Saturday, July 30, 2016

In which the pond discusses the many failures of prattling Polonius, SSM hating fundamentalist Catholics and angry Sydney Anglicans clutching their complimentary woman doll ...


With all the clapping of hands, laughing and dancing with glee about Malware, some might have thought that the pond had forgotten dear old prattling Polonius, but no, it was important to be reminded yet again how it's all the fault of immigrants, and simply nothing to do with westerners who for centuries thought it was their right to traverse the world, looting it, setting up empires, dishing it out to the colonials, and otherwise behaving with flagrant disregard, culminating with a first world war over fair shares of the pie, and then a second world war because of further unhappiness about the pie sharing ...

So it goes, and it takes a singular effort by an adept historian to ignore history, and in such cases the pond always relies on prattling Polonius ...


Now this is surely a most admirable Polonius outing, working at at his finest levels of historical insight.

Who could better leading off with Hilaire Belloc, a splendid choice, perhaps only matched if he'd chosen G. K. Chesterton or C. S. Lewis, or perhaps Giovannino Guareschi - oh wait, wasn't Don Camillo Italian? perhaps best not to go there, you know, the European disease, Mediterraneans, wot wot and all that - and then that excellent attempt to pretend that Polonius himself was some kind of wise agnostic, acknowledging that he really doesn't understand the human condition ...

So all that love of Rome and worship of the Pellists is just so much camouflage?

It reminded the pond of arm-breaking Mark Latham in one of his sane moments ...

Only a rusted-on apologist for the Church could doubt the evidence pointing to p-edophilia among Catholic priests. But that’s Henderson for you. His first and most enduring loyalty is to Rome. His main role in public life is to defend his hero, George Pell — even though, as Henderson acknowledges, Pell “accompanied Gerald Ridsdale, a priest who was convicted of p-edophilia, to court in Victoria in 1993”. Can you bear it? (Crikey in 2013 here).

Yes, Polonius was at it again in his Media Watch Dog, the cheerful agnostic at work ...


As for that matter was Brennan ...


But the pond was determined to press on, pausing only for a meme ...


Indeed, indeed, and if you think it was right to embark on a war in Iraq and call it a crusade because you happen to be completely tone deaf and unaware of the consequences of your actions, feel free to call yourself George W. Bush ... and say another prayer to your deity ...

But let us not talk of launching wars in the middle east - it is after all, the singular right of western powers to launch wars willy nilly where they will and to hell with the natives - and let us return to Polonius, even if the pond, bored as usual by prattling Polonius into fitful tedium,  had once again allowed itself to be distracted ...

There's more hard yards to be done ... more equivocations so that the bigotry and prejudices might attempt to be concealed, in the way that camouflage used to be dragged over unsightly military objects ...


What the pond most loves here, is a conservative berating Islamics for their deeply ingrained sexism, and their hostility to homosexuality and adultery, while he himself, the questioning agnostic, apparently yearns for a secular, libertarian society ... where the Pellists rule in Rome free of the ABC.

And if you believe that one, write to the pond about its offer of a harbour bridge at a bargain price.

As if somehow conservatives, fundamentalist Catholics campaigning against SSM, angry Sydney Anglicans and their complimentary women, don't show the same inclinations as the jihadists ... though they've had to stop burning women as witches and jailing gays, though that was a proud tradition not so long ago ...

Well it's not a matter of Christophobia to discuss such matters, in much the same way as it's not a thought crime to air claims being made by people who apparently stepped forward of their own free will to say what they claimed the Pellists had done long ago ...

Yet that is acclaimed a trial by media, whereas a discussion of everything that is wrong with Islam, by routinely linking it with Radical Islam, is merely a discussion of such matters, and not a trial by prattling Polonius at all ...

Well thankfully the pond has a foot in all camps, which is to say a pox on fundamentalist Islamics and a pox on fundamentalist anti-SSM Catholics and a pox on angry Sydney Anglicans and their 'complimentary women' (this week with a box of Jaffas and a bowl of popcorn), and a pox on the dissembling, half-baked prattling Polonius, always quivering and waving his jittery fingers about, as if that would distract from his innate tendency to pedantry and prejudice ...

(Below: and speaking of pedantry, it never gets old, this one by First Dog, and the pond thought it was time for a re-run, and it can still be found here).





