HONESTY IS SUCH A LONELY WORD

The lack of money is the root of all evil – Playwright George Bernard Shaw

I couldn’t believe my eyes. 

I was going through a list of infamous sayings – I like looking up weird stuff – when this onejust popped up.

“There’s nobody bigger or better at the military than I am.” It was the citation that piqued my interest. 

It read: American cretin and 45th US President, Donald J Trump. 

A cretin, if you didn’t already know, is a seriously stupid person and is generally used as a term of abuse. If that’s how he’s being remembered these days, there’s hope for us all. 

But the Donald was that rare breed of politician, the completely obnoxious one, the serial liar who hits all our “dislike” buttons with such a shiver of annoyance that we question, yet again, the mental state of his many admirers. And, make no mistake, their numbers are legion. 

Maybe it’s just part of the human condition, a need to believe in, and hope for, a better tomorrow.  

Because we are no better. After all, we righteously imprison our petty criminals and simultaneously elect the biggest thieves to high office.

Alas, we continue to do so: a recent anti-corruption survey showed that a great many corruption cases involved politicians. 

In fact, the link is a time honoured one. It was the writer and essayist H L Mencken who observed early in the 20th century that the honest politician was “an impossibility.” 

In the English language, the “honest politician” is usually referred to as an oxymoron, or a figure of speech whereby two words reside in apparent contradiction to one another. 

An example would be a “civil war.” Even President Zelensky would be the first to concede that wars are never mannerly, courteous, or polite. Indeed, they are usually nasty, brutish, and exceedingly violent. 

A more placid example of said oxymoron would be “jumbo shrimp” for patently obvious reasons. 

The indefatigable Mencken went further, however, and even attempted to define the breed. To his mind, the truly “honest politician” was one, who once he was bought, “would stay bought.”

The ample architect of artifice, that Mastodon of Malaysian Malfeasance known as Jho Low aka Felonious, had, like Mencken, also believed in getting the best protection money could buy.

To this end, he’d disbursed his not inconsiderable fortune towards insulating himself from any, and all, consequences.

But it is always the unintended consequence that will get you. In Felonious’ case, it was the portentously ancient Chinese curse that returned to haunt him: May you come to the attention of the authorities. 

And he did, no thanks to the reporter Tom Wright whose global campaign to find Felonious had even sounded alarm bells in China: It wasn’t quite seemly to publicly disdain corruption while protecting one of the world’s biggest thieves now, was it?

Then the politicians he’d thought were “bought” had ended up in jail. 

But he remained confident that there was nothing money could not buy so he resolved not to worry. 

Like George Best, he’d spent a lot on booze, birds and fast cars while squandering the rest.

And there was a lot more where that came from. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, and he possessed a lot.

We just had no idea. 

ENDS

OLDER BUT NO WISER

I can’t tell you his age but when he was born, the wonder drugs were leeches – Comedian Milton Berle (paraphrased)

What’s a bigot?

It’s a person who has an obstinate, or unreasonable belief, or prejudice against people on the basis of their membership in a particular group.

By that definition, the grand, old man of Malaysian politics, Dr Mahathir Mohamad, is an unrepentant bigot. 

Except he isn’t grand anymore. He’s just old. At 97, the man remains as great as he never was but he tries to stay relevant: his last birthday cake resembled a Canadian wildfire. 

He’s a selective bigot, however. He dislikes Jews on principle but claims  “good  friends” among them including, of all people,  Henry Kissinger – the one who once ordered no part of Indo-China to remain un-bombed.  

Granted there’s no accounting for taste but the man’s deep seated convictions    about nationalism, Singapore or Malaysia’s non-Malays, remain, at best, jaundiced. 

In the late 70s, for example, he learned that Premier Hussein Onn was planning to move against Harun Idris, chief minister of Selangor and populist politician, for corruption. Dr M, then deputy premier, led a troika of party faithful to plead Harun’s case. 

Their appeal was that Harun was “a nationalist” which to Dr M probably  meant he was a staunch “Malay-first” patriot.

Hussein dismissed them replying “So am I.” Suffice to say that corruption wasn’t a problem during his tenure. 

