Honestly?

What is honesty?
A faint concept of truth. Truth interpreted through ones mind in a fashion so vivid, it becomes seething, icy pain.

Honesty is a curse. It pains us to hold it all in. Completely subservient to the needs of the conscience. Honesty, nay! TRUTH! That's what I meant!

The truth is what pains us. TRUTH is the curse. It lies beneath our skin, seeking release. Yet we hold it in, despite the pain. Because we believe that greater pain will come if TRUTH is released from its living cage.

The conduit of TRUTH, is HONESTY.

Honesty invites greater pain. But does that matter if the soul is cleansed of pain?

Then, and only then, we ask... Why should we fear pain?

Good people. Another arbitrary orbit around the yellow star that we know as the Life-Giver will soon pass. It is a wonder our entire lives are planned by it.

Even the thundering wildebeests heed the waning light for the countless orbits around the Life-Giver.

Without knowing. Without questioning.

And so we mark the end of the year as the end of another chapter of our short lives.

This is a time of reflection. Though time for reflection may be found throughout the year. This is a special moment of reflection.

For some, it marks the beginning of a new chapter. For others, it means another year to waste. For the courageous, new battles await.

For the honourable, it means more time to resume the Noble Purpose.

A force that drives us from within. Unnameable. Unfathomable. Unexplainable (but many enigmatic souls have tried).

Burst into torrid cynicism if you want about this post. I know I am not a smart man.

I don't want to be smart.

I am only smart enough, to aspire to be wise.

And here is proof I am an idiot.
Sixteen (16) roti canais in one go with four friends. The fourth guy didn't want to be remembered in this fashion by his grandchildren.

He still ate with us.

To Fill the Banks

New words: Subedit, Teasel, Repine, Bumptious, Plaice, Slake,Verisimilitude, Stucco, Asinine, Liszt.

I respectfully bequest thy forgiveness, for thou hast been betrayed. Tardiness is inexcusable and I seek the most severest of punishment thou may dream of.

Seriously, I have been quite busy. With the affairs at my tech company at full steam (after a hibernation period long enough to remove Harith Iskandar's barrel of oil), and the inevitable cleanup of my room which has become a top rated 5 star hotel for rats and roaches after the disaster known as the STPM, I find myself starved of time to read my 60 or so e-mails... Let alone blog.

But you aren't here to hear my wimpers about my life... You are here because you are bored out of your mind and someone pushed you with a hot rod up your arse to this site.

I sincerely thank you.

Now, onwards Brother.

Flooding Everywhere as Planned
Last week, A Stray World sent a bunch of my new minions into the new Inbound-Oceans of Malaysia (trademark pending).

Of the six, one was killed by drinking too much bottled water.

The second was killed by irate villagers when he used up the flooded towns only source of energy while charging his laptop to play Warcraft.

The third was dismissed after he began eating the two dead journalists with mayonnaise. The company simply cannot afford to subsidise unhealthy condiments.

The fourth quit to protest the dismissal.

The fifth killed the sixth to claim the cash bounty I offered.

Finally, I had to terminate her because she still watches Survivor.

So of I went alone. Trudging through mudflats and rivers to some flooded village in East Malaysia.

The sight, as usual, was depressing. No open mamak stalls! What a travesty. A few villagers offered me their services for cash, but I declined as the authorities have advised about talking frankly and truthfully with the public.

Not more than six hundred kilometres away, I was warmly greeted by the grossly overpaid nephew of the local state assemblyman at his dry and cosy villa. "This way tuan," ushered the tuxedo toting youth.

With a genuine smile, the assemblyman, Mr Lam Bhat Dah, shook my hands and drew out a wooden chair adorned with ancestral carvings. "So, have you done it?"

"Yeah. I have visited the villagers."

"And?"

"And they pointed me this way."

"Don't joke around. What did you get?"

"I got athlete's foot from trudging though all that water. But don't worry, I don't think you are at any risk."

"Look here!" One finger on my chest, Mr Lam breathing heavily. "Have you delivered the posters?"

"Yes, I can see there is a leech attached to my chest! But what does that have to do with delivering posters for you."

"The general election of course! This is the only real chance I get to show people I actually give a damn!"

""What about actually preventing these floods from occurring in the first place? Wouldn't that show people you care?"

"Of course not. Who the hell remembers which minister forbidding hillside development, illegal logging, and restrictions on riverside developments? The rakyat only remembers the ministers who visit flood victims, fire victims, and heart-transplant patients."

"Are you saying these floods were preventable?"

"Of course they were. Let me tell you something. There are no such things as natural disasters. Only environmental hazards. What we are doing has everything to do with deliberate manipulation of environmental hazards so they may become what we call 'natural disasters'. After that, we can make sweeping proclamations that we are the only people capable of preventing natural disasters."

"Very smart. Thank you Mr Lam. I have delivered your posters, but I think the post office won't deliver the parcels unless you pay them extra. You know, floods and all. Bye"

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Now playing: Yui Horie - LIFE (PV Rip)
via FoxyTunes unhealthy condiments.

Rallying or Railing?

New words: Plainspoken, Erne, Lea, Cuckold, Busker, Spackle, Esparto, Mendacious, Frisson, Perchance, Sloop.

Foreword: As promised, here is the last of this weeks articles. Due to time constraints (I have been attending band practices so I may enter the annual Battle of the Bands competition... For the very last time), I will combine the two Bersih and Hindraf protests and others of the same ilk into a single article.

March of the Lawyers
A few months ago, lawyers took to the streets of Kuala Lumpur to demand justice. Consequently, hell froze over (but a quick injection of American-bought Saudi-fossil-fuel kick-started the soul torturing furnace once more).

This all boiled down to a very simple issue of judicial impartiality, or rather, lack of.

I don't need to state the seriousness of this issue. Without impartiality in the Judiciary, we are at the mercy of an unchecked and unbridled Executive. Until 1988, the Judiciary was among the most respectable institutions of its kind in the region.

Now, it is not only vulnerable, it is corruptible.

However, our good friend in Parliament, MP Nazri Aziz has saw fit to not only condemn the actions of the Bar, but to obfuscate its true purpose by claiming Opposition aping.

The true purpose of any rally is to show a united face, especially when facing an enemy whose position in power would prevent any other (legal) means of meaningful protest.

Bersih
Not all marches are altruistic in nature.

And so, we have the Opposition linked Bersih, which is calling for free and fair elections.

So they gather all these people to demand:

• Use of indelible ink in future elections;
• Clean-up of Registered Voters Roll;
• Abolition of postal votes;
• Access to the Government controlled print and broadcast media for Opposition Parties.

The first of their demands has been met. In truth, indelible ink as an issue was already non-existent (2nd June 2007) by the time the fine folks marched for it (10th November 2007).

The second demand, quite reasonable. But evidence of such acts have amounted to nothing more than rumours, wild claims, and speculation. Unless the Opposition acquires solid evidence (like the now infamous lawyer video), they won't be doing much except perhaps embarrassing themselves.

The third demand is ridiculous, plain and simple. If, as they claimed, the bosses of civil servants overseas would browbeat their subordinates to vote in a certain fashion, the Opposition should be making a claim of infringement of the Constitution.

They should be demanding a permanent solution to this problem that won't allow any government-paid civil servant to force his subordinates to essentially, vote to keep him in power.

Under Article 5 of the Malaysian Constitution,

No person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty save in accordance with law.

Voting for the political party of your choice is a form of liberty. It can thus be argued, that a loss of free will in voting would amount to gross infringement of this clause in the Constitution.

And Article 6:

No person shall be held in slavery.

