Enter if ye dare the Comment Dungeon

Meanwhile, the lonely voice of Ferry Boat asked the Forlorn question of the week, having found him/herself bemused by the Reg's adventures in cow alignment.

Why do they align north-south? Does the head always face one way and the pat-producer the other? Do they lie down when it rains? Do they really make shoes out of them? Are there red ones? If not, why is the pub down the road named after one?

Who will answer my cow questions?

In the very same thread could be found the touching tribute of the fine, noble adnim, the only sane choice for Good husband of the week. Aw.

My missus faces any way she bloody well likes

The ongoing Aussie firewall faff inevitably attracted 759,500 comments in various flavours of disgust and hysteria, among them the AC gem that was the Curiously self-censored scatological oppression wisdom of the week.

We stand by our Government.

If we stand in front of them, they f*** us.

If we stand behind them, they s*** on our faces.

(Graffiti read on a poor Venezuelan Street)

But never mind all that - the Insane poetic genius of the week could only go to the enigmatic AC author of this gibberingly brilliant and subversive bit of Carroll-fondling in honour of our Aussie firewall-fortifying chum. (Please feel free to reveal your identity and take a bow for this one, AC, but bear in the mind the rest of you chancers - I will know if you are fibbing. And verily, you will get it.)

This poem is dedicated to Stephen Conroy, the Australian minister for Internet Censorship.

JIBBER-JABBERWOCKY

'Twas silly, as the slimy dude

Did lie to people in the news:

All flimsy were the platitudes

And the logic trail confused.

"Beware the Naked C---, my son!

The jaws that bite, the maws that catch!

Beware the big jugged bird, and shun

The curious Mandersnatch!"

He took his corporeal sword in hand:

Long time the minxsome bird he sought --

So rested he by the Cumcum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in oafish thought he stood,

The Naked C---, with heart of flame,

While grappling with the turgid wood,

Did burble as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The corporeal blade went snicker-snack!

His sword was dead, the C--- was fed,

So he made the journey back.

"And, hast thou slain the Naked C---?

Come to my arms, my righteous boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

'Twas silly, as the slimy dude

Did lie to people in the news:

All flimsy were the platitudes,

And the logic trail confused.

Since that masterpiece can never be bettered, you all might as well give up now, frankly. But since you inevitably won't, I can only suggest you do your very best not to show yourselves up in the next week, lest my cane find your backside. Mwah mwah. ®