LAUGHTER’S THE BEST MEDICINE  

The worst time to get a heart attack is during a game of charades – US comedian Dmitri Martin 

Isn’t it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do “practice”? – Comedian George Carlin 

There used to be a billionaire banker who thought he would prolong his life by literally moving into a private hospital. He figured he’d be safer if he were surrounded by doctors and nurses , all alertly waiting to spring into action if he so  much as winced, coughed, or sneezed.   

Did he live longer? 

I suppose so, if you can call safely easing one’s way into dementia an extension of life. 

The supreme irony of life is that no one gets out alive.  And compos-mentis 

nonagenarians like Dr Mahathir – a pimply youth at the time of Lincoln’s Gettysburg address – are what the author Malcolm Gladwell  calls “outliers” –  those statistical rarities that time, genetics and fate, throw up occasionally.  

Well before our 80s, most of us will stop sinning, altogether. We will become, as writer Aldous Huxley observed, “the only completely consistent people.” 

It is ironic that death and taxes remain life’s only certainties. But we’ve come a long way: infant mortality used to be as high as 25% back in the 19th Century but in the last century or so, average life expectancies have exceeded 72 years. 

That’s amazing given the ruthless opposition out there.  There are diseases, syndromes, afflictions, conditions, illnesses, infections,  ailments and maladies, all heading for us but for the Grace of God and better diets.  

There are viruses, bacteria, worms, pathogens, and assorted unspeakable horrors lurking out there, intent on infecting us but for the Grace of God,  and Alexander Fleming.

If that were not enough there are treasonable genes within our bodies, waiting for some trigger to begin running amok, mutating into auto-immune diseases, sarcomas, lymphomas, dyscrasias, blastomas and other terrifying unpronounceables designed to wreck a  human body. 

There is more.  There are things that we think are horrific: there are psychoses, mental illnesses, schizophrenia, anxieties, phobias, insanity, obsessions, exaggerated fears, and something called a neurosis which is, apparently, a secret you didn’t know you were keeping. 

That was probably the  realisation the billionaire-banker came to just before he checked himself into the hospital. 

When you finally fall sick, there is the question of choosing  your doctor.  Here you have to admire the sheer cynicism of the old Hindu proverb: “No physician is really good before he has killed at least one or two patients.”

Broadly speaking, however, there are only three rules to follow in choosing a physician:

  • Never choose a doctor whose office plants are dead;
  • Never use a plastic surgeon whose office is full of Picasso prints; and
  • Never, ever  make the doctor your heir.

As a general rule, there is also this old saying: beware the young doctor and the old barber.

Indeed, there are those who claim medicine is often overrated. You get a cold, you go to a doctor and feel better after a week, or you ignore the cold, continue with the beer, and you feel fine after seven days. 

That’s life, isn’t it? 

ENDS

SEE YOU IN COURT

To expect life to treat you good is as foolish as hoping the bull won’t charge you because you’re vegetarian – Comedian Roseanne Barr 

What price fame?

Not much if you are in Detroit, apparently. 

Alexander Morris plans to sue a local hospital for alleged misconduct. It may be an open and shut case: the hospital wants to remain open  but Alex wants to get enough damages to compel it to shut up shop.  

Alex knew he shouldn’t have gone to that particular hospital because he’d read the signs. There were two. One was near the Emergency area, where he’d headed, and it was gratuitous: “No matter where you go, there you are.”  

The other, on the way to the bathrooms,  was surreal: “Things are more like they are now than they ever were before.” 

Indeed, he was half-expecting Rod Serling to step out suddenly to intone: “You’re travelling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind….”

In real life, Alex Morris was the lead singer of the 1950s rhythm and blues band the Four Tops. It’s a famous group and even features in the city’s Motown Museum.  

Unfortunately, the hospital staff were pretty cynical. Nor did he look around 80 which is what he should have looked like if he’d been a founder member of the group.

In short, he wasn’t believed.

Nurse 1: “What’s your name and what’s the problem?”?

Morris (gasping): “I’m Alexander Morris, the lead singer of the Four Tops.”

Nurse 1: (rolls her eyes): Yes, and I’m Dolly Parton.”

Doctor 1: He could be nuts. Schizophrenia?  