In which Malware cops it coming and going, and will continue to cop it until he's gone ...


(Above: found here, and more there).

Who can forget or forgive the behaviour of the viper former chairman Rudd during the Gillard years? The leakings and the betrayals and the back-stabbing...

So of course Malware's going to cop a pounding for his recent decision on the matter of Chairman Rudd's delusions, even though it's obvious enough that the former chairman is delusional and narcissist, and not just because Kristina Keneally says he is.

Get your average Labor party numbers man speaking anonymously in a back room, and even they'll be backing Helen Clark over the chairman, while recognising that she's also probably a long shot up against the usual forces at work ...

Naturally the Kiwis see Malware's Captain's Call (as such things are now called) as a sign of hope for Clark, and naturally only a few days ago, the usual conservative forces were shouting from the rooftops for the right decision to be made ...


Would you like an avocado with your reptile opinions?

But of course once the decision was made, the old rule - get Malware coming, get Malware going - was followed and the reptiles launched into full-scale assault. 

If it wasn't for the Queen Victoria copper-tinted NBN, the pond might have felt a tinge of sympathy for Malware, but as it was, the pond laughed and clapped hands and danced with glee ...


Yes, it was the bromancer, no doubt channelling the onion munching wall puncher, storming on to the front page alongside the news of a righteous Rudd ...


And so to the shock and the horror and the outrage ...


Hmm, so Tony Abbott never told the Ruddster he was unsuitable for the job, never indicated that the Australian government would prefer to support Helen Clark as a candidate?

Why didn't someone tell the Bolter that before he took to his blog yesterday?



Tony Abbott had actually solved the problem for him?

What sayeth the bromancer to this in his final few whimpering lines?


Yes, they're going to keep on getting him, coming and going, until in the end, worn down, harassed and bedraggled, ankles well and truly bitten and ravaged, he will be gone ...

This is but the first step in the long campaign. Soon enough there will come the ugliness of the plebiscite - another gift of the onion muncher - and more talk about it being all about his leadership, and all the pond will be able to do is laugh, dance and clap hands with glee, and brood about the NBN a little more ...

Now just for the record, for completists and masochists, and perhaps for sadists too, here's the rest of what the Bolter scribbled a few days ago ...


And now that Turnbull hasn't backed Rudd, can we just check again on the bromancer channeling the onion muncher?



But was the Bolter placated as he tracked the news yesterday?


Of course not, they'll keep at him, coming and going ...

Coming, going and in due course gone, and the pond's not the only one to clap hands, laugh and dance with glee ...


Pity the poor onion, and if you can manage to forget the NBN and think of Malware as an onion, pity the poor Malware ...



In which the pond refuses to take the side door, despite Angela Shanahan's kind suggestion it should do so ...


For years, the pond witnessed wickedness and evil in action.

Odd language perhaps, for an atheist, but then how else to describe the harassment of women by protestors, when these women were already tortured and suffering the traumatic event of an abortion?

It was full blown harassment too, by way of cameras, invective and abuse, and pictures on the sidewalk, not much different in nature, spitefulness or attitude from the sort of harassment that the hate group the Westboro Baptist Church routinely offers in the United States.

The pond routinely made its displeasure known, but the protestors thrived on the abuse, and responded with jeers and intimidation. Hate unfortunately only fuels haters, and so it went in Camperdown for years, until the abortion clinic was closed down and turned into apartments, and the tearful women and the abusive protestors went elsewhere.

If anyone wondered why the protestors were allowed to behave this way, there was always the cry of freedom of speech and the pavements belonged to everyone, and never mind the suffering of the women.

As anyone who's been involved in an abortion knows, it isn't a carefree act of indifference, but a decision weighed and agonised over, and usually arrived at as the least difficult alternative. It isn't a frivolous matter, and it deserves gravitas, respect and decency, but none of this mattered to the protestors, who offered none, and instead were intent on calumny and vile abuse.

Eventually protestors came to protest against the fanatics and the fundamentalists, but this only made for an ugly scene for the women seeking an abortion, and in some forward-thinking states, concerned about women exercising their legal rights and their right to control what happens to their bodies, law-makers sensibly decided that enough was enough.