To Dr M, Singapore was always abhorrent. If Lee Kuan Yew had his way in the 1960s, he has intimated darkly, it would have been a “Malaysian Malaysia,” multiracialism, meritocracy and, quite possibly, Armageddon-as-he-knew-it.  

Never mind that Goh Keng Swee, later Singapore’s finance minister, had  conceded that affirmative action on a grand scale for the Malays had to be implemented to make Malaysia work. 

Never mind that  the experiment that was  Singapore worked so spectacularly, or that Lee Kuan Yew became a global metaphor for an against-all-odds nation builder. Finally,  never mind that Malaysia’s founding fathers always considered affirmative action to have a finite shelf life. 

Not for Dr M. His insistence that affirmative action for the Malays be continued forever, coupled to his longevity in power all but enshrined the policy in stone, never to be questioned on pain of treason. 

And yet, it’s legitimately unleashed a Pandora’s Box of waste, pilferage and corruption. Ironically, it’s  accepted as part of the “price” of development. 

Despite all that, Singapore continues to haunt the old man, primarily  as an object lesson to Malaysia’s Malays, the one about being careful about what you wish for. 

But the island’s hard currency allows its Malay citizens to travel or to stay in Malaysian hotels that many locals can only imagine. And let’s not forget the enduring  ambition of many locals to work in the republic. 

In a reaction directly linked to Anwar Ibrahim’s rise to power, the man remains haunted by  multi-racialism. Last Wednesday, he told reporters that there were attempts to change, or rename,  Tanah Melayu  (Land of the Malays) to a multiracial country presumably,  the much-dreaded “Malaysian Malaysia.”  

Moreover, these people – from “foreign countries,” no less – refused to accept that the Malays were “the founders, locals and builders” of this country. 

The same Dr M once told a group of non-Malays, me included, that Malaysia was a multi-ethnic and multicultural society so everybody had to “tread gently.” But he was premier then and the rules, presumably, were different. Now that everything had changed, he was just being pragmatic and what was wrong with that? 

It reminds me of what he used to say about Anwar. What was it again? 

Ah yes, I remember. 

Something about a leopard not being able to change its spots, wasn’t it? 

ENDS

THOSE WERE THE DAYS.

Nothing is as responsible for the good, old days than a bad memory. – Humorist Robert Benchley

I suppose the one constant in my life is that everything seems to have changed.

My daughter rolls her eyes when I talk of the good old days. To her, that’s any period before there was Velcro. You have to feel for Archie Bunker: “What happened to the good old days, when kids were scared of their parents?”  

And I’m 67.  Consider people like Dr M. What, for instance, would be his idea of the good old days? Those halcyon times with Maharaja Lela, his old classmate from British Malaya days? Then again, at 97, he has an inherent advantage: he doesn’t have to put up with peer pressure.  

A lot has changed since I was a child and not necessarily for the better. No one had an air conditioner in their homes when I was growing up, but you didn’t need one. It always seemed to get chilly at nights when the fan was switched on and we actually needed blankets. 

It’s different now. Air-conditioning in Singapore – where we live – is essential at nights as it’s warmer because of the greater humidity. In any case, our apartment doesn’t come with any fans. It tells you a lot about the city state. 

Its founding father, Lee Kuan Yew, even picked air-conditioning as “the secret” to Singapore’s success. It may be the reason why most places in Singapore have an Artic chill about them: your glasses remain fogged a great deal longer when you leave a building than they would in KL. 

Back to the old days. You could see the stars at night, at least when I was growing up in Seremban. The funny thing is, I don’t remember when I stopped seeing them. You get so busy growing up that you just don’t notice; things tend to just slip away. 

I have an impression that, like Lat cartoons, things were a lot more innocent then. My father didn’t always lock up the house at night, for instance, and my wife tells me they never did in Malacca. It could be a function of living in a small town, but you see my point. 

I don’t remember if our school canteens were halal or not. Certainly, no one seemed to particularly care nor raised a fuss.  

Life was a lot more laid back then with people seeming less judgmental. Guinness Stout, an alcoholic beverage of no small potency, was routinely advertised in the Malay newspapers with its readers being advised that it was “good for you.”

I can’t remember the Pan-Malayan Islamic Party – the forerunner to the current Pas – waxing hysterical about it. The “live and let live” spirit seemed palpably more genuine then. 