Nurse 1: “You’re just jealous because the voices only talk to him.” 

In his suit, Morris claimed that he was placed under restraint with doctors even ordering him to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. 

Incidentally he’d gone to hospital after suffering chest pains and shortness of breath. It’s not easy to prove you’re a famous singer when you can’t quite breathe.  

Indeed, it’s quite easy for those problems to be exacerbated in the face of cynicism, scepticism or disbelief. 

Did I mention the singer is black? 

An outraged Morris has filed a lawsuit last Monday against Ascension Macomb-Oakland Hospital in Warren, Detroit, alleging racial discrimination and other misconduct during an April 2023 visit for chest pain and breathing problems.

Hospital staff “wrongfully assumed he was mentally ill when he revealed his identity as a celebrity figure,” the lawsuit says.

The Four Tops started in the 1950s and had hits such as I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) and It’s The Same Old Song. The group was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1990.Morris is not an original member, but joined the group in 2019.

The lawsuit says a nurse finally believed Morris was in the Four Tops and the psychological exam was cancelled.

The hospital offered a US$25 gift card as an apology, but Morris, not unreasonably, refused to accept it.

Morris and the hospital will now have their fates decided by 12 people who weren’t smart enough to get out of jury duty. 

That is why a court of law in the United States is a place where a suit is pressed and one party may be taken to the cleaners. 

ENDS

IF WISHES WERE HORSES, PIGS WOULD FLY

Only in our dreams are we free; the rest of the time we need wages. –  English novelist Terry Pratchett

There is never enough time, unless you’re serving it. – Publisher Malcolm Forbes

The former Prime Minister who yearned to be called Bossku, but was Fearless, thought serving a prison sentence was no disgrace but was confoundedly inconvenient.

Fearless hadn’t served two years yet but had spent more time in court than Tommy Thomas. For one thing, he’d tried mightily to overturn his 12-year sentence but to no avail. For another, he still faced a slew of other charges, relating to more looting, for which he had to attend court.  

You don’t get to be what the foreign media calls the “world’s biggest kleptocrat” without consequences.

Despite that, the man seemed bent on ducking prison time. His lawyers are now insisting he be allowed to serve out his time at home. That’s what “house arrest” means.  

Why not, they argued craftily. It would solve prison over-crowding pretty much immediately. 

The rub, of course, is it makes a mockery of the criminal justice system and legitimises corruption. It’s not for nothing society invents phrases such as “crime does not pay.” 

Fearless and his chubby co-conspirator Felonious aka Jho Low stand accused of stealing over RM40 billion from the state’s coffers at a time when the former was the Prime Minister. Felonious is still at large – both literally and metaphorically – but is believed to be living off his ill-gotten gains in China. The country denies it, of course, but it would, wouldn’t it?   

It follows that what Fearless is requesting from the courts is permission to serve out the rest of his sentence in the comfort of his well-appointed house with its lush garden, pristine bathrooms and air-conditioned bedrooms. Add to that a well-stocked larder, a  resident chef, countless help, and a couple of discreet bodyguards and you get a whiff of Felonious’ current lifestyle in A Country That Denies His Existence. 

This is the conundrum the criminal is currently calling on the courts to consider. 

To call it unprecedented is to state the obvious. No Malaysian premier has ever been jailed before either but as Bangkok or Islamabad will testify, it’s been known to happen. 

There is, of course, the monumental problem of the non-existence of such a provision. Simply put, there is no such thing as “house arrest” in the Malaysian penal code and prison wardens do not operate from houses, at least not since 1957. Nor is it anywhere in the Federal Constitution or in the Pardons’ Act.  

Moreover, there are those remaining charges against Fearless. These aren’t minor either:  they address the alleged kleptocracy head on. 

What happens if those charges stick? 

Watching from the safety of his hideout, Felonious’ tubby ticker bled for his erstwhile comrade-in-harm. The rotund robber shuddered at the thought of the fare Fearless might be receiving in prison.

With a guilty pang, he realised his own larder bulged with nothing but the best, the finest Italian hams, the choicest Dutch cheeses, the sweetest Persian figs;  the stuff   gourmands drool over in dreams. 

He washed away a lingering residue of guilt with another goblet of ice-cold Krug and felt it could have been worse.  