But bigotry repressed is never enough for a Shanahan, and so we cop this today in the lizard Oz:



Only a loon of the first water could see the abuse and the heckling of distressed women as a form of "public discourse", as opposed to ugly harassment of the most offensive kind, but that's a Shanahan for you. And the same goes for "freedom for abortion speech", which is code for freedom to go on verbally assaulting, photographing and attacking women going about their lawful, and personally extremely painful, business.

This is a matter of some personal pain for the pond, so it has no time to be kind to that smirking fundamentalist bigot featured in the reptile splash, but let's see what she has to say in her pandering to bigotry of the most base kind ...


Yes, there you have it. "Most people wanting abortion went in the side door."

As for that vile malarkey, that talk of joining in prayer, and sort of becoming a Canberra institution, "the people outside the abortion clinic", how carefree Shanahan is with the women about to make a decision of great personal moment. "The people going inside the abortion clinic .... made to enter by the side door."

Send them in the side door, brand them as the harlots and wanton hussies that they are, let the fundamentalists control the front door with their righteousness and bigotry ...


Just contemplating it got the pond angry all over again ...


Only a Shanahan. Preventing harassment is a dangerous development.

Well good on the ACT, and good on Tasmania and Victoria and long may the exclusion zones continue. We could have used one in Camperdown and stopped a lot of suffering and persecution of innocent women who had committed no crime ... except in the eyes of zealots and fundamentalists and religious nutters ...

Of course in the United States things are a little more extreme. There they celebrate the shooting of doctors ... no doubt we can expect a piece from Shanahan expressing concern that suppressing the right to celebrate murder is a dangerous development. After all, all those wanton women are committing murder and should be locked away in a secular prison before spending an eternity in hell, right?

It never ends, this harassment, this persecution by bigoted fundamentalists, and when it comes to abortion, fundamentalist Catholics are up there with the worst of them ...






Friday, July 29, 2016

In which the pond moves from the goose Switzer to cooking with the bromancer ...


(Above: and more essential Rowe here).

It's rare that the pond shouts at the television screen, but whenever Tom Switzer appears it's likely to turn into a shout fest.

Now the pond doesn't usually descend into Colbert's kind of joke - presented in the pre-show Q and A, and here for your entertainment - but Switzer was such a relentlessly stupid goose on last night's The Drum  that the pond felt like giving the fine joke another run (don't let your grandkids click on the link).

You see, Switzer reverted to the standard gambit that Trump was a jokester who was joking about Russia and the emails, and sounded like such a dissembling idiot in the process, that once the pond had shouted itself hoarse, life moved on, and the pond thought that it was the end of it.

If the pond might quote the clown, when asked to Julia Baird to "unpack this" - apparently it's some sort of suitcase, or if you will, a Tamworth "port" - Switzer responded:

"...well look I think this is much ado about nothing ... (hysterical laughter from other panellists) ... no seriously, it is ...if you watch the whole video of Donald Trump, it's clear that he's having fun about this ... and he's really joking about hoping the Russians will find the missing 30,000 emails ... and you know I think the media is so out to get him ..."

And so on and so forth, because the pond can spend only so much time transcribing so much pigswill.

And then, after thinking that was the end of it, the pond was browsing The Atlantic, and came across this from David Frum:

The first excuse for Donald Trump’s amazing press conference on Wednesday, in which he called on the Russians to hack and publish the 30,000 emails wiped from Hillary Clinton’s home server, was: He was only joking. 
That excuse almost immediately dissolved. When Trump was asked by CNN’s Jim Acosta whether he would call on Vladimir Putin to stay out of U.S. elections, the presidential nominee answered that he would not tell Putin what to do. After the conference ended, Trump tweeted out a slightly tidied up request to the Russians to find Clinton’s emails—but to hand them over to the FBI rather than publish them. 
The second excuse, produced on Twitter minutes later by Newt Gingrich, is that Trump’s remark, while possibly unfortunate, mattered less than Clinton’s careless handling of classified material on her server. That defense seems likely to have more staying power than the first—about which, more in a minute. 
But it’s important to understand that there is more here than one unfortunate remark. Over the course of his candidacy, Donald Trump has revealed a remarkably consistent attitude toward Russia—a subject he seems to have thought about almost more than any other in this campaign.

And so on, the rest is here, but it led the pond to an astonishing understanding in newly this topsy turvy world. David Frum made more sense than Tom Switzer.

Imagine that! And there was the pond thinking Frum never made any sense at all, not even when he attempted to recant.