I admit, I may be pushing the clauses of the Constitution to the limit here, but as I recall, slaves weren't allowed to vote.

Every citizen deserves a right to vote. It should never be rescinded in such fashion. And because of the way the Opposition has put forth such argument, their motives are suspect to say the least.

Hindraf
Now we descend to the ludicrous. But ludicrous with a caveat.

So we got this group of ethnic Indians, see? Demanding in a nutshell, for the Queen of England and Great Britain, to appoint a Queen's Counsel, to sue Her Royal Highness, the Queen of England, for bringing indentured Indians into Malaysia.

Now, anyone would be quick to dismiss this as pure naivety. Who the hell would pay anyone to sue themselves? Particularly with the added claims of ethnic cleansing.

But who is reporting the news? The Malaysian media. And they aren't being very impartial about it.

• Three policemen wounded.
• Demonstrations turn violent.
• Temples damaged.

Okay. Firstly, you can never ever claim widespread violence if only THREE people have been hurt. What about the figures for the protesters?

The government even claims the violence began on the protesters side, forcing them to disperse the crowd with tear gas and water cannons. This may be true, however, the circumstances of the report on TV3 news would suggest government forces acted first, when they reported police forces were "forced" into using water cannons and tear gas to "disperse" the intransigent crowd.

Read between the lines, brothers and sisters.

And the temples in Batu Caves were not damaged.

Until I researched this story myself online, I did not even realise the amount of obfuscation employed by the government to gag the media and pull a fast one over the public.

However, my opinion still stands: Hindraf as an institution for justice in ludicrous.

It is borderline terrorist in its claims. Ethnic cleansing? Do they even know its definition?

What happened was simply a happy confluence of greed (Hindraf promised RM1mil settlements to every individual who signed up), ignorance, and frustration.

The two latter factors though, are the result of one man:
Sami Vellu.

He is the old man of politics, and therefore, has loss touch with the new generation of Indian voters.

Indians are like any people, they have diverse views on a myriad of subjects. Unfortunately, their views cannot be expressed as long as that man remains in power in the MIC.

Which is why we now see a general mushrooming of Indian based parties.

Racial politics is negative politics. It dilutes the strength of a community.

Racial politics coupled with differing ideologies further divides. Eventually, any form of power accumulated amounts to a teacup of salt collected from a jug of seawater.

This is the caveat. Frustration, not reason, brought the majority of Indians to march with Hindraf.

Without a genuine outlet to voice their concerns, which include education, religion, human rights, and such, people, not only Indians will gladly accept any opportunity to stick it to the man.

March To the Streets!
To resolve these so called "un-Malaysian" behaviour, one must first realise demonstrations are in our blood. The pre-independence marches for one brought about change in government.

Like it or not, the British colonial masters were legitimate leaders of then Malaya. Ah, the power of treaties...

So one could argue without pro-independence marches, and by going through the slow bureaucratic Colonial masters, we would still be working under the Union Jack today.

These are the permanent ways to resolve the issue of "illegal" gatherings as I see it:

• Education on the rights of citizens to march, how to march, and why people march;
• ACCEPTANCE by the government that democracy means Freedom of Expression;
• Maturity on the part of the citizens regarding the state of affairs of their respective communities. Do these people who claim to have been subjected to immense bias have ulterior motives to their actions?
• Maturity on the part of the people that at the end of the day, globalization will eventually bring racial politics to an end. We should not focus on differences in genealogy and skin tone. But in opinion.

Until then, enjoy your roti canais before they too become a source of political controversy.
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Now playing: Delgados - The Light Before We Land
via FoxyTunes

LIVE FROM somewhere, ITS A STRAY WORLD

New Words: Lisle, Gratis, Curacao, Errata, Comport, Cheapjacks, Corrigenda.

Returning to our weekly schedule, your very own unknown reporter lost in a sandstorm of blogs, A Stray World.

Because of my now relatively free weekday evenings, I shall divide the blog posts of the week into three separate postings.

So, a quick recap of the most prominent events (of the real variety) which decided to happen while I was spending less time blogging.

• Cosmonaut from Malaysia;
• BERSIH parade;
• HINDRAF march.

The Angkasawan (technically cosmonaut)

A long, long time ago, Malaysians would gaze into space and wonder...

How much money would they need to fork out to purchase sky-torching fireworks from the black market?

Then they would wonder: "How many rockets would meet their spectacular demise in the heavens before the local neighbour calls the police?"

Now, Malaysians can finally look into the sky and wonder: "How many inferior Russian jets must we buy before we get another free ride into space?"

Then after hearing our wise leaders praise the cosmonaut we have sent into space as the greatest achievement since we sent a delegation to London to demand independence - Malaysians wonder: "Who the hell are they kidding?"

First of all, I wish to point out I am a great supporter of this "Malaysian" space programme. There is only so much newspapers, magazines, television, the Internet, word-of-mouth, radio, teachers and scientists can do to promote the study of cosmic science to the Akademi Fantasia/American Idol/Amazing Race/One in a Million/Love Perhaps?/Deal or no Deal crazed lunatics who make up the majority of our nation's youth.

Spend a few billion ringgit on Russian jets we can't even pronounce without thinking of Stalin, then launching a Malaysian into space for a once in a subprime mortgage crisis lifetime, and suddenly, the whole of Malaysia is abuzz with talks on solar storms and Soyuz.

Too bad that was only confined to the people who could look beyond the religious/racial/nationalistic political bigotry connotations of the entire fiasco.

Firstly, the event itself was heavily promoted.

"A Malaysian First!"

"Congratulations!"

"We have reached the stars!"

There is a (officially unrecognised) term known as overhyping. Hyping the benefits of the space programme alone in a non-descript purely scientific method of nation building would have been enough. But the government, wanting to justify the huge expenditure in taxpayer money, decided to turn this into a full blown Malaysian campaign for galactic presidency.

As a result, this turned the entire noble endeavour into nothing less than a political farce. Everything is always clearer in hindsight, which is to say the government has played its cards right, though it was oh so wrong.

By calling this a national project, they are saying it's a Malaysian project = Malay project.

Anyone who would dare speak out would be called a traitor. An unpatriotic turd who should move to America. Someone who doesn't understand the social contract laid down by our forefathers. That should shut the flap of the moderates who only want fair debate.

Unfortunately, the debate works in a God/Agnostic fashion.

Agnostic: I don't believe there is a god, because I don't see the evidence.
Priest: God is present everywhere. But you must believe in Him to see Him.
Agnostic: That's a Catch-22 situation mate.

Eventually, we reach this period of complete apathy, where the beloved people have forgotten the entire issue.

Come on! You should have seen this coming!

Do you still recall the High Performance Centre fiasco. Thank goodness those Londeners know better than to let Malaysians build something on their land.

They would probably attempt to bribe the local officials to fast-track the Environmental Impact Assessment, which would result in an elaborate cover-up, which will eventually stick out like rotten fish among cream cheese when the Thames becomes the largest sewage dump in Great Britain, and bring about a long and unnecessary diplomatic row between Malaysia and Great Britain.

So while I still support the Malaysian cosmonaut, let's take a step back, analyse the issue, cease this perfectly embarrassing "angkasawan" branding blitz, and start our real pursuit to reach the heavens.


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Now playing: Hirano Aya - Lost My Music
via FoxyTunes

Post 70

New Words: Commode, Clapboard, Waist coat, Bustier top, Tot, Footbridge, Pall, Tattle, Toxophilite, Cooper.

A minor problem here.

More like a distraction from the serious work.

The STPM is almost here, and thus I need to take a three month break from cyberspace to concentrate (or at least, spend more time) on my studies.