I’m not sure if I’m looking at the past through the sepia-tinged tones of nostalgia. But I doubt it. Back then, there was more humour and less of the rabid hysteria being exhibited by some Pas leaders nowadays. 

Something seems to have changed irrevocably.

And stupidity is on the rise. A parliamentarian – from Pas, predictably – took issue with the uniforms of nurses claiming that it could be distracting as it – the pant suit – was “figure hugging.”

And to think nurses wore skirts right up to the 90s.

I rest my case.

ENDS

THE EYES HAVE IT – FOR TELEVISION 

They call television a medium because anything well done is rare. – Comedian Stewart Francis

You can learn a lot about the United States by watching its television.

It’s a national pastime, apparently. Even the science supports this notion. Consider the law governing inertia: a body at rest gravitates towards watching television. 

The advertisements on display are, well, different. Direct, as in a-ton-of-bricks-direct, is one way of putting it. 

I’ll do one better: I’ll give you an example. 

Against the backdrop of shrieking brakes, rending metal, and wailing sirens to a fast-forward frame of gamely recovering patient in full body cast, comes the quietly reassuring voice of Legal Eagle: “Don’t get mad, get even.” 

He steps into view, all cleft chin, dimpled smile, and trustworthy teeth, not unlike Al Pacino in And Justice for All.  His message is heartfelt: getting even by way of compensation isn’t just the American way, it’s the only way. 

A single number – toll free, duh – flashes behind him, blinking in perfect rhythm to a heart monitor.  Call 1-800-DAMAGES for Instant Justice.  

OK, I’m exaggerating. But only a little. 

I found many of the ads touting medical treatments, supplements, and various cure-alls even more alarming. 

There is a method to their madness. They start off optimistically enough and by the time they have you convinced that, Yes-By-God-I’m-Saved, they   belatedly remember the 1-800 number for medical negligence and reel off every possible side-effect that might befall the user and conclude thus: ‘Consult your doctor before taking XYZ.” 

In the American ad world, apparently, that’s a defense: the legal equivalent of a cross before Dracula.

But I’m not kidding about the side-effects I heard being mentioned on medicine ads on American television.  There was “death” of course, but the really horrible ones like “anal seepage” were enough to make even Dracula run screaming into the night!

You didn’t have to be an economist to know that domestic demand aka consumer spending was the fuel that drove the US economy. Almost every show – from brain-numbing talk shows to incisive documentaries – had commercial breaks that sometimes went on for three minutes, selling everything from cars to designer goods.

You had to admire the absurdity of a gripping documentary being interrupted every now and then by three chipmunks singing the virtues of the “most comfortable” toilet paper in three-part harmony. 

Or a vaguely familiar actor extolling the “crazy, best deals” on mattresses at a Detroit store near you.  

Then there is Fox News which affected me greatly the first time I saw it because we don’t get it in Malaysia. Now I’m used to it as it’s aired in Singapore.

Even so, it spouts the most appalling garbage which says a lot about the average American: it’s consistently the most watched channel among US households.

It has commentators like the opinionated Sean Hannity who is greatly admired by people like Donald Trump.

It might be the reason why the comedian Mort Sahl wished aloud that the channel would hire “a real fascist” instead of “this guy who plays one on television.” 

In the interests of fairness and full disclosure, it was also Mort Sahl who said, “you haven’t lived until you’ve died in California.” 

Go figure.

ENDS

BACK IN THE USA

It was our first time in Detroit, Michigan, a place located in what the Americans like to describe as the “wide, open spaces” of the Mid-West. 

It was the first time for most of the others as well, including a great many Americans. It gives you some idea of the size of the United States. 

To put it into context, I’ve been to every Malaysian state except Perlis – any countryman can figure that out. Meanwhile, it takes only 42 minutes to drive from east to west in Singapore.  

America, on the other hand, has 49 other states to choose from and it takes between 40 and 50 hours to drive the length of Michigan, depending on the number of burger-joints you stop at along the way. 

In fact, that was how the great state was originally mapped. 

The city’s Mayor hosted the APEC (Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation) delegates as an introduction to the city and we marvelled at the imposing residence set amidst its Gatsby-like grounds. Its manicured turf was only separated from the green of Canada by the Detroit River and frigid was the operative word as a chill wind blew off its waters. It made the daily 17-degree forecast improbable. 