It did help the pond understand why it's adrift in an existential crisis, and all the usual moorings have been rendered meaningless. But how useful is this for day to day living?

There is a solution of course, and that's to switch off The Drum whenever Switzer appears, and this will be done, but in the meantime, the pond has decided it's probably better not to have The Drum on at all ... or else the pond will end up agreeing with recanting American Republicans, and who knows where it will all end.

Well for starters, how stupid of the ALP to rail about the need to back former Chairman Rudd in his bid to rule the world.

They ejected him from leadership of his own party, and then, after desperately bringing him back like a zombie in search of a sequel, they dumped him again, as did the electorate. And this is the man they think should be given backing in a futile exercise involving delusion and grandiosity and narcissism?

Take any Labor heavy aside, and ask them honestly, if off the record, what they thought of Rudd, and after lighting taper, stand well clear. This isn't about conservative v progressive or the rest of the nonsense. It's about competence, and actually remembering events which would count as recent except for anyone trained by Murdochian media.

Go on, Frum up at News.com.au on Bill Shorten: The man who knifed two prime ministers. Frum down at the ABC with Labor's shadow men stuck knife into Rudd.

But why did they take him down? Because he was an incompetent control freak who made a mess of Canberra. And this is what we want to foist on the world? Because he's dinkum and in need of another fair swig of the sauce bottle?

Please, just take one Pope cartoon with a swig of Frum-brand cordial ...


And more Pope here.

Well to keep the international theme going, the pond headed off to the lizard Oz for the definitive views of the bromancer, a sure-fire way to avoid shouting at the TV, with genteel banter all the go ...

Immediately a question sprang to mind before the pond could get past the splash ...



Yes, was anyone listening to the bromancer? Does anyone care what he has to say? Could anyone be bothered reading him?

And then as the pond got into the re-hash, another question arose ...


Actually, it wasn't so much a question, as a re-treat of an old Woody Allen joke:

“There's an old joke - um... two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort reading the bromancer in The Australian, and one of 'em says, "Boy, the commentary in this rag is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions." Well, that's essentially how I feel about life - full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly, especially if you've spent it reading the bromancer.”


Yes, whether anyone is still reading the bromancer is moot, but that's your small portion for the day, and for this they charge you? And when it comes to the key line, the wretched bromancer can't bring himself to state the obvious.

Which is that Obama was equating Trump's mindless home-grown demagoguery with communism, fascism and jihadism ...

Any other commentator caught the dog whistle immediately. The pond selected this bit from Vox at random, there being dozens of others (have the reptiles ever wondered why their business plan is in peril?)


Strong stuff bromancer? It's the apocalypse! (and the rest of Vox here).

The bromancer was so tedious - and so tediously short - and so like Switzer in print form, that to get its dose of fun, the pond had to head off to the comments beneath the bromancer piece, and amongst the usual bunch of angry old men shouting at white clouds, scored this ...


Oh Dan, Dan, Dan, you can't talk sense to reptile devotees, and really is the unhinged constituency only to be found in the comments section. What about the reptile commentariat? How about a complaint that this day there is no Moorice column to satiate the senses?

Never mind, come join with the pond, Dan, and let us shout at Tom Switzer on the television together ... there's no good talking sense to reptiles.

And so to an excerpt from a First Dog cartoon ...


The cartoon can be found in full here, and just to keep First Dog on theme ...


The pond plumps for 3.

It's certainly worked for climate change in Oz la la land.

That full cartoon here, and finally, this bit of social media montage caught the pond's eye ...



Thursday, July 28, 2016

The Russians are coming, but thanks to Gary Johns, only Christian husbands and wives are allowed to come ...


(Above: and more excellent Rowe here).

There's no doubt that the US election exceeds any of the loonery to be found locally, and by a good Tamworthian rural mile ...


And so on, that full story at the NY Times here.

But the pond's beat involves the local reptiles, and it just so happens that yesterday the pond was out and about on the road yesterday, and heard Phillip Adams interviewing Julian Assange.

Well "interviewing" is a trifle grand, it was more like an Australian cricketer throwing pitiful underarm pitty pats down the wicket, mollygrubbing and fawning and scraping in the usual way, and avoiding all the hard questions and hoping New Zealanders wouldn't mind ...