The phrase "meaningless work" doesn't ring any truer than the past few days, where I am expected to work really hard to memorise stuff I presume would be of no help to me later in life.

However, there is no use griping about it now. Because I have already come this far.

Let's end it.

Merdeka 50

New Words: Thaumaturge, Timorous, Toroidal, Aril.

The big five-oh. For some women, a valid excuse to increase ones age by three to five years. After all, a middle age crisis is something most people would rather avoid.

In this case, it's to act as if we have been there and done that. Thus, rendering the event insignificant.

Now, to business.

You folks know how this blog works. I pen my thoughts through news items twisted into a slightly funnier form. Unfortunately, like every episode of Extras, this means we are actually amused by the most horrible of crimes. From the rape of the rainforests, to the cutting down of women's and children's rights, it is a wonder people would approve of my method of public discourse.

By approve you did. And I do wonder if that's a good thing.

This week, we will celebrate 50 years of nationhood.

For a very long time, I have been doing nothing else on this blog but write about the bad things that go on around us, and frankly, it is getting rather depressing. So this time, for this year's Merdeka entry, I will highlight the good things in our country.

Although some of them may not actually be a good thing, like Mahathir returning to politics, they have turned out otherwise.

Yasmin Ahmad
Quite possibly the best thing to happen to Malaysian media after P. Ramlee.

It was quite subtle. First we got those wonderful Petronas commercials, which weren't really commercials. Watching them at the right time would send chills down my spine, and even bring me to the point of tears.

Even after half a dozen years, they are still being aired on television. Five minute commercials that do more for uniting us than a five hour press conference by Barisan National politicians.

I have enjoyed two of her films to date, Sepet and Gubra.

For all I know, I could be the only guy in school to watch both movies. Which is a real pity.

Freedom of Speech
Think about it. We do actually have a greater advantage than the Americans when it comes to free speech.

Due to several sweeping laws, the US government now has the almost God-like powers to check e-mail, tap phone lines and other methods of communications throughout the country without needing to get the tiresome but necessary court order.

And let us not forget, the US government brandishes the word "Unpatriotic" like garlic before a horde of vampires if anyone should protest.

Here in Malaysia, we can count of our inept and lazy enforcers to sip kopi-o and talk about moving their fat arses off the mamak stall into the streets to haul in some poor soul who wrote Allah and bomb in the same sentence.

Unless you do something seriously brainless, like say, singing a rap song to the mashup of Negaraku with your face on display without bothering to apply makeup - you are safe to express whatever you want.without fear of public lynching.

Because, the guys you are so willing to punch out, aren't exactly too thrilled about their positions either.

Fashion Free
Unlike some place like Paris for instance. We don't need to bother about our dressing. Anything goes in Malaysia, in fact, my mum wears her hand-sewn clothes to work.

Granted, not captivating enough.

How about walking into a posh restaurant in generic t-shits and shorts (and slippers) to order beef steak.
Sure, some places don't allow certain kind of clothing. Particularly if you are female and have two large brains. But overall, you can get away with clothing skimpier than a Gwen Stefani costume at a Malaysian concert.

Food
Enough said.

Happy 50.
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Now playing: Giovanni Mirabassi - Le Chante Pour Passer Le Temps
via FoxyTunes

Corroded Baby

New Words: Kvetch, Bunting, Orrery, Apotheosis, Emmenagogue, Chevon, Cabrito, Capretto.

This week on A Stray World:

• Proton Persona Revealed, Best Designs Withdrawn;
• Student Rapper Apologizes, Government Declares Victory Over Internet.

The New Car
Unveiling a new model is always a testy affair, as the folks of Proton know really well. Since their revolutionary Gen.2, which has contributed to the success of the company in generating operational losses, the overpaid car designers at Proton have unveiled their most daring take on car design yet, the Persona.

Here's the lowdown of what you could have expected from the people at Proton:

Firstly, the Persona will be the first ever car in the history of Proton to be marginally more comfortable than a bull-carriage with straw padding. After years of annoying user comments, the engineers have finally consented to improving the vehicle's handling so the process of talking on the cellphone with one hand on the wheel while calming the children in the back-seat will now be an easy matter of turning one's attention to the redesigned front seats and fabric-lined door panels. Apparently, internal studies have concluded that listening to user comments about the unattractive design may result in better customer feedback.

Secondly, the Persona was the first ever national car to have an onboard ion engine. This next-next generation system of powering Persona offers the cleanest method possible to wean us off Middle-Eastern oil. Unfortunately, the instant explosion of an engineer who was working on the exhaust pipe caused Proton to revert to the hybrid engine VW lent them for trial purposes. A second mishap however, involving the appointment of inept and short-sighted management, caused the company to reel in this slightly less polluting design as well. This means the new Proton will be running on fossil-fuel until further notice.

Thirdly, the Persona will be the safest drivable Proton car to date. Unlike the cardboard reinforced bamboo paper Wira it will be replacing, the Persona comes armoured in basic aluminium and steel. Making it utterly outstanding in its consistent approach to boring and dead design. While global competitors are exploring space-age material such as lightweight carbon-fibre and nanotech-powered paint, Proton has decided to stay relatively traditional to appeal to Malaysian drivers (their core customers) who enjoy risking their lives and the lives of those fortunate enough to share the experience with them.

Finally, the Persona is only the tip of the proverbial landmines of future Proton cars. Once you step on the accelerator, there is no turning back. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the explosive force that will send you through the viewscreen like manure dipped into liquid nitrogen when you realise the breaks aren't all they are made up to be.

The Apology of the Parody Blogger
The young man who was stupid enough to show his face while singing an ode the the nation to the tune of Negaraku has apologised for the uproar he caused, bringing an end to what could have been a dangerously meaningful debate on corruption in the police force and the relevance of racial policies that mean zilch in the age of globalization.

"Ha, ha. We win," said Mr. P, a government official as he raised his fist in celebration. "This is not just a victory for racial sensitivities, but also for freedom of censorship and power over the Internet, which until this week, was said to be greater than that of the government."

"We have shown them whose the boss. Next item, which really is the previous item, political blogs."

While the optimistic official contemplates whether to break a religious taboo in front of a blogging reporter, I kindly reminded him the video can still be found on many other sites on the web.

"So what. We will shut them down too," said he, even though that's technically impossible as what gets attention on the net, stays on the net. Besides, the new purveyors of the video are smart enough to conceal their identities.

"So what? We will just shut down the Internat," said he, before tucking into a sumptuous meal paid bought using public funds taxed from the people. Steadfastly ignoring any further questions.
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Now playing: Steve Conte - Nowhere and Everywhere
via FoxyTunes

Immeasurable Sympathy

New words: Endogenous, Exogenous, Diegetic, Harangue, Pantheism.

This week on A Stray World:

• 1300 Penang Taxis Strike, Public Stunned by Non-news

Earlier this week, the Penang Federation of Taxi Drivers Association (PFTDA) went on a short lived strike to protest against what they deemed to be unfair harassment from the big men in big suits.

About 1300 cab drivers from the PFTDA showed undying loyalty to the manifestation of the phenomenon which will forever live on as "The Totally Meaningless & Forgettable Day without Penang Cabs". This brotherly loyalty can still be observed today in the taxi driver's staunch stance against taxi metres.

Unfortunately, their efforts and undying love for one another has been in vain, for the majority of the public have completely ignored this event.

"These stupid people and their stupid rules!" Ah Rod bellows, proud cab driver and member of the Taxi Association of Penang Against the Meter (Tax-AssPAiM). "We don't want your stupid rules saying we have use meters and where proper uniforms."