It could have been him. 

ENDS

BORN WEIRD AND GOING DOWNHILL 

Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7th of your life – Comedian George Carlin 

It was Mark Twain who perfectly summed up the art of living: “Let us so live that when we come to die, even the undertaker will be sorry.”  

Now what do you think Kim Jong Un’s funeral director would feel?

One suspects sorry wouldn’t be the word. Exuberance would be closer the mark.

The man is officially known as Dear Leader and unofficially as His First Fatness. The Central Intelligence Agency, however, preferred Idiot Central.

It isn’t hard to see why. Under his careful, meticulous and painstaking watch, North Korea evolved from a poor, backward and isolated nation into an impoverished, primitive and even more remote country.  

But Fathead knew something that the whole world knew as well. North Korea had more nukes than it knew what to do with. It was also the only reason why the world had to listen when he was in Full Boast Mode.  

This happened frequently and for no apparent reason other than his deep, abiding and intense suspicion that Seoul was out to get him. 

To allay those fears, North Korea often carries out missile “drills”. On Thursday, for example, North Korea said it fired 18 short-range ballistic missiles during a drill as a demonstration of its willingness to launch a pre-emptive strike against South Korea’s “gangsters’ regime.”

Fathead himself, apparently,  guided the firing drill of 600mm “super-large” multiple rocket launchers, state news agency KCNA reported.

To underscore the threat, North Korea added that a tactical nuclear weapon could be fitted on to such missiles.

Idiot C urged readiness by the country’s nuclear force to carry out the mission of war deterrence as well as taking the initiative. 

The man’s capacity for invective and threatening bluster is amazing given Seoul’s restraint: it has long ago given up admonishing its northern neighbour, preferring instead to develop and become more prosperous.  

Even so, it allows US bases on its soil. Seoul has also made no secret that those US bases come with nuclear capacity. 

This is, of course, a legacy of history, of the Korean War of the 1950s.

One suspects, however, that it is Seoul’s prosperity that really gets Loony’s goat. 

South Korea is a First World country, a member of the Organisation for Economic Development and Cooperation (OECD) with living standards to match. 

To put it in all its galling perspective, the South’s economy is 60 times larger than the one His Plumpness fashioned. Moreover, South Korea has succeeded in exporting its culture abroad, a feat unmatched by almost any other Asian nation. 

Seoul has thrived under various leaders while, starting with his grandfather’s rule, the people of North Korea have never feasted and, indeed, have frequently starved. 

Apparently, Fathead is just an average Joe who loves beer, cheeseburgers and US basketball. That’s according to US basketball legend Dennis Rodman who spent a week in Pyongyang at Fatso’s invitation. Rodman pronounced him a “cool” dude.

Perhaps the former Chicago Bulls’ star was lucky he didn’t catch His Rotundity in a foul temper. 

According to a report in South Korean media, Fatso once got so angry at a general that he had him shot by an anti-aircraft battery. 

Gives you the smithereens, I mean the shivers. 

ENDS

BE AFRAID, BE VERY AFRAID

While it is not true that all conservatives are stupid people, it is true that most stupid people are conservatives. – Comedian Jon Stewart   

He’s back!

Not only that, it appears Donald Trump is leading in the November 5 election for President of the United States.

Yesterday, he promised oilmen that he would deregulate the industry and re-introduce fracking. The technique revolutionises oil and gas drilling but, without rigorous standards, it can poison water sources, impair landscapes, and threaten wildlife.

No one should be surprised. Most Republicans scoff at climate change anyway. For his part, Trump has always maintained it was a “hoax”. 

Sometimes he jokes about it. “It’s freezing in New York. Where the hell is all that global warming?” I am, of course, assuming he’s being facetious.

Otherwise, he creates a bogeyman. “The concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make US manufacturing uncompetitive.”  

Donald Trump is an enigma, a person so weird that he makes Richard Nixon seem Lincolnesque. He’s often been characterised as a “textbook” narcissist – a person who’s so self-involved that he tends to ignore the needs of those around him. 

The “diagnosis” made him easy to underestimate with analysts predicting that people would begin to see through him, that his popularity would diminish over time. 