It was only my opinion, of course. “We used to call this bikini weather when I was in high school,” a cheerful mayoral aide revealed rather unnecessarily. 

At dinner, we met US Transport Secretary Pete Buttigieg, an informed person of such charisma that it seemed ridiculous that he could have lost to Joe Biden as the Democratic candidate. But the fact that he had a Secret Service detail – complete with sunglasses and ear patches – and a watchful Coast Guard cutter on the river attested to his Cabinet status.

Detroit’s the second biggest city in the state after Drummond but it didn’t feel like it. There were no jams and, indeed, little traffic on the streets. Some of the shops were boarded up with “For Sale/ lease” signs.

Even so, it was clean and there was a general sense of optimism with many people crediting the Mayor with much of the city’s rejuvenation. It had gone bust in 2017 and was now bouncing back: the 10-day APEC meet was presumably part of it. 

The city’s fortunes had been inextricably tied up with auto manufacturing. In the 1960s, for example, most households boasted a boat, but the industry’s decline since 1979 mirrored Detroit’s slump. It’s still home to the Big Three automakers but decades of disinvestment have also given rise to a peculiarly American phenomenon: a depopulation by race. Only 10% of Detroit’s 640,000-odd people are white. 

Our Detroit experience was pleasant enough. Food was great, we encountered mostly helpful and genuinely nice people. OK, there seemed to be an overachiever’s share of people who muttered to themselves, especially in the early mornings but who knows? 

You might mutter too if you woke up to 8 degrees “and windy”. 

We were given a tour of the Motown Museum where Barry Gordy and his family lived when he recorded the first Smokey Robinson hit in 1959. One wall of the legendary Studio A – complete with original 4 track console and Steinway piano – was lined with stars, photos ranging from Smokey and The Supremes to Michael Jackson and a grinning Stevie Wonder: too many bands to name, an impossibly youthful, and nostalgic, salute to Detroit’s past. 

Later there was even Motown-karaoke for the intrepid. The Americans and New Zealanders kicked it off with Marvin Gaye’s I Heard It Through The Grapevine followed by the Chileans with the Supremes’ You Can’t Hurry Love. Even the normally staid Chinese took to the mikes.

Only then do you realise why it would be prudent for them to keep their day jobs.  

It’s why Diana Ross is on the wall of Studio A in the first place. 

ENDS

HOW TO BE THE DOG IN A MANGER

The Irish writer and playwright Oscar Wilde was famous for his  epigrams. Consider this observation: “Some people cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.” 

He may have been  prescient. More than a  century after his death, his trenchant  quip suffices as a succinct sketch of the Islamic Party of Malaysia (PAS) in all its vainglory.  

Any sane  person should be terrified of the party because – and I kid you not – there but for the grace of God, goes God. It thinks, nay knows, that it’s the only one that understands  what’s best for all Malaysians. 

It knows this because it’s puritanical and governed by a solitary anxiety: the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, is having fun. 

The Ayatollah Khomeini had a similar affliction and we all know how that’s going. 

The latest bee in PAS’ bonnet is an English band that threatens a November performance in Kuala Lumpur. 

Coldplay is only one of the most successful bands in rock having sold more than a 100 million records over its 27-years. Its KL performance will undoubtedly  attract regional fans and help  boost the  economy.  

Early this week, PAS strongman Nasrudin Hassan called for a ban of the show, claiming it would encourage “hedonism and deviant culture.” 

What’s wrong with hedonism? The ancient Greek theory of ethics posited that pleasure was the highest good and the only proper aim of a man’s life. 

So there!

Who knows? Maybe Mae West was an ancient Greek: “Too much of a good thing … can be wonderful.” 

In any case, no one should be surprised by this latest PAS offering.  Apart from an obsessive  preoccupation with women’s attire and divine punishment for criminals, PAS has yet to articulate a single, coherent economic or administrative idea.

Its president, the fiery Hadi Bawang, seems more interested in trying to prove that all corruption in the country is by, for and through the non-Muslims. 

Good luck with that! 

