 

The very things that Moorice himself celebrated yesterday in the lizard Oz, and yet today the bromancer stabs Moorice and the onion muncher in the heart with talk of increasingly negative forces and puny tactical accomplishments?

Could it get any worse? Could the bromancer talk of the onion muncher's "almost cartoonishly simplistic economic arguments"?

The pond's heart sank ...


Wretched populism?

The man who would be king again a wretched, failed, loser, drop-kick populist?

Could it get any worse?

Well the pond is now seriously reviewing the onion muncher's prized position in the pond's banner, but be fair, at least no one is yet comparing the onion muncher to a scuttling rat, while Barners stays in the naughty corner …

Oh scrub that, someone has, and there's more scuttling rats at Rowe here ...



Wednesday, February 21, 2018

In which a late Moorice is better late than never ...



And now the pond is truly, deeply mortified.

How has it come to this?

How has Moorice, one of the world's greatest climate scientists, been marked down, and narrowly squeaked in as the third reptile voice for the day, turning up in the pond's extra special late edition, though this means appearing in the twilight hours when only a few church mice will gain the benefit of his infinite wisdom …

It's simple enough. While Moorice's advice is sage and deep, and wogs and other imports will benefit, it can be summarised succinctly.

If you want to live here, become like Moorice. Think like Moorice, be Moorice. Take Moorice as your exemplar, hero and avatar.

If you must, you can be like the onion muncher, but be aware there's a cut-off point for heroes. Perhaps you could be like Cory, or the hasty Pastie, or at a pinch, Kev the libertine demanding the right to have affairs with staff ...and for the ladies, the Sydney Anglicans are always on the look out for complimentary women, guaranteeing a spot amongst the deeply pious …

And that's about it. If you can't manage to turn yourself into an angry old white man shouting at clouds, you're in deep trouble and you probably won't ever fit in …

The pond has thought of instituting a ban on all that foreign food and all those foreign clothes and all those foreign cultural traditions that infest the country … yes, pagan Easter bunny and pagan Santa, you're on notice …

Assimilate, don the aluminium foil at the mad hatter's tea party, or get lost …



Damn you, filthy vile Islamics … why can't you fit in, and learn to molest little children in the proper Catholic way?

Even worse there's that attitude to alcohol, which is damnably disrespectful and unfortunate.

Here the pond must pre-empt Moorice and flash back to the good old days and what it took to be dinkum ...

 

Yes, back in the day, in an ideal world, the idea of being a wog was best understood and written by a middle aged white man of decent and proper Anglo-Celtic extraction …

Dammit, a dinkum Tamworth boy … as ADB noted here

John (Patrick) O’Grady (1907-1981), pharmacist and author, was born on 9 October 1907 at Waverley, Sydney, eldest of eight surviving children of Victorian-born parents John Edward O’Grady, clerk in the Department of Lands who edited the Agricultural Gazette of New South Wales, and his wife Margaret, née Gleeson, whom O’Grady described as ‘five feet two inches (158 cm) of Irish-Australian pugnacity’. He grew up in suburban Waverley, until the family took up an isolated mixed farm on the Peel River near Tamworth. There he received nightly lessons—including Latin—accompanied by corporal punishment from his disciplinarian father. He also imbibed Anglophobia, Catholic morality and Irish sentimentalism. First attending school aged 12, from 1923 he boarded at St Stanislaus’ College, Bathurst.

Unless your average imports hie themselves to a sheep farm on the banks of the Peel, they're doomed, doomed for all eternity to be outsiders …

Tell 'em Moorice. Let's get back to the days of a lamb chop and three veggies, though none of your fancy foreign veggies with their poncy bloody airs.

Kale? Who let that into the bloody country? Some jumped up deluded hipster with a dose of the multiculturals …

Just remember, Moorice, a humble pensioner, is out in the 'burbs, doing it tough, learning to survive on the streets, coal his only friend and companion as the rioting get closer by the day ...



And so Moorice spoke, replete with all the usual bigotry to be expected, and what a fine speaking it was … in much the same way as back in the 1950s, the Anglicans berated the tykes, and the tykes berated anyone they could find …

It's a bullying world, no doubt about it, and Moorice and the onion muncher are as fine an example of bigoted bullies as might be found in this world …

Oh wait, scrub that, there are a few who are better at the sport …






In which Dame Slap also goes off the deep end ...


The pond makes no apology for making Dame Slap follow nattering "Ned" on the day's progress …

As a traditional conservative of the first water, the pond has long held that 女は三歩下がって(or put it another way Onna was sanpo sagatte), or perhaps more simply, a woman should walk three steps behind her man …

This is the only proper and decent way to avoid what is apparently known as the Nikushoku-kei joshi (肉食系女子/ carnivorous women)


And now, having waited her right and proper discreet turn, it's time to unleash the Dame ...



Now for some reason, the reptiles have favoured Dame Slap by giving her the Lobbecke of the day, which will send his many fans into a cult frenzy …

Is that Barners doing some kind of reverse riff Handmaid's Tale?

Is it bonking Boris?

And whoever it is, what on earth does it mean? Are men now so hamstrung, demeaned and demoralised that they have gotten themselves to a nunnery? Are they mere pawns and chattels of monstrous dominant females?

Look at the pitiful, pleading eyes ... Did Bambi ever look so innocent, so pure, so tremulous?