The man lied about the 2020 election, even instigated a riot which he hoped would overturn the election results. Even today, he insists that he won but he’s also declined to debate incumbent Joe Biden, flagging a possible fear that he might be cornered on that issue.  

Almost every senior official in his administration, including his former vice-president Mike Pence, has criticised his tenure – wholly or in part. And there have been any number of tell-all books. 

Yet it does not seem to have had any effect. His popularity remains undimmed. It just proves Napoleon was right: “in politics, stupidity is not a handicap.” 

The title of a 2018 book by former Washington Post correspondent Bob Woodward succinctly summarises what Trump arouses in people – Fear: Trump in the White House.  

Indeed, a May poll among US voters showed that many voters were worried that Trump would not leave the White House if he won in November. 

More tellingly, another poll indicated that two out of three Americans worried that violence would follow if people weren’t satisfied with the outcome of the polls. Indeed, the Donald has refused to commit towards accepting the results of the election. 

He continues to stick to his surefire recipe for success: heads I win, tails you lose. 

US allies are equally fearful of a Trump second term. The man has indicated that he would be willing to tear up treaties if Europe didn’t honour its commitments. He even went further, saying Russia “could do whatever the hell they want” (in Europe) if the allies didn’t keep its promises. 

He has made no secret of his admiration for Vladimir Putin. He also lauded China Xi specifically citing his “President-for-life” status for special mention.  

You can see where his heart lies. 

And yet he didn’t see anything wrong with categorising Covid-19 as the “Chinese virus” and indirectly exposing Oriental Americans to hate crimes. 

The bottom line: the man does not give a fig for public opinion. He actually said he could shoot people in the middle of the street, and it would not affect his popularity. 

If that’s true, then Einstein was right. “Only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.” 

ENDS

LIVING NEXT DOOR TO MALICE 

When I die, I hope to go to heaven – whatever the hell that is. – Philosopher, writer Ayn Rand

There is, apparently, a video game called Neighbour from Hell. 

I’m not particularly interested in video games, but it reminded me of a couple living next to us when we were living in Petaling Jaya a long time ago. It was the wife who converted the husband to religion: he’d never believed in hell until he married her. 

That, to be sure, is a joke but there was something about her that seemed off. I’d heard from my other neighbour that she’d been a teacher and one suspected that she’d have been a grim and stern one at best. Not nice, gracious, pleasant or cheerful. None of those adjectives came to mind. Instead, only the old G and S seemed apt. 

At the time, my wife was the administrative head of a regional plant quarantine centre in the Agriculture University in Serdang. As a result, she knew many of its scientists. Indeed, she shortly brought home a dwarf durian sapling that one scientist had promised great results in a short time.

She planted it in the backyard, and we all forgot about it. Subsequently, Becky went abroad to do her doctorate and took our daughter with her. 

With me in charge, the garden didn’t exactly flourish. But I could argue that my benign neglect forced it to evolve into a hardy, Darwinian refuge where only the fittest survived. The natural selection that followed ensured that all the orchids and most of the flowers Becky planted perished, but the trees survived including all four Ashoka pillars.  And, the dwarf durian tree which proved its resilience by spreading across the backyard pleasingly. 

Fast forward four years later and my family was back. While still not quite up one Sunday, we heard what sounded like the chopping of wood.

We ignored it – we didn’t have a gardener – but it persisted until an ominous silence fell. It was not quite eight in the morning.

After a while my wife roused herself. I only awoke when I heard her voice, raised in anger against old G and S. 

It was the first time I’d seen her publicly lose her temper.  

I rushed out to see the remains of the dwarf spread out all over our backyard. Such was my wife’s rage that not only were the ones responsible out and about, but other neighbours began congregating. Suddenly, we were the only show in town. 

Why, was my first question? Apparently, a small spar of a branch had jutted into said neighbour’s airspace from which, it was claimed, “it was raining ants.” 

So, she’d informed her gardener to climb our gate and cut down said tree. All three – GnS, husband and gardener – didn’t seem to think that it was not only weird but illegal to boot.  

The argument was attentively followed by Neighbour On The Right, a lawyer. He said I could sue for “trespass” and “breaking and entering.” Open and shut, quoth he.

