Call the RSPCA. Alert PETA. Get the anti-whaling boats to steam north from Antarctica and stop this mindless slaughter.

Cricket is on its last legs. And to think, this shocking butchery of our national sport is no longer even taking place in the name of science.
Before the summer, we suspected the opposition were crap. By mid December, we knew it. Discussion over. Yet here we are in mid February still prodding and poking at the carcasses of West Indian and Pakistani cricket.
Yup, they’re dead, all right. Cold as a cucumber. Not even Lord Monckton could be paid to find a pulse.
As I bash my keyboard in disgust, the Windies have slumped to 8-for-bugger all in the one-dayer in Adelaide. It’s yet another no-contest in a summer of self-destruction. Suicide as spectacle.
To be truly relevant, international cricket has do at least one of the following two things:
It has to provide a contest between two reasonably competent teams. Failing that, it must entertain.
Both Pakistan and the Windies have totally failed on both counts, which is just one reason why the Big Bash (interstate T20 competition) has been the hit of the summer.
None of this is to rubbish Test or One Day cricket in favour of T20. That’s a debate for another day.
The simple fact is, this summer of cricket has been flatter than the Nullarbor. What, you might well ask, was Cricket Australia thinking when it decided to serve up the two worst nations of cricket’s Big Eight as the summer’s main fare?
I love cricket and I love watching Australia play, anytime, anywhere. But really, things are getting so desperate, I’m thinking of buying one of those incredibly rare lithographs Tony Greig is hocking. Geez, better get in soon. There’s only 7,392 left.
By the way, it appears almost certain that those Minke whales down Antarctica way have baleen plates and really thick blubber. Better harpoon another 100 or so just to be sure, though.
Facebook Recommendations
Read all about it
Punch live
Up to the minute Twitter chatter
RT @lillithtitania: Pictures show Adolf Hitler practising poses for his speeches - and relaxing in lederhosen http://t.co/7Idp5dWY via @news_com_au
Recent posts
The latest and greatest
ICB: If I could offer you only one tip for the future…
Welcome to this week’s I Call Bullshit, an irregular regular column on calumny and codswallop.…
Six prominent Aussies with a case of the dreaded “yips”
The yips. It’s an old golf term which refers to golfers who lose the ability to putt. They stand…
The humourless hysteria of the holier-than-thou
In I Spit On Your Grave, a young woman is gang raped in a remote woodland. She is beaten and tortured…
Nosebleed Section
choice ringside rantings
From: Punch on: Open thread 09/02/2012
marley says:
I'm one of the older ones, so I've certainly seen a few changes in my time. When I started school I learned to write with a nib pen, dipped in an inkwell (no, I'm not kidding). My mother became a dab hand at getting inkstains out of my clothes. Flicking ink at one another in the classroom was an essential… [read more]From: I’d rather have a piece of toast than listen to crap lyrics
Erick says:
Led Zeppelin are responsible for my all-time favourite mixed metaphor: "There you sit, sit and stare, like a book on a shelf rusting." (Misty Mountain Hop) I laugh every time I hear it. Hmmm, I believe I've decided what to play on the way to work today. [read more]Gentle jabs to the ribs
No wuckin forries. These nuckin futs are tuckin fops
Well, puck me with a fitchfork. The F-word is apparently an acceptable part of Australian speech. That’s… Read more
Most commented