"I own this ruby-red jewel of god," he says, pointing towards a recently repainted Proton Saga. A much celebrated antique model from 1990. "It is my right to wear what I want and to charge as I please for this is MY CAR!"

"Now what do the public know about our plight? Here we are eking out a living by driving you to your destinations in our cars and you have the gall to tell us how we should ask you to pay up and what we should wear?"

"After suffering for so long, we finally organized a strike to tell everyone we won't take this anymore. YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"

"And what do the public do? They have the bloody nerve to take the bus or carpool to work! We had to end our strike after one day because the public would not support us."

Among the reasons sited for the lack of public support were the absolute non-commitment of commuters to take an unpaid leave to share drinks with taxi drivers at nasi lemak stalls, and ungrateful media reporters who have forgotten the numerous times cab drivers have been asked to "Follow that car!".

A city official though, begs to differ.

"This shows the people are undeniably apathetic towards taxi drivers in Penang," states Encik Some Sudu In. "If they were dependent upon taxis for daily commute, we wouldn't be seeing the great rise in the number of personal transport. And more tellingly, we would have received hundreds of thousands of emails other than spam calling us insensitive pigs for harming the innocent, ever client friendly taxi driver."

These are what some had to say about the strike:

MT, student: "My neighbour is a taxi driver. I don't like him. So I keyed his car while he was on strike."

Veronica, tourist: "I only trust Bali taxis. So I made my boss buy me a car while I was on holiday."

Kim, office clerk: "I usually avoid taxis for no other reason other then my intense dislike of them."

Wong, retired: "I have nothing to do, so sometimes I go into a cab and pretend I am a tourist out to kill someone. The cab drivers will always drop me of halfway without demanding pay. I must admit, one day without blowing their minds is quite intolerable and I hope they don't do it again.

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Now playing: SNoW - NightmaRe (final mix)
via FoxyTunes

Sphere of Nadir

New words: Plamp, Gewgaw, Gimcrack, Pareo, Bandeau.

This week on, A Stray World,

• Malaysians inspired by Iraqi win, plans to commit acts of terror.

This month has seen its fair share of Malaysian sportsmen achieving their fair share of worldly recognition. From Nicol David and her recent double win in less than two weeks, to the abysmal performance of the Malaysian football squad, to the little known Ibrahim bin Amir who progressed to the finals of the Asian 9-Ball tour.

In all the clamour for ratings and attention, it is very apparent that the Malaysian football team wishes to draw as little attention to itself as possible. That will soon change if a group of patriotic students get their way.

"We are going to blow up Parliament," said the spokeswoman for the Death for Football Soccer Club. Clad in a full length burqa and face veil, she juggles what looks like a packet of plastic explosives wrapped in newspaper clippings of fan mail to the Malaysian football team.

"So unambitious," said the man to her right, identified as a nobody insurance salesman. "I am going to destroy Bukit Jalil Stadium. That's sure to make an impact."

You are probably wondering why these mediocre examples of successful Malaysians are planning acts of terror.

"We are great supporters of the Malaysian football team. All my life, I have been a supporter of Penang. I have never watched an English Premiership match and I have never donned the colours of any foreign football club t-shirt," said the burqa clad spokeswoman. "So it was a gut wrenching experience watching our national squad fall to pieces during the Asian Cup. But the good news was, Iraq won the damn tournament!"

"That gave us ideas. Since the Malaysian government is totally useless in building a proper football team, we, the people of Malaysia, will take up arms, like the Iraqis, to build our own brand of tough-as-nails, never-say-die football players."

"We have everything planned out. First, we will destroy or attempt to destroy every single prominent building or structure in Malaysia. Then, suicide bombers will blow themselves up every day at densely populated areas."

"Then, we will plant explosives in the fields of every single stadium in every state. Hopefully, this will result in the dismemberment of the entire football management which will result in extreme chaos that will, with the grace of god, plunge the country into a pseudo-nuclear holocaust."

"Our talented football players will then, have no choice but to pack their bags and ply their trade in other countries like Indonesia, Vietnam, and Thailand. I am sure they will be treated with the minimal respect and dignity United Nations certified asylum seekers expect in this country."

"While we continue our patriotic acts of terror in the Peninsula, our foreign based football players will have garnered enough skill and experienced enough hardship to finally unite as a team for regular training sessions under a foreign coach in Thailand."

"By then, whether they like it or not, they will become the shining beacon of a civil-war torn country. Their every action will be heavily scrutinized, and every win punctuated by deadly gunfire into the heavens."

"Then, they will go on to win the World Cup, which will unite the entire country under the banner of peace through sports."

"Hopefully, I will be able to shed tears of joy when we finally win the coveted trophy four years after we begin our campaign of patriotic destruction."
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Now playing: LAST ALLIANCE - Shissou
via FoxyTunes

Tainted Redemption

New Words: Corral, Codger, Nacreous, Gusset, Univoltiine, Edaphic, Fasciculation.

This week on A Stray World...

It wasn't even a particularly interesting subject, but the school people brought in some people from the SPCA. Little fluffy balls of cuteness interspersed with pictures of diseased dogs with cigarette burns.

I was drawn to a crowd of my fellow classmates, around a blown-up picture of a cat with its intestines leaking from its tummy. Its eyes, stretched to thin lines of pain. Though I felt something like horror, I wanted to take a closer look, and pushed myself further into the crowd.

Through collective exclamations of disgust and laughter, I picked out Fry's voice, a nickname he earned from his slick, greasy way with people.

For some unknown reason, he waded through the crowd and shoved me in the chest, saying I was too young for this. He was barely two months my senior!

I was angry, and justifiably so. Why should I stand in a corner when everyone else was tracing the length of the intestine with their oily fingers?

More students were filing into the cramped hall, and our class had to leave. Filled with rage, I ran all the way back to class, or wanted too, but was once again stopped by Fry.

I can only speculate it was for his own amusement, but he had leapt onto my bicycle parked outside the classroom of my little brother. He gestured at me with a mischievous grin.

Rage unlike any other poured forth into my 10-year-old body, imbuing me with the strength to grab the bully by the throat before he could even raise his hands. Everything happened in slow motion, and I was rendered into an impartial observer, while my body acted on its own accord. Dancing to the pulsating melodies of hormones and unbridled emotion.

I pushed him into the glass windows, and the glass cracked. “Not like Jackie Chan.” I remember thinking. The bicycle fell under him and I stumbled.

The element of surprise though, was gone. And Fry, larger and taller than me, effortlessly shoved me onto the ground.

When my back hit the ground, it felt as if someone had shone a high-intensity light-bulb into my face while I was dreaming. Momentarily stunned and fearful.

Knowing what Fry would do, no longer as angry, but nearly as frightened, I kick my fallen bicycle and some part of it caught his oncoming foot. He stumbled and fell.

I got up, ready to run, or fight. But Fry didn't get up.

Cautiously, I moved over to the the red pool growing from the steady drips coming from the bicycle's handlebars.

Someone grabbed me from behind, strong hands wrapped around my body, locking my arms to my side. It was Black Man, my favourite teacher in the entire school. His face was grim, and his eyes looked not at his captor, but at the three or four teachers gathered around Fry.

I heard the words “hospital”, “dead”, and “eye”. Three words that built into a mountain of ice squeezed into a lead weight that now resided in my stomach.

I wanted to say “Sorry”. I couldn't.

Black Man picked me up like a helium balloon and we went to the principal's office.

Again, I wanted to say sorry, but another voice took over. It screamed and yelled my innocence.

“He started it teacher!”

“He sat on my bike!”

“Teacher, he wouldn't let me look at the pictures!”