No mention of Assange's avowed hatred for Clinton and his determination to stop her winning the presidency, a common enough story, as can be found at the NY Times here, and at Daily Kos here.

Now the pond can understand a deep fear and loathing of the Clintons, having done a bit of it, but then there's the alternative ...

It would have been interesting to hear Adams ask a penetrating question, say whether Assange preferred Trump winning to Clinton. The pond knows the theory, make it worse, let it all fall down, and after the cleansing revolution, all will be well again. It's the favourite notion of all the barking mad fundamentalists doing the rounds, millenarian and Islamic ...

That's the theory, and then there's the alternative ...

None of this troubled Adams, and he accepted Assange's fudge that the Russians had nothing to do with the hack, nor did he ponder on Trump's bromance love of Vlad the impaler, fellow prospective future dictator. If the pond happened to be in the Baltic countries right at the moment, or, while speaking of other dictators, South Korea and Japan, it would be shivering in its boots ...

Adams burbled, meandered and murmured away from it all, though he did follow it with an interview, where it became clear that perhaps the Russkis might have had something to do with the hack ...

In short, as an interview, it was an epic pandering fail, a reminder of why the pond never bothers with Adams. Instead, please allow the pond to commend a lengthy piece by George Saunders, entitled Trump Days in the tree killer edition of The New Yorker, but for the moment available outside the paywall online as Who Are All These Trump Supporters?

Saunders concluded on a gloomy note, though he provided plenty of evidence for his gloom:

“Donald J Trump a guardian angel from heaven,” reads a poster I retrieved from the floor of the Rothschild rally. “his spirit and hard work as president will make the people and America great again!!!” 
Although, to me, Trump seems the very opposite of a guardian angel, I thank him for this: I’ve never before imagined America as fragile, as an experiment that could, within my very lifetime, fail. 
But I imagine it that way now.

Listening to Adams interview Assange reminded the pond just how easily fragile experiments in probing radio could fail thanks to quavering, quivering, jelly-wobbling liberalism ...

But as always, to counterbalance the gloom, there needs to be a reptile feast, a fattened up goanna heaped on the barbecue of life, so that we might all enjoy the meal ... and what better meal than a Gary Johns?


Of course it wouldn't be a Johns piece if he didn't proceed immediately to make some typically wild Johnsian assumptions and assertions ...

But first please allow the pond to recall some recent fall-out arising from a Daily Terror front page, as recorded by Media Watch and already mentioned on these pages ...


And that's before anything has happened in relation to a plebiscite. That's just the noble, valiant work of the Devine and the Terrorists ...

Well suitably primed, it's time to read on ... and would you believe that Johns wants to get out the old quill pen and the inkwell and exchange correspondence in a gentlemanly way ...


Yes, it's all there, accusing others of wanting a digression, and then embarking on a hate-laden distraction, not least the notion that everyone must question their sexuality, and similar barking mad culture war notions, while at the same time deploring culture wars ...

As for posting letters ... there must be some fundamental anal retentive ye oldie worldly up his arse aspect to Johns that a Freudian would dearly love to explore. Or perhaps he's angling for a gig to make Australia Post relevant in this crazy modern world ... or perhaps his natural home is with pedantic prattling Polonius conducting courtly correspondence.

Never mind, it's about time for Johns to raise his own wild assertions, and add to the fear-mongering, with a plea: "won't someone think of the fundamentalist, bigoted, homophobic, anti-fornicating kind of Christian" ...


Forget the same sex aspect. The covenant forbids all sexual activity unless it's between a husband and a wife? You have to get hitched to have a fuck?

Where on earth would that leave Donald Trump? Stuck with his first wife?

Just think about this for a moment. Imagine Gary Johns in a state of utter despair because staff and congregation freely entered into a covenant which provided them with a one way ticket to Jonestown, and damned pesky liberals interfere with their right to drink the koolaid ...

Well it's perhaps an extreme example, but isn't that an interesting last par, because in his own indirect way, Johns suggests that the horrors of a plebiscite are heading our way ... no doubt blended with plenty of stories about long suffering Christian fundamentalists who just have some mighty peculiar ideas about sex, love and the whole damn thing. 

What's the bet that things might get a little tricky when a Muslim school insists that as a condition of attending it, the school demands that staff and students freely enter into a convenant to conduct jihad so that eventually they might have sex with an indeterminate number of virgins in paradise ...