His wife didn’t help matters.  She informed everyone that there had been a full moon the previous night. Then, nodding significantly in the direction of old GnS, she threw her head back and howled. 

It was deteriorating into a B-grade drama, so we just requested the offenders to clear up the mess which was considerable. 

But the gardener had fled at the first sign of trouble and the husband came over to do the needful.  

My wife had regretted her rage by then, and the poor guy was at least twenty years my senior. Sensing our capitulation, all the neighbours gloomily drifted off. At the very least, it boded well for the rest of their Sunday.  

I ended up carrying out the wood. It seemed like the Darwinian thing to do. 

ENDS

ALAS, POOR BOJO

It turns out that what people thought was a sign of Boris Johnson’s  clear conscience was actually his notoriously bad memory.

Case in point:  the former British prime minister was turned away from a polling station on Thursday for forgetting to bring his voter identification card.

Ironically, it was Mr Johnson who introduced the  contentious 2022 requirement when he was in office in the first place. 

British media reported that Johnson, who quit in 2022 following a scandal-ridden premiership, was initially turned away at a polling station in Oxfordshire, southern England, while trying to vote in local elections taking place across the country.

A spokesman said Johnson had voted Conservative but did not deny that the ex-PM had initially failed to produce the said ID.

As prime minister, Johnson’s government introduced the ID requirement to crack down on possible voter fraud but it was heavily criticised for its potential to disenfranchise parts of the electorate. 

Previously, voters only needed to give their name and address to be able to vote.

Last year, in the first vote where the new rules were implemented, around 14,000 people in England were denied a vote in local elections after being unable to provide an ID.

To Malaysian eyes, the need for a photo ID seems perfectly reasonable and the criticism against it, baffling if not a little thick. 

As if to underscore “thick”, it appears that a recent survey by YouGov showed that 14% of Britons were still unaware of the voter ID requirement.

When he was Premier, Mr Johnson often came across as a  bumbling, self-deprecating, slightly rumpled sort of fellow who always seemed in need of a haircut. 

It might have been a carefully contrived persona but he certainly seemed to have a bad memory. It could have a  lot to do with his fluctuating weight: he would walk into a room without knowing why and usually end up at the fridge looking for a clue.  

The enduring irony about his tenure was that he led the Conservative Party to the heights of popularity only to be forced to resign two years later over a series of scandals that, truth be told, would have seemed only mildly irksome in Malaysia. 

It is a credit to the UK that its people will not put up with serial lying. Here we would have dismissed it as having déjà vu and amnesia at the same time: when one realises that he’s lied about the same thing previously. 

One former premier, now languishing in jail, suffered from that curious malady for most of his ten-year tenure. He usually took something for it – loot – until he was forcibly ejected from office. 

Again, one is struck by the apparent apathy of the Malaysian populace that it can actually  countenance the ”forgiving” – house arrest? – of a criminal who stole billions from his country while in a position of trust. 

Its mere notion would have been pilloried in the UK. 

Indeed, it seems strange that  Mr Johnson is now held in such low esteem by the British public.  Donald Trump brought shame to his country but is now odds-on favourite to return as President. 

Mr Johnson’s unpopularity seems to have shifted to the Conservative Party which could face a heavy defeat at the next general election.

The Labour Party, the Conservatives main rival, is in a happy place. It does  not have to do much; it just needs not to spectacularly screw up any time soon. 

The man waiting in the wings is Keir Starmer, 61, a dour looking politician who seems all but sure of becoming the UK’s next leader. 

He does not, apparently, have memory issues. In fact, his memory is so much like an elephant that the beasts frequently consult him.

ENDS

A SPRING IN OUR STEP 

We landed in Geneva during its watch convention, meaning if it wasn’t Patek, it was Phillippe, and all the hotels were full. 

The room we got reminded me of Hong Kong, those rooms where you can’t fling a cat, that is if you were in a mind to fling a feline around, I suppose. 

It also did not have a bed. 

We realised it was up on the wall and had to pull those levers down to assemble a bed that ended inches away from a television screen showing an unshave, gun-toting Clint Eastwood snarling threats, in impeccable French, to a tattooed villain.  

“Mon Dieu,” exclaimed Rebecca and hastened to the front desk where she convinced a sympathetic lady to give us a nicer room. It had 9 channels in English too.  