It does not seem to matter to PAS that Coldplay composes  insightful songs with intelligent lyrics. Nor the fact that the band is an ardent champion – both musically and financially – of the environment. 

The indefatigable Nasrudin had other fish to fry. As if to prove  Coldplay’s wickedness, he held up  pictures of the band’s frontman, Chris Martin, holding up the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) flag. 

So what? The LGBTQ community didn’t choose its path, it was thrust upon them as it were. It could happen to anyone and only the benighted would leap to judgment.

If Nasruddin would only read, he would find out that homosexuality isn’t unnatural. According to the science,  it occurs in at least 10 per cent of herbivores like sheep. 

And why harp on the trivial?  The community is an easy target and the  intolerance  merely demonstrates Nasrudin’s bigotry. 

The American cartoonist Frank Hubbard was also considered a humanist. It’s easy to see why: “Some people get credit for being conservative when they are only being stupid.” 

Meanwhile, the Minister for Local Government Nga Kor Ming had some excellent advice for Nasrudin. “If PAS does not like Coldplay, it’s simple. Don’t buy their concert tickets and don’t come.” 

That’s as good as it gets. 

ENDS

THE IGNORANCE OF BEING UMNO

There is a reason for everything. 

Take Australia, for  instance. With all the war, disease, natural disasters and all-round horror about us daily, it’s easy to conclude that the end of the world is nigh until you realise it’s already tomorrow in Australia and nothing’s happened. 

Najib Razak thought that  was a load of bull-excrement as well because there was no conceivable reason for his incarceration and he, and at least one of 13 Judges, knew it. That was why he wished he had an identical twin: they were known to complete each other’s sentences. 

As Premier, he’d introduced the goods and services tax, removed  fuel subsidies and won the admiration of  the international rating agencies. In short, he’d been the best thing since sliced bread and, no thanks to some trifling matter of petty cash,  he was now toast and staring at a 12-year punishment. 

And worse could follow in a grim future punctuated by further trials involving even more damning charges. If all the world was a stage, reflected the Chief Criminal moodily, he was desperately unrehearsed for this part. 

Where his immediate environment was concerned, however, he agreed with the author Raymond Chandler’s assessment: “It is not a fragrant world.” 

But there was still an upside. Jibby had a core group of support in the United Malays National Organisation, or Umno, once the country’s Grand Old Party and now a shadow of its former self. It’s been largely due to its propensity for fooling too many of the people too much of the time. The trait only surfaced in the 1980s but has become pretty much entrenched largely due to its rich tradition of Looting before Pillage. Indeed, most people had no idea how rich a tradition it was. 

So you’d think Umno would have learnt its lesson and begun to champion popular causes. That would be the logical route, no?  

Nope.

You couldn’t blame the party: it was in its DNA. It thought Oscar Wilde was right when he said  “Anyone who lives within his means suffers from a lack of imagination.” 

OK, the party conceded that Fearless Leader had been wildly imaginative. But to be imprisoned for that? It was almost oxymoronic, not unlike an “honest politician.” You can almost hear it shrugging.

Which is why its Supreme Council, the party’s highest policy making body, unanimously decided last month to seek a pardon for Jibby from the King. And this despite knowing that, 

  • The former premier’s served nine months or just 6% of his sentence. Neither has he paid his fine of over RM200 million. 
  • The former premier has committed the world’s largest theft  to-date. 
  • Since his imprisonment, others have been jailed in the US and the Middle East for related crimes. 
  • It’s cost Malaysia, the country he was entrusted to govern, almost RM50 billion. 
  • Corruption has become a way of life. 
  • It near destroyed Umno.

Having almost been wiped out in the last election, Umno seems to think obtaining a pardon for the First Felon is The Way Forward. It might want to think about it a bit. 

Does it not, for example, smack of condoning corruption? That, yes, crime does pay?

Let us hope sanity will prevail. After all, the right to be heard does not  automatically confer the right to be taken seriously. 

ENDS

THE JOYS OF REPARTEE

Real friends stab you in the front. – Writer Oscar Wilde 

You’ll know it when you hear it. The capacity for quick and inventive thought, the clever quip, is almost always appreciated.

It’s broadly classified as wit. 