They ring hollow now.

10 was too young an age for me to understand mandatory death. I asked my father on the way to court what mandatory meant. He didn't reply. Instead, he started reading aloud an Enid Blyton storybook. My mother, who sat beside me, looked out of the police van's window thoughtfully. Her hands rubbing my back in loving, concentric circles.

It was not deliberate, but unintentionally, they were telling me I would be alone.

That was twelve years ago. Then, I could barely reach the keyhole of my cell. Now, I can touch the black ceiling of my cramped prison quarters.

Apart from the prison wardens who sometimes double as my teachers, my parents were my only visitors, and nearly my only correspondence.

I once received a letter from Fry's mother. She cursed me and wished me dead. The words described the many levels of hell I would visit for taking away her son. One of them was to be killed the same way I had killed Fry, with the pointed handlebars of my bike jammed into the right eye. But repeated, again and again, for 100 years.

When I showed that letter to my parents when they visited me in prison, they asked the prison wardens to screen all letters (except theirs) addressed to me. And that was how I lost my childhood friends; at least, the remaining ones who had not taken to heart my former teachers' description of me being a naughty, bad boy.

I was still 10 years old then.

I can't really say I am a changed man. Perhaps I am. Because I am incapable of becoming angry at anyone anymore. No. Maybe it's because I am afraid of becoming angry.

Every night except for a few dreamless nights, I would find myself facing Fry, outside my little brother's classroom, with that mischievous grin.

And every night, I would say sorry, and walk away to another sunless morning. Knowing he would be back tomorrow night.

I want to die. But Mr Raj, my prison mentor, said I had to live. To live so I may do good and be forgiven by the gods.

When my shadow finally left the sprawling fortress of silence after twelve, I find myself not living to be pardoned by the gods, but hoping for the late reply from Fry's mother to my letter, sent when I was 10-years-old:

“I am sorry I killed Fry. Please forgive me, I want to go home.”

World Music Festival 2007

New Words: Mediumism, Aspidistra

A bit late, but this week on A Stray World, a very special weekend report.

Friday
I have never before had the opportunity to witness first-hand, world music. For years, I have had to be content with listening to remixed tribal music, African chants, and other healthy examples of culture rape on television. The most authentic world music Astro can manage are squeeze into Discovery Channel and the National Geographic Channel.

For example, Mongolian throat singers on Discovery Travel and Living,

But on Friday, I finally got my big break. The musicians were coming to Penang. From the fiddlers of Portland, Oregan, to the talking drums of Burkina Faso, they all came for one big all night party! To spread the music and show everyone that commercially manufactured factory idols are not the only dominant voice of sound today.

I was there by more or less 1800 hours, Quarry Gardens. It didn't take long to find the prime seats, a row of raised rubble held into a rectangular train by cement had an opening in the middle; right smack in between the two stages. As it was being held in an outdoor park, with all the inanities of Malaysian caprice, good seats were hard to come by; so it was rather surprising that no one else had filled those seats.

There were very few people around, which made me wonder whether reports of the four thousand sold tickets were merely rumours to generate hype for Visit Malaysia 2007. The sudden light drizzle drove those thoughts away, as umbrellas mushroomed from the fields.

There I stayed, watching time shoot past the scheduled opening act, which would not come until 1930 hours. One hour late.

I wouldn't patronise them by saying it was worth the wait and wetness. However, there was much one could find charming about Darsa, the East Malaysian aborigines with their unique dulcets, screams, and bird calls accompanied by traditional instruments that brought one closer to the forest and sea that they called home.

Then, before the appreciative applause died down, strange deep husky voices reverberated throughout the field. There they were, on Stage 2! The unexpected appearance of throat-singers from Tuva! The printing mistakes in the schedules were soon forgotten as the four throat-singers began their strange, alien song. Closing my eyes, I could see their voices were telling of the land of yellow grass plains, that would melt away into snow, white and warm. Then plunge into a ravine, walls of rushing water on both sides cascading into a wide river that began nowhere and ended nowhere.

I considered that my ticket price redeemed.

More goodies were to come, the energetic Solomon Island pan-pipers had arrived. They dance and played gigantic bamboo panpipes. With pulsating drums, spirited dancing, and enthusiastic singing, they started to snip loose the threads of inhibition holding the crowd from joining the festivities.

The catchy fast paced music and driven performance soon had the crowd on their feet. And with a dozen half naked dudes on stage strutting their muscular legs and tone biceps, the more party-ready portions of the audience soon made their way up front to participate in some tribal dancing.

The momentum was however, cut short by the next performance, Malay Drums. While it was an admirable performance, with an impressive demonstration of circular breathing by the serunai maestro, it was a bit of a let-down, as the crowd was quite prepared to do some much needed square-dancing to forget the drizzle that was fast becoming a storm.

Americans to the rescue! Hailing from Portland, Oregan, (now on Stage 1)the Foghorn Stringband! A mixture of Midwest, Appalachian mountain music and Bluegrass, their quick fiddling, typical spirited playing soon got the party started. Shedding all inhibitions, everyone started dancing in the rain. Everyone but those who had good seats, like me.

It didn't matter that the Americans used up a lot more time than was necessary (at close to 40 minutes), the crowd were lapping up every moment, constantly asking for more. The repetitive tunes were little to no difference from one tune to the other was however, getting on my nerves.

With a final slash of the violin, we finally left America for Italy. They kept saying Palermo, so I will hazard the Tammorra Special were from that said province on Italy as well. They kick-started the event with two HUMUNGOUS tambourines; each almost as large as the Italians playing them. I have developed quite a liking for Italian music, so it wasn't with great effort that I found myself clapping to the music.

Meanwhile, the crowd of dance addicts had made their way to Stage 2.

Unexpectedly, one of the Italians came forward with a single tambourine – a normal sized one – and began playing a TAMBOURINE SOLO! The way his hands danced around the instrument elevated the folk music status of the membranous device to the epitome of musical godhood. He made the tambourine look, and sound, cool!

Too bad they had to cut short their performance. But it was getting rather late. I can only find fault with the organizers who had started the event one hour late. The logic was understandable. Malaysians, known for inveterate procrastination, would only arrive some hours later than what was decided.

True enough, Quarry gardens was soon choke full of bipeds, some time around 2100 hours.

That didn't matter anymore, the final denouement was at hand. From Burkina Faso – Farafina!

Two gigantic xylophones that weren't xylophones, talking drums, and an assortment of other exotic instruments began to cry their ecstatic beats with melodious violence. Two of the six members, a man who did most of the speaking and singing, and a woman, playing African instruments and dancing with the frenzy of a hurricane played to the crowd.

It was a mad rush to midnight, and whatever reservations I had about missing The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya were soon overpowered by a group of black girls screaming Africa behind me.

Soon, all too soon. It was over. The end of a great party, sans disco music.

Power to the People

New Words: Lexeme, Ersatz, Discombobulate, Gutty, Moxie, Inveterate, Orgiastic, Abnegation, Opprobrium, Trollop.

This week on A Stray World,

I, Rewarp, offer you, the reader, the once in a lifetime opportunity to change the course of my life for the foreseeable two years.

I have recently come into a small fortune of RM500.00 and would love to spend it on something worthwhile. Unfortunately, I have problems deciding the next course of action, so I leave it to you, the reader to decide what I should do with the money.

Here are some possibilities I have considered:

• Donate half the cash to the SPCA, throw the rest into the bank;
• Increase my investment in the Malaysian stock market (I'm too young to invest directly, so I do it through proxy);
• Purchase Wagner;
• Purchase Schubert;
• Purchase Gunslinger Girl DVD and manga;
• Get a book to learn the Japanese language;
  
• Save all my cash in the bank.
  