Oh it's a funny old world, sure enough, and thank the long absent lord Pope can discover humour in anything, even the ACCC ... and more excellent Pope here ...





In which the pond wonders whither Soph and celebrates the idiot inane one more Micallef-farewelling time ...


It was of course not just the question on the pond's lips, but the question haunting everyone in the land:

You talk like Marlene Dietrich 
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire 
Your clothes are all made by Balmain 
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair 
You live in a fancy appartement 
Of the Boulevard of  Colin Howarrrrd
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records 
And a friend of Sacha Distel 
But where do you go to my lovely 
When you're alone in your bed 
Tell me the thoughts that surround you 
I want to look inside your head 
I've seen all your qualifications 
You scribbled and screeched for the Punch
And the blame you lumped on the feministas
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does ...

And so on, but thankfully, instead of a song, the reptiles of Oz were on hand to answer:

  

It was devastating news for the pond. The senate is her obvious home?

Why not so long before, the pond had been salivating at the news that once more sweet Soph would return to a place in the pond pantheon, and become a hurler of dung ...


Thanks be unto the Bolter, and instead of consigning sweet Soph to the Senate, the pond was expecting an announcement within the week that the reptiles of Oz had hired her to talk on many matters, there being plenty of room. Or if not, perhaps a dog botherer or suchlike riff raff could be persuaded to fall on their sword and make room for the mighty Soph ...

She was still being exceptionally adept at hurling the dung, showing off her assignment of blame skills ...


Damn you left wing media, damn you filthy Herald Sun, you raving socialist loons, damn you Melbourne-based feminists and your siren song to the voters of Indi. Of course the cockies couldn't resist your hairy armpits and voted as you insisted in your overbearing matriarchal way ... this is why the country is heading to ruin, beguiled by dangerous feminists from Melbourne.

Perhaps the pond should provide a little context as to why it had lived in hope...


And then there was that singular lack of bitterness, that brave ability to cope and accept full responsibility that has always been a mark of the Soph in action ...


Yes, she added to the vote, and what a fine value addition it was, and what a fine vote, in much the same way as she's value added to the submarines ...

And there the matter rested, and the pond waited in anticipation. Sure, Abbott had gone silent and it was left to gorgeous George to provide some farewell material for the last Micallef episode ... (the pond will miss the lad, unlike The Chaser's last inglorious effort) ...



Oh dear, the pond completely forgot the Soph and her future. It seems that the bloody feminists and unionists and gorgeous George and Micallef are all disrespecting her and not paying attention ...

But the reptiles still care. They're still fixated and beguiled. Are they doing the dance? Can we expect an announcement soon, for this very day the reptiles had another go at Soph's future. Someone must have told them about the Bolter interview, and they finally caught up ...


Yes, that'd be the same Rick Wallace who only recently, with the help of his fellow reptile, had consigned the Soph to the Senate ...


300k dropped on a loser? Dear sweet long absent lord, but what of her future? 

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?


Talk about inscrutable. There was the pond thinking that "commentator" might actually mean "commentator".

But it seems that our Soph is a right old Humpty Dumpty and she pays her words overtime to make them mean what she wants them to mean, and only Rick knows what they mean. So "commentator" in its inscrutable, defiant way, actually meant she would simply not be involved as a participant any more ...

'Would you tell me please,' said Alice, 'what that means?' 
'Now you talk like a reasonable child,' said Soph looking very much pleased. 'I meant by "commentator" 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 one word mean,' Alice said in a thoughtful tone. 
'When I make a word do a lot of work like that,' said Soph, 'I always pay it extra, and give Rick Wallace a little on the side to write a lengthy explanation.' 'Oh!' said Alice. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark. 
'Ah, you should see 'em come round me of a Saturday night,' Soph went on, wagging her head gravely from side to side, 'Nick, and the words, for to get their wages, you know.'

Not to worry, the pond lives in hope. How soon before the reptiles of Oz come to their senses and make Soph an offer? How soon before she sits next to the Bolter and Peta in Sky glory?

Meanwhile, all the pond is left with are fond memories of inane idiots as celebrated by Micallef ... but while it's an old joke, strangely the pond never gets tired of the telling ...





Cue the idiot inane within a couple of hours ...


Oh yes, it gets the pond every time, tish boom, and you can farewell Micallef on iView here ...