I have, for instance, a friend called Cletus. Ok, it’s a strange name and he got hell for it in his freshman year in University Malaya. But that’s the Catholic for you: their first names are generally from saints and there was a St Cletus somewhere in the midst of antiquity.

Anyway, the guy is a seriously good singer, and we made decent money gigging in pubs in Ipoh where we were both underpaid government servants in the early 1980s.  

We were practising one afternoon at home when he hit a false note on an unusually difficult song we were attempting. He extricated himself with some aplomb though: “All that Cletus isn’t gold.”

Among local politicians, the only one I remember with some wit was, surprisingly, Dr Mahathir. I remember interviewing him in 1995 at a time when he seemed particularly incensed with the foreign media.

Indeed, I think he began complaining the minute we entered. He was especially irked by the notion that some elements of the foreign media thought him a dictator. 

It provoked this line. “I must be the only dictator in history to have to be elected before I can begin dictating.” 

The American actress Mae West wasn’t just a sex symbol, she was an incredibly funny lady. She might be best known for that racy quip: “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”   

But she almost got into hot water when she just couldn’t resist it. This famous exchange took place in a US courtroom where West was testifying:

Judge (raising his voice): Are you showing contempt for this court, Miss West?

West: “No, Your Honour, I’m doing my best to conceal it.”

Then there was the poet and essayist Dorothy Parker. Challenged once to make a sentence with “horticulture” in it, she replied with dazzling speed: “You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think.” 

You might have to think about that. 

This one was a little easier but no less funny. When one of her college classmates had her first baby, Parker sent her this telegram.

“Congratulations Mary, we all knew you had it in you.”

In his first visit to the US, the English writer and playwright Oscar Wilde was asked by Customs’ officers if he had anything to declare, “Only my genius,” he replied tartly and he was waved through.

Once when offered a delicious-looking mousse, he replied: “I can resist anything but temptation,” and dug in. 

I used to love the sitcom Cheers because the jokes flew so thick and fast. And there were those characters like Norm Peterson who’d say the funniest things with the most hangdog expression.

Norm: “Evening everybody.”

Woody, the bartender. “A beer, Mr Peterson?”

Norm: “A little early in the day isn’t it, Woody?”

Woody: “Little early for a beer?”

Norm: “No, for stupid questions.”

Woody; “What will you have, Mr Peterson?”

Norm: “I just need something to hold me over until my second beer.”

Woody: “How about a first beer?”

Norm: “That’ll work.”

ENDS

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN 

A man with a briefcase can steal more than a hundred men with guns. – Writer Mario Puzo

When a man tells you he got rich through hard work, ask him: “Whose?” – US journalist, Don Marquis

There were these reports, the snippets, always hinting of danger, of looming events forebodingly close. 

I mean, having to perpetually skulk about in the shadows can’t bring peace to the fat fraud once known as Felonious or Jho Low. 

Like Charlie Brown, he was beginning to dread the future “one day at a time.” 

And it was all the fault of Bradley Hope, a pestilential American reporter who insisted on keeping the theft alive, who helped to write Billion Dollar Whale, an expose of 1MDB and the staggering theft of almost US$5 billion from Malaysia’s coffers. 

One of the heist’s perpetrators is already behind bars and only Felonious remains, stashed surreptitiously somewhere in China. 

Not for long, according to Mr Hope. It was a grim and stern warning and it required more than a couple of ice-cold goblets of Dom Perignon to soothe the ragged, and twitching, nerves of the palpably, petrified pilferer. 

Indeed, Mr Hope’s report citing, even more alarmingly, “multiple sources” was enough to scare the daylights out of any fugitive worth his salt.  

And Felonious, who’d salted away more billions than Bernie Madoff, who’d out-wolfed every Wolf on Wall Street, knew he was worth at least that. 

Mr Hope claimed Putrajaya and Beijing were close to hammering out a deal to repatriate Felonious, assets and all, back to Malaysia. The deal, apparently, was hatched after Malaysian Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim’s first official visit to China, recently. 

Mr Hope, a former Wall Street Journal writer, claimed the deal would include absolving China of its alleged complicity in the 1MDB cover-up and its previous support for disgraced former Premier Najib Razak, now serving time. 

Prison has  circumscribed Jibby’s bragging rights considerably: “Do you know who I used to be?” 