• Purchase Battlestar Galactica DVD.

There is absolutely no guarantee I will follow your suggestions. But due to the nature of my mind, your ultimate suggestion will remain burnt into my prefrontal cortex every time I think of the RM500.00.

Until then,
Peace be upon you.

The Science Fair

As I have promised, here is a personal account on the "Karnival Pendidikan Sains dan Teknologi", the Penang state level science fair.

My team participated in the Science / Mathematics category with our product: Guava derived anti-allergen.

And now, a day-by-day account of the 4-day event.

Day 1
So here I am, at my first science fair, as a participant.

Okay, it's a lie. If you read the Medicinal Plants Discovery Award (MPDA) entry, you can safely presume this to be my second science fair as a participant. The difference this time? There are more competitors from almost every renowned and wannabe-renown school in Penang.

Unlike the closed door MPDA competition, the JPN Science Fair was conducted in a large hall packed full of the participating schools, their products, and scientific stuff from Petroscience (ergo, brain teasers and other cool stuff. The most impressive being the gigantic gyroscope for a human victim).

Unlike the almost American Idol-like presentation for the MPDA, we were allowed to do our presentations in our native habitat, informally and in English. The judges would skulk from one stall to another, patiently hearing the participants out before skewing them with sharpened spears of interrogative questioning, aiming their violent weapons at the weakest link of the armour.

Thankfully, I thrive under pressure. Nothing gets my blood pumping, my heart racing, and my brain juices boiling, bubbling, and bursting like a group of adults with hard-hitting questions. Yes, all those episodes of House, Xplay, and Anthony Bourdain were finally paying off.

The day started off with us packing all our lab equipment into a school bus. There were only 10 of us and they booked a school bus. Not since the last few days before the SPM have I had so much leg-room to share with my fellow students.

That's the only prominent part of the trip so to spare you the burden of reading my descriptions of the hazy oceans, I will dive into the science fair itself.

There wasn't really much good I can say about our fellow competitors, then again, there is not much good I can say about our product either. But boiling used cooking oil until it becomes sap? (Are you serious?) Statistical data on the SPM results for Mathematics? (My brain just dissolved from incredulity)

There were a few exceptions. But the only one I can truly say was impressive enough to warrant an award was the team from Penang Free School that made paint (as in Nippon, ICI kind of paint) from milk.

Anyway, the judges swung by sometime close to 1200hrs and we proceeded to give a five minute dissertation on why we should win first prize. The judges then challenged our application with questions about the accuracy of our data, the active compounds within our product, and a dozen other questions which were as easily shot down as giant alien mosquitoes with machine guns.

After that ordeal, we did nothing more but await the thronging visitors who would occasionally chance upon our booth. Then, we took turns explaining how our product was created, its reason of existence, and why it will not attain enlightenment.

Just before leaving, some people holding a certain cultured-milk-drink laminated logo swung by our stall to hear us out, while placing the said laminated paper right smack in the middle of our stall. Blatant advertisement aside, I expect to see some form of royalty if they decide to use the picture for promotional purposes.

The final denouement. The chief judge came by our stall and asked us to give our product's presentation once more. Except, it had to be done by one person within three minutes, using a voice recorder. Whether or not it was within three minutes I will never know, but this anomaly in human behaviour means only one thing...

We may be competing for the top prize!

Day 2
The day began differently. Instead of heading to school, I travelled over to my teacher's apartment block. I met up with two of my juniors who were also participating in the science fair in the engineering category.

The teacher swung by in her multi-purpose-vehicle and off we went to Institut Latihan Perindustrian Kepala Batas.

Wait, have we forgotten something? Damn! My two lab partners!

No, we aren't that forgetful. They had to sit for a paid-for mathematics assessment test. So off I went alone across the haze strewn landscape, where the sky and the sea merged into a single amorphous cloud of indistinguishable white.

Fickleness in choosing our parking gave us a few laughs as we passed the scouts who were out under the cloudy sun directing traffic.

Stepping into the hall, I quickly went about the task of re-establishing our base. Construction of the filtration and distillation apparatus was completed in a heartbeat, and before I could even set my roots into a quiet spot to browse through the latest issue of Nipponia, two middle-aged ladies came by and made inquiries.

Not soon after I have attended to them, explaining the various processes and uses involved in our experiments, more people shuffled by to listen. Very soon, I found myself in an unrelenting marathon session of talks about antihistamine and steam distillation, guava and quercetin, and anything else that was relevant to the project.

It was hot, humid, and cramped. I was soon soaked all over until two Malay ladies who had come by to ask about our product flapped their booklets at me in a futile attempt to decrease my core body temperature. I was sweating so profusely, a primary school student said I was melting to a friend. Believe me, this could have been the funniest thing to happen all morning.

Somewhere in between, a Malay lady strode towards me and asked for my teacher and lab partners. While I would have sincerely wished to say my lab partners had lost their way and were now in Kuala Lumpur, I forgot the Malay words for some reason and therefore told the truth; they were going to be late but were on the way.

Anyway, the lady wanted me to pass on a message to my teacher advisor, which I did through my pet pigeon, Nokia 1100. She couldn't hear me over the loud noise blaring over the speakers, and strained her poor bleeding legs back to our stall. I passed the message and she asked whether the lady had talked to the other school teachers. I replied in the negative.

Conclusion 1: We were going to receive at least, a consolation prize.

Some time later, she came back, and broke the news. Against all the odds of racism and favouritism, we won... First Place. Well, first in our category anyway.

My initial response, continue my presentation to a bunch of primary school kids on our project. In fact, the steady amount of visitors to our stall prevented me from relaying the message of our victory to my partners who were rushing over from the island.

Not long after my partners turned up, the judges came by and gave us possibly the most beautifully ugly laminated pink paper with the number “1” printed in bold. This we proudly stuck onto the retort stand holding a filter funnel.

Somewhere in between the excitement, I decided to pay an impromptu visit to Chung Ling High School Butterworth. They had fashioned a rubbish bin that used a light sensor to control a sliding lid. Sound familiar? Well, rubbish bins that automatically open their maws to swallow our gunk have been making their sinister appearance on silver screens worldwide since the advent of sci-fi films.

Not that I am demeaning them. The design was quite ingenious. The concept simple. Like an iPod Shuffle with only the “Play” button attached. And the circuitry combining a permanent magnet with a electromagnet to control the sliding lid was inspired. They thoroughly deserved their category's first place.

That is, if you actually took the time to look at what the other "engineers" came up with. A cylinder that digs holes? Haven't they been to a golf course, or at least watch one being built on tv?

Since the Butterworth boys gave us the tour of their project, it was only natural for us to invite them over to view our project. Just as I was getting into my stride explaining the uses of our product, our teacher advisor literally dragged me and another member of my team far, far away from our booth – leaving our team leader to continue the explanation.

She then proceeded to give me an LSD (Little Stupid Dream) induced berating about my apparent attempts to sabotage our chances of winning the overall prize. When I tried to explain the importance of treating your competitors as friends, she got into her 100-tonne truck of stubborn resolve and drowned me out by accusations of “not enjoying the pleasures of life” and threats upon my person if I somehow screw her chances of ever leading an overall champion winning team, by inviting our fellow finalists to view our product.

The rather painful tugging on my sleeves by the sudden vice-like grip of my teacher advisor only made the situation more hilarious than dangerous.

I admit, it would be nice to win. But seeing as I have lost countless times in countless competitions, I tend to treat victory exactly like defeat. With the lingering fact of legal racism practised in this country, I would rather eat my own vomit than thank the event organisers sincerely from the bottom of my heart for winning something.