Actually, the pond is ever so pleased that Dame Slap mentioned Boris, because for some time now it has wanted to link to Martin Fletcher's epic portrait of the man in the New Statesman


It can be found here … 

No spoilers, but Fletcher also has it up at his own site here

What a fun read, though it has to be said that it was written last November, and here we are in February and the joke's not over, unless it's the sight of Boris going for a jog with Julie …

  

Oh dear …

Well that's the pond's quota of feeling vaguely nauseous for the day, and it's on with Dame Slap getting most agitated, and showing nattering "Ned" he doesn't have a monopoly on hysteria ...



Indeed, indeed, Malware is an epic bungler - look at his NBN - and sure enough the dirtiest, filthiest minds in Canberra have already turned to the task at hand …


Barners not the only one sleeping? What, they're all asleep at the wheel?

Oh sorry, the pond should have read the fine print …


Of course Cory doesn't actually name anyone … sly innuendo and rumour-mongering is more his strength … but the pond agrees it would be much better if members of parliament were restricted to having sex with themselves …

 

Onanism, with or without spilling of seed, is surely the way forward … and Cory's a fine role model.

And now it's back to Dame Slap, giving Malware a firm spanking for attempting to play Big Brother … though it's most peculiar that she wants tighter rules to manage conflicts, while at the very same time bemoaning a ban …

The pond wondered how that might work. 

Here's a tighter rule to manage conflicts - Ministers should not have sex with a staff member - but please, do not mistake this for a ban. 

If you can keep it out of sight, it will surely stay out of mind, and no-one, not even Cory will notice ...



In all, it's been a most gratifying day for the pond.

Nattering "Ned" in an apoplectic, apocalyptic condition, and Dame Slap in her usual state of outrage, as it seems that Malware has entirely banned sex everywhere … 

Yes it's not just Ministers, Malware's just like, or possibly worse than, that Xian god who kicked Adam and Eve out of the garden just for getting a vague idea that sex might be an issue …

And if that's as bad as it gets in Australia, then maybe things aren't so bad at all. 

The country's certainly not as fucked as the United States, which is now truly and comprehensively fucked in so many ways it has become unimaginable … though Rowe gives a hint of it this day, with more Rowe here



In which nattering "Ned" goes too far for talk of him merely shouting at clouds ...



The pond woke up to the garbled sounds of the ABC, assuring the pond that Barners had moved off the front pages, and there was catastrophic news about the right to lose money on the nags, fair and square …

The pond's first thought was to cry "Barners, why hast thou forsaken us? Is your squabble with the sandgropers the last Barners' news for the week?"

How foolish of the pond to listen to the ABC … an organisation which has degutted the world at noon, while simultaneously offering switch-off blather about human resource activities in companies …oh RN isn't the station it once was ...

You see, over at the lizard Oz, the Barners' industry continues apace, and as usual, nattering "Ned" is on the case, and in his usual way, "Ned" has produced an apocalyptic crisis from Barners' bonking …

It's the business of "Ned" to discern the end of the world in a grain of sand … but this time he goes over the hill and far away, so that the pond's usual talk of him shouting at clouds - perhaps with a Simpsons cartoon - simply isn't up to the job.

In his spare time, the pond suspects "Ned" pours over endless charts and graphs to discover the end times and the conservative rapture …




And so to the revelation of the day, and nattering "Ned's" shocking discovery of the crisis in conservatism …



The pond makes no apology for going to nattering "Ned" first, for he is indeed first amongst the reptiles… where else is it possible to read about Barners' as a Shakespearian tragedy?

Some might think it's just a rather traditional and typical Tamworth yarn.

A rustic lad, following outmoded practices approved by Rome, indulges in a bonk without proper protection, and scores a bub… so it's gone since the town began, and so it will continue ...

Not so for Ned, with his chatter of the artificial, enticing world of power ...

...He would be kept deputy PM: 
How that might change his nature, there's the question. 
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; 
And that craves wary walking. Keep him deputy PM?--that;-- 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Barners, 
I have not known when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. 
Apart from one magic Tamworth moment
But 'tis a common proof, 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; 
But when he once attains the upmost round. 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base Tamworthian degrees 
By which he did ascend. So Barners may. 
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, 
Would run to these and these extremities: 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg 
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous, 
And kill him in the shell.

Or some such thing. Beware the ides of March.

The parallels with Julius Caesar are so enormous the pond has in the past hesitated to mention them, but thanks to nattering "Ned" it is at last out in the open …

And now to killing him in the shell, or at least at the clambake …


Oh the hand-wringing, oh the fear, oh the crisis, as the onion muncher and Barners and other rough beasts slouch towards Canberra …and only "Ned" is on hand to note the hydra-headed populist monster ...


Now the pond can sense a few sceptics might just be muttering "Barners is a typically Tamworthian naughty boy … don't get your knickers in a knot … there's plenty more where he came from", but when he's on a portentous roll about doom and gloom and signs and portents and omens, there's no stopping "Ned", always ready to go the full chicken little ...



Dear sweet long absent lord, does anyone at the lizard Oz ever suggest that "Ned" destroy his kidneys in a traditional Australian way?

  

Momentous cultural shifts?

The cult of victimisation? Now Barners is a victim for giving it a good Tamworth go?

The progressive vanguard? Because teachers and priests are certainly not in a power imbalance.

Etc, etc, and endlessly etc?

Routinely "Ned's" seemingly infinite capacity for hysteria reduces the pond to a state of numbed silence. Or perhaps a single ejaculation.

Sheesh …

Well for those who don't want to risk a kidney, the pond suggests a daily dose of papal wisdom, with a regular supply of a tablet a day available here