But it was stifling with no air-conditioning.  The front desk was desolee but the air-con was only available in spring which was, apparently, tomorrow.  

We opened a window. Translation:  we retired at around 21 degrees and woke up, shivering, at 14 degrees. It was 6 degrees outside then.  

Rebecca was in Geneva on Apec-business, and I’d never been. We flew to Switzerland by way of Amsterdam where we caught up with Raisa, our daughter.  

Hannes took us to Keukenhof in Lisse the next day. It’s open once a year for eight weeks. One of the largest spring gardens in the world, it’s home to 7 million flowers (mainly tulips) over 80 acres of lovingly maintained parkland. 

We tip-toed through the tulips, and the hyacinths, daffodils, lilies and sakura. We were told that the larger tulips bloom only in mid- April. 

The Dutch know how to put on a show. The reds ranged from fire engine blazing to almost-burgundy. And I had no idea there were so many shades of pink, all the way from coral pink to cherry blossom – ok, Raisa read the labels.  

There’s something about a sun dappled park in crisp 16-degree weather. There must be because I saw a woman hugging a tree in seeming ecstasy. The tree itself seemed impassive but who knew? 

It all added up. The flowers, its sights and smells, the children, the dogs and a man selling ice-cream: it brings out the best in people. They smile at one another and, for a second, you can almost imagine that better world. 

The Swiss think it begins by the shores of Lake Geneva, one of the largest lakes in Europe and mostly in Switzerland except that 40% juts into France. 

A cold wind blew off its waters as we walked along the shore and marvelled at its beauty – no plastic or trash, only a clear, green blue body of deep water silhouetted against faraway mountains of blue, and framed against a postcard- perfect, snow-capped Mount Blanc. 

Our friends Sulyn and Azmil generously took us to Café de Paris for dinner. It was a legendary place, where Hemingway had supped many times. It was packed, that night and every night for the foreseeable future. 

I don’t know why.  

You are served immediately because everyone, even, presumably, Ernest, gets the same thing. Steak (sadly only tenderloin), salad, and chips. Your only choices are the meat’s “done-ness” and your drink. 

The ambrosial glue holding the meal together is, apparently, the butter sauce. It is, of course, a secret recipe but it is said Ernest swooned in delight and had to lean on the restorative benefits of a bottle of cognac to recover. 

Ordinary mortals need not fear though: the butter is, apparently, sold at a Village Grocer near you. 

ENDS

THE ART OF THE POSSIBLE 

According to a poll that I’ve just concluded, the average person’s favourite mythical creature isn’t the phoenix, Tinkerbelle, the unicorn, or Hagrid.

It’s the honest politician. 

In Malaysia, they’re about as common as dragons. In fact, when a neighbouring ex-Minister of Transport was charged with accepting “gifts” like theatre and plane tickets worth almost S$600,000, the incredulous “what was he thinking?” sentiment from our local politicos wasn’tas much about the alleged dishonesty as its alleged scale. 

It was pure disbelief. “So little-ah?” 

That’s why we must be the only country where a former premier who stole more than Midas ever accumulated sees no irony in his appeal to allow him to serve out the rest of his sentence in the luxury of his well-appointed home. 

Now everyone can understand “a sense of entitlement.” 

It was a novel approach though, and it appealed to Donald Trump’s keen sense of justice and fair play. “Fair’s fair,” said The Donald who was a staunch conservative who believed, like Jibby and other staunch conservatives, that he deserved everything he’d stolen. 

You might say both George Bernard Shaw and Napoleon Bonaparte were prescient: they’d predicted the rise of someone like Trump way back when. 

Shaw was blunt. “He knows nothing but thinks he knows everything: that points clearly to a political career.”  Napoleon might just have been a shrewd observer of the human condition. In politics, he noted, “stupidity isn’t a handicap.”  

Forty-six years after his death, Shaw’s description of a future US President seems spot on. Meanwhile, Napoleon’s observation could explain the man’s tremendous popularity among the people. That is why, statistically speaking, half the American populace think the other half’s crazy.

And so, despite a reputation as a woman-assaulting, flag-waving, steak-inhaling, ozone depleting, seal clubbing, greenhouse gas-emitting, non-tax paying, serial lying, narcissistic troglodyte of the best sort, Mr Trump is a cinch to win the Republican nomination for the Presidency. 