So what does that leave me with? New friends and new lessons.

And although I was stuck in the same car, I got my chance to have a good laugh at my teacher advisor when she took a wrong turn on the highway home – heading to Kuala Lumpur instead of Penang.

Day 3
To school first. We have a presentation to perform.
Then, by car to the fair.
Haze, still there.
At the fair , we talked and talked,
Until my voice grated like chalk.
The end.

Day 4
Finally, it will be finished, over, and done with.

We arrived early for a change, and by bus too. It was the day one of us would receive a championship shield, and we wouldn't want to offend the organisers with our tardiness.

A few schools still sent teams to the fair, although most of the stalls were no longer manned, as it was the last day of the event. Even though we didn't need to, I gave talks on the scientific aspects of our product to students who swung by our stall.

They came all the way from somewhere far, far away. It would be a pity if they left with nothing.

About half-an-hour after we arrived at the hall, I was ushered away from our stall into the auditorium located a hundred metres away. There, we witnessed and experience first-hand the extreme efficiency of the event organisers in carrying out their duties.

We were first seated to the side. Then asked to vacate our seats. After we were placed at another row of seats to the middle-front, we were once more chased away by the man armed with poor-planning to another row somewhere to the side.

I would love to continue the story here, but we were asked once more to vacate our seats.

Then, once all the schools were gathered into the auditorium, we were given the honour of kick-starting the final round of presentations. Boy, it sure feels good to finally do a live presentation in English!

A round of applause later, and we were back in our seats, taking pot-shots at the other teams presenting their products. Among them, an apparent “Geneva competitor” with their innovative Nobel-prize winning product, the “Integrated Recycling Rubbish Bin”, which was nothing more than six multi-coloured hexagonal wooded bins nailed together.

Remember that article in The Star a few months ago that reported on the wasteful spending by certain universities? Those geniuses who send send their Nobel-prize hopefuls to scientific competitions in Geneva? Where the number of Malaysian participants make up the largest single group of entries from one nation?

Anyway, the apparent “innovators” came on stage to show us all pictures of them making the coffins... sorry, I mean Integrated Recycling Rubbish Bin, in the school workshop. The two boys, who barely exceeded the height of the chair they sat upon before being summoned on stage had participated in the fair by showing everyone the glorious letters of approval they had received from various Malaysian institutions of higher learning.

Let's see. If two boys small enough to play Hobbit #25 & Hobbit #26 can win approvals from their peers for creating a more inefficient waste collection system, and given first prize at some Malaysian inventions competition in Kuala Lumpur, I really don't want to know what their fellow competitors did to lose.

So, after the two boys finished their unnecessarily long presentation, they began showing us the glorious pieces of paper awarded to them for their “innovation”.

Funnily enough, it didn't end right there. The chief judge of the science fair, Dr Fong came onto stage after them to heap what seemed like high praise on the two Geneva bound boys. However, if one read between the odd pauses between the praises, one could almost hear the poisonous sarcasm leaking from the fine suit of professionalism that held Dr Fong back. He went on to ask all participants to emulate the two boys in commercialising their product, and then went on and on about how godlike the two were.

More speeches and a toilet run later, the painful “cenderahati istimewa” process began. Try as I may, I can't imagine M.I.T. giving prises to competition organisers, judges, and sponsors for doing their job.

After what seemed like an eternity of self praise, the actual prize giving ceremony was carried out in due fashion. But alas! Another flaw.

I am all for encouraging our children to go forth and (add suitable action here). However, to award prizes for coming in at 7^th place?

This was after all, a multi-category science fair, and it was the last day. One would expect the prize giving ceremony to be a quick, dignified affair. Not an example of the Malaysian mentality – the tendency to award mediocrity.

Long story short, we lost the overall prize shoot-out. Chung Ling Butterworth trumped us with a dustbin that has the magical ability to open its lid automatically when it senses changes in light intensity.

Meaning?

A product which applies the basic principles of an airport glass door defeated an alternative source of anti-allergen.

What can I say?

On CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Gil Grissom once said to a bemused Catherine Willows: “Bugs always win.” In science fairs, Grissom would be the bespectacled kid among ant farms; while Willows would be the kid with the volcano.

Oh well... Here in Malaysia, “Stuff that makes us lazier win.”

The Simple

New words: Callow, graven, atheromatous, vituperative, recidivist, omerta, boondocks, avuncular, pastiche.

This week on A Stray World:

• Little to none women reps, because they don't care what men say,
• Refugees celebrate World Refugee Day, thoughts and comments.

First Issue
Women, Family and Community Development Minister Datuk Seri Shahrizat Abdul Jalil noted the record low numbers of women involved in politics.

For the record, it's:

• 9.6% of Parliament;

• 25% of Dewan Negara;

• 6.9% of state assemblies;

• 12.5% of local authorities; and

• 7.6% of board members of Bursa listed companies.

Proactive steps have been suggested to increase their numbers, but first, we must identify the reason behind the lack of boobs on the board.

Interviews with Mrs Dama, a housewife, suggests it has to do with the men.

“They are callow idiots,” she begins with vicious tenacity. “I have thirteen children and what does my god-damn husband do? He goes and ***** another woman.”

But surely this has nothing to do with Parliament.

“Let me set the record straight,” Mrs Dama said. “I have to handled thirteen bawling children at home with no support from the ******* **** in his ******* *** smoking his ******* weed. Now you are asking me if I want to talk to another hundred or so men trapped in a windowless room without soap operas and television so I can at least pretend I am listening? I think not.”

“What my mother is trying to say is the men in there are just pieces of meat to her,” interjects Susi, the eldest daughter. “You see, my dad treats my mum like the sex toy she was expected to be. So you must understand her less than tolerant attitude towards the MPs who can conjure up classical sexist jokes on the spot in front of the national body of governance.”

The interview was terminated prematurely because the half-naked father who had just woken up was demanding beef stew for lunch. Needless to say, I left before the wife slaughtered the family cow.

Is this true? Do women avoid managerial positions because to them, men are just pieces of meat? They are not worth the time of effort?

“Look, we can't have women leaders because they are distracting,” said KG, a Parliamentarian. “Those bouncing balls in sacks are just too enticing, they make me forget what I am going to say. Every time someone raises an issue and a woman MP responds, I can do nothing else but try and picture her naked. Can you really blame us for making sexist jokes? We are healthy, adult males.”

However, leaders of the nation are expected to be more... mature, about the situation. Surely the old men in power are... 'steadier' than the average Malaysian man.

“We are not 'steady',” KG responded. “Look, there is a reason why UMNO, MCA, MIC and the rest of the gang have women divisions. It's to get them working for us, but never us working for them. We don't have to see them, we don't have to hear them. But we get to joke about them and during the annual party conventions, hit on them. This arrangement also virtually ensures the next president of any party, and subsequently, the Prime Minister, will be a man.”

“Proper women are like toilet seats,” he concludes. “They should learn to support us and take our crap. Not make their own crap.”

Second Issue
At an unknown moment in time during this week, some people celebrated World Refugee Day. Because our former intrepid reporter, Ahn Ser Mi, died from bird flu during an interview with the H5N1 virus, we have replaced her with Ahn Ser Yu, her sister.

This week, Ahn Ser Yu interviews a bunch of KL kids regarding the aforementioned celebration.

Ahn Ser Yu: World Refugee Day. Your thoughts?

Kid 1: What kind of holiday is that?

Ahn: It's not a holiday. At least, not holiday celebrated here in Malaysia.