But I digress: we were talking about Felonious weren’t we? 

You could say the dumpy dacoit had a lot on his mind. His problem was compounded by the fact that he continued to remain in the public eye and for all the wrong reasons. This embarrassed the Chinese even more because of Beijing’s much ballyhooed “aversion” to corruption.

I mean, you can’t successfully project a “beacon of rectitude” kind of image if you continue to shelter the world’s most wanted thief, can you?  

Felonious has steadfastly denied complicity in the heist. But the fact that many assets in his name – from a corporate jet and a superyacht to prime real estate in New York and Los Angeles – have been  seized without any resistance from him seems like tacit acknowledgement in no small degree. You don’t have to be Colombo to know that. 

And it goes on. Last month, Kuwait sentenced him to 10 years’ imprisonment after convicting him in absentia with two others of embezzling 1MDB funds.

And now we learn that the chubby charlatan was lavish with Malaysian taxpayer monies to win  friends and subvert governments.

A Washington court was told yesterday that Pras Michel, a rap artiste and influencer, was paid US$100 million by Felonious to:  

  • Stop US Department of Justice probes into him 
  • Facilitate the extradition of a Chinese dissident in the US back to Beijing, and
  • Allow Felonious a photo opportunity with Barack Obama. 

The hits just kept on coming and it was getting tedious. Felonious sighed and poured himself more champagne. You know what they say, he thought: a fool and his money…

…are soon partying. 

ENDS

TO DIE IN A LIVING ROOM 

Irony is a funny thing.     

Consider Najib Razak and his current concept of time. When he was Premier, he was so busy, there just wasn’t enough time in a day. Now that he’s serving it, it’s a whole new game and no fun at all unless you’re Kermit the Frog: “Time’s fun when you’re having flies.” 

Actually, everyone appears to have had an ironic makeover of sorts, even the ever-scheming Dr M. He’s evolved from acclaimed Malay champion to deposit-losing reject only to resurface as self-proclaimed ethnic champion through tie-ups with rabid fringe groups. 

Meanwhile, his worst nightmare has materialised:  Anwar Ibrahim, his former nemesis and much maligned deputy, is now calling the shots as Prime Minister in his own, ironic bow to the vagaries of fate.  

It appears that while anyone is free to rage against the dying of the light, Karma can, and will, continue to be a bitch!

Irony reigns supreme. It was the work of one of the world’s great pacifists, Albert Einstein, which spawned the world’s deadliest weapon. And it was with that in mind when he predicted: “I don’t know what weapons will be used during World War Three but World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones.”

The Bible is the world’s best-selling book and has consistently been so for the longest time. Ironically, it’s also the most shoplifted book in the United States – which says much about the moral underpinnings of petty crime in America.

The actor Charlie Chaplin’s walk was much imitated during the era of silent films. But when the man himself entered a “Charlie Chaplin walk” contest, he was placed 20th.

How do you shut down your foes? Simple, when you have rich members like Tom Cruise and John Travolta, you just buy their silence. Once a leading anti-cult network, the Cult Awareness Network was silenced permanently after it was bought over by the Church of Scientology. 

In the 1990s in Kuala Lumpur, Yomeishu, a famous Japanese herbal brandy, sued a rival Malaysian make that claimed similar properties, one of which, famously, had to do with male potency.  

The Judge hearing the case seemed especially interested in that alleged virtue. The following exchange took place between said Judge and the chairman of Yomeishu Japan, then on the witness stand: 

Judge: So your drink helps male potency, does it?

Witness:  It does 

Judge: How does it work? Do you drink it or apply it?

Witness goes into a giggling fit. It isn’t clear if the judge was being ironic but, for those interested, the correct answer is to drink it. 

For the record, I covered the case for the Far Eastern Economic Review then. It must have been a dry week. 

Even the Beatles got roped into the irony act. In 2002, a tree was planted in a Los Angeles Park to honour the band’s guitarist George Harrison who’d passed away in the city a year earlier. 

Unfortunately, the tree died after a year owing to an infestation of beetles.  

Finally, the lyrics of Alanise Morisette’s 1996 hit Ironic does not evoke the quality in the slightest, an admission the songwriter herself made later.

There’s irony for you.  

ENDS