And there is a very good chance he will go on to become the US’ next President. 

It might be said that the coming election is the incumbent Joe Biden’s one to lose. His “Sleepy Joe-out-to-lunch” style of governance has won him no plaudits and few favours.

In the context of previous presidential elections, it reminds me of the quip made by comedian Mort Sahl after the 1980 election: “Reagan won because he ran against Jimmy Carter. If he ran unopposed, he would have lost.” 

I suppose I should not comment on another country’s politics but it’s mostly out of fear. The US is the most powerful country on Earth with enough weaponry to destroy the world several times over – so an assessment of the man with his finger on the trigger seems appropriate. 

Then again, what do we Malaysians know? 

We’re the same ones who, in 2013, re-elected the world’s biggest kleptocrat. Some of us publicly deplore racial and religious rhetoric but privately condone, even applaud it. 

To quote Bob Hope, it even gives dirty politics a bad name. 

ENDS

FEAR OF FRYING 

Historians have noted that the world moved from being flat to round to simply, being crooked. 

But consider its scale. If the Malaysian duo of Fearless and Felonious (Malaysian ex-premier Najib Razak and  Jho Low) rewrote global fraud records with their US$5 billion heist in  2011, a new fraudster has emerged to rain upon their charade.  

On Thursday, Judge Lewis Kaplan sentenced former crypto tycoon Sam Bankman-Fried  to 25 years for stealing US$8 billion from customers of his now-bankrupt FTX cryptocurrency exchange.

Crypto, as everyone knows, is the new Greek as in “it’s all crypto to me.” Even its root, “cryptic” is from the  Greek “hidden” and comes across as “mysterious” or “obscure.” 

Which sums up cryptocurrency. Essentially, it’s a digital currency that’s created from encryption technologies. These technologies mean they function both as a currency and as a virtual accounting system. You might say it’s gold for nerds. 

Cryptocurrencies have become increasingly accepted as a medium of exchange worldwide. All one needs to trade in it is a cryptocurrency wallet with your own PIN number. And even God can’t help if you forget your PIN.  

None of the developed countries have recognised digital currencies as legal tender but that could change. Presently, El Salvador is the only  country that  recognises bitcoin as legal tender.   

For students of history, it was actually Felonious who hit upon the idea of a cryptocurrency way back when. He thought he would call it Decibel. It was a word that resonated with him and it had all the hallmarks of a sound investment. But 1MDB was, shall we say, simpler and, like Everest, was there for the taking.

But I digress. 

If there are cryptocurrencies, there must be exchanges where it can be traded. Bankman’s FTX was the third largest exchange in the US with over a million users. 

It went bankrupt in 2022 after a spike in depositor withdrawals revealed a massive US$8 billion hole in its accounts. Criminal charges weren’t far behind for Bankman, a math prodigy once estimated by Forbes to be worth US$26 billion. 

Bankman, 32, was found  guilty in November 2023 on fraud and conspiracy charges in what prosecutors called one of the biggest financial frauds in US history.

Kaplan said the sentence reflected “that there is a risk that this man will be in a position to do something very bad in the future. And it’s not a trivial risk at all.”

To his credit,  Bankman-Fried stood and apologised. “A lot of people feel really let down. And they were very let down. And I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about what happened at every stage,” he said. “My useful life is probably over. It’s been over for a while now, from before my arrest.”

It could have been a lot worse for him. Bankman-Fried could have received up to 110 years behind bars for his crimes. The 25-year sentence was also less than the 40-50 years that the prosecution sought.

The leniency may have come from his effective altruism. The former magnate had believed in donating all or part of one’s wealth to charity rather than, say, volunteering at a soup kitchen. And he had donated liberally in the past.  

Even so, he had embezzled customer funds systematically and over a long period. 

“The defendant victimised tens of thousands of people and companies, across several continents, over a period of multiple years. He stole money from customers across several continents who entrusted it to him,” prosecutors said.

If it all sounds familiar, it is. The only difference is that our duo screwed an entire country. 

Bankman just screwed his clients. They couldn’t bank on him and they got fried. 

ankmanENDS