Kid 2: I know what it's about. It's about people who are refugees. That like, some kind of deviant teaching.

Ahn: Not at all. They don't exactly welcome the refugee status.

Kid 1: So they have been forced into it! Why hasn't anyone called the police?

Kid 2: Don't worry, I have them on speed dial (dials a number on his mobile phone).

Ahn: When I say refugees, I mean people who have ran away from oppressive governments or some other situation that has forced them to leave their homes behind. Like the Karens from Myanmar.

Kid 1: Are you serious? They couldn't spread their deviant teachings in their homes. So they came here to do the devils bidding instead.

Ahn: You aren't listening.

Kid 2: Hey don't worry. I just got off the phone. Apparently the Malaysian government doesn't support the refugees who enter this country although it's a UN thing. In fact, we actively seek to extradite them.

Kid 1: Yeah. That's cool.

Ahn: Kids. I was born into a family of refugees.

Under mysterious circumstances, both KL kids were found dead in a drain a few days after the interview. Ahn Ser Yu claims she was eating beef stew at the time of the incident.

Politically correct profanity:

Instead of “shit storm”,try the more gentile “stinking rain”.

Of Herbs Squenched

This week, a special report on the Medicinal Plant Discovery Award competition.

Your humble servant, this faceless writer of numerous English articles has performed what could easily be described as the unthinkable. Like an American doughnut seller frying char koay teow. Not since the Chinese story telling competition in Primary 3 have I willingly participated in a project that required me to speak perfect, lucid, fluent, perfect, grammatical-error-free, Chinese.

Throughout most of this year, I have been spending a significant amount of my time preparing reports for the said competition. The objective: to build a health product or medicine from any local plant. The limitations placed upon us were that it be an original product, and its mode of application, external.

You may imagine that would be a humongous undertaking. To do what the gigantic pharmaceutical industry does every day every day with the nonchalance of a hungry lumberjack in the forest. We, with an exhaustive supply of research papers, decided to use the guava by sifting through dozens of wide-ranging reports before a cursory description of paste made from the said fruit caught our eye.

Before anyone accuses us of plagiarism, allow me to point out the original report amounted to nothing more than the boiling of fruit juice with the cellulose remnants of the fruit until it attained a gel-like consistency. We took our cue from the slightly exaggerated description of the guava's medicinal properties.

As with any organic substance, heat easily denatures the biological substances within the guava. That was one among many flaws we pointed out in the report which incidentally, didn't provide any empirical data on the effectiveness of the guava derived product as a medical cream.

Countless hours were spent perfecting the processes involved. It began with an ambitious bid to imitate the cream-like substance from the report which inspired us. Unfortunately, we had no expert help in the matter so we pretty much threw various (expensive) substances together with the haphazardness of rats among a hundred different French cheeses. The Internet, gave various details on the steps we needed to take to create a guava cream; and as detailed as the instructions were, we failed to create the light, creamy lotion we hoped to obtain.

This was where Occam's Razor came into play. Instead of creating a terrific product from complex instruction and expensive chemicals in a high school lab with equipment older than the family car; we simplified our steps and curtailed our ambitious pursuits to focus on creating a respectably effective product from high school lab equipment older than the Pentium Celeron.

The product was quickly derived and the report sent between nerve-wrecking exams, concerned parents, worried teachers, and relatively horrible exam results on my part. Not long after the entire melodrama of the first season, the networks renewed our series and we found ourselves in Kuala Lumpur for the finals.

I cursed my bad luck when the call came in telling us we needed to do the entire presentation of our project in Chinese, if we wanted to win. After risking my life by staying up till the wee hours of the morning to get myself stung by Aedes mosquitoes, testing the products on the bumps produced, compiling the English report, and designing the English presentation (which had to be presented using PowerPoint), I didn't find the Chinese language request foisted upon us with the brazen rudeness of Simon Cowell in a gay and lesbian convention singing “You Will Never Walk Alone” as their drunk induced theme very pleasing at all.

After all the public railings (by public, I meant me) against the organizers, the entire presentation was translated and given a face-lift while I attempted to give a credible delivery in a language I have good reason to avoid like a prostitute dressed as a drunken clown.

My team was awfully patient with me. Embarrassment. Supreme, unsurpassed embarrassment is the perfect phrase describing my initial attempts. Finally, on the day we should all be departing for Kuala Lumpur, the teacher and my partners finally teamed up to give me three-to-one voice coaching lessons. The entire morning was not wasted as I finally hit my stride.

I took on the lecturing parlance of a China Central Television (CCTV) and Phoenix TV talk show host. Trust me, it's less embarrassing to to talk like a pretentious, loud oaf than stutter around my materials enough to get me nominated for the Chinese version of Forest Gump.

Friday was a blur of motion, sights, sounds, touch and smell as we rumbled towards KL on one of many commercial buses plying the North-South expressway. Evening traffic jams, taxis and LRTs phased in and out of existence until the final foot powered travel to the First Business Inn. This block of glass and stone, as with many other hotels with ostentatious names, failed to reflect the “First” title bestowed upon it.

It was a two-a-room arrangement in a three by three by three box with lighting that would be as illuminating as Edison's first light bulb. The showers were confusing in their lack of instructions which resulted in two consecutive cold showers at dusk and dawn. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner though not gastronomical art by any lengths of imagination, were delicious and generously served. Considering the entire affair was fully paid for by the event organizers, is was absolutely perfect.

The luck of the draw placed both teams from my school in consecutive order, right before morning tea. Needless to say, we spent all of Friday night and Saturday morning rehearsing our presentation. Nervous wreck wouldn't be the words to describe my state of mind. Silent resignation would be more apt. As with all pessimists, I became more fluent in my part of the presentation the less I thought of my chances of winning.

And by the damnation of fate, somehow I managed to pull it off.

Saturday morning was thereafter irrelevant, and the evening was spent roaming Times Square with my project members. One of whom unexpectedly, turned out to be an avid collector of soft drink bottles and cans. Yes, such a hobby does exist. And according to the animated proprietor of the speciality Coca-Cola store, there are only two such stores in all of Malaysia. And he was the proud owner of both.

Rain poured with the exact intensity of the storms back home in Penang. But somehow, they seem louder in KL. Scientifically speaking, it's probably because of the abundance of concrete, zinc, and aluminium taking the blunt of the raindrops. I prefer to think of it as karma-inspired drumming by the forces of nature.

The evening faded with the heavy rain, and dusk led to the hall of some primary school large enough to fit a aboriginal settlement. There, we feasted among thousands of others upon generous portions of food, water, tea, herbal drinks, herbal vodka, herbal biscuits and herbal sweets. The fact it was organised by the same people behind the Medicinal Plant Discovery Award competition meant the event was peppered with various vendors endorsing diverse products seemingly built out of bizarre uncommon fruit and plant parts. But who would complain when highly competitive vendors despatch overly-friendly ladies in shorts tiny enough to double as underwear.

The results came in. And we, incredulously, won third place. Our juniors won second. Of course, I was probably the only one who felt the essential feelings of disbelief that lend me my personality. I felt our product wasn't really that good. However, the others could not be any happier, which makes me happy for them.

Saturday was driven out of the drains with the pressure of the nights cold to hot shower. Then, a night of celebration by staying up all night with the juniors who had invited some female company. Needless to say, I stayed out of their conversation to concentrated on the go puzzles I have yet to finish even after one year.

The company turned in sometime after 3.00 a.m. Breakfasted at 8, then launched ourselves to Penang. A four hour journey home that was eventful by the artfully carved mountains we passed as we headed North on the expressway. The journey has ended, and we have won something. I suppose I should be satisfied.