Thu Mar 04, 12:17:58 AM
Prime Suspect : J W

HEAR YE

Recently the peasantry had been busy discussing (and discussing only) certain issues close to their hearts.

While the more astute ones were talking about the latest developments in the long-running 1,001 episodic saga involving our sarong kebaya airways and, er, Someone, (not to be confused with the 1,001 episodic saga entitled "A Kindred Spirit") not many are really focusing their eyes on the upcoming elections involving our friends from the north (their nationality does not start with the letter "M" by the way). So while news of the new Democratic hopeful (not our "don’t pray pray" Chee) lines himself up for the standoff of this century (hopefully Florida will not be in the spotlight this time round for all the wrong reasons) completely goes past many of the peasants, many on this little speck of an island are now unearthing yet again the age old issue of, well, conception.

I will not attempt to be yet another broken record here by reminding one and all about the better than perfect efforts by the gahmen in curbing the erstwhile rising-through-the-roof conception rates amongst the peasants in the 60s and 70s where young men were so plentiful that being "tortured" by their resident Sarcents and Occifers in the army never made the headline news in our national rags. Many from my generation will no doubt remember the two-girls-sharing-a-puny-apple-sheltered-under-an-even-punier-umbrella posters which filled every corner of all gahmen institutions back those days, warning the peasantry about the consequences that await them if they failed to �?stop-at-two”.

The solution was so way beyond perfection that, two decades later, we have reached a new low in terms of our conception rates. Of course, the gahmen (in fact every gahmen would also be) was concerned about what this will mean to our little speck of an island. Social costs arising from the population not being able to replace itself (hope this sounds right) will probably mean dipping into our national coffers for solutions to all sorts of problems associated with a declination in the population numbers.

Now, under such situation, the gahmen will do something that any other gahmen will do under such situation. That is to convene a council of wise men to plot charts, analyse numbers and postulate figures to get to the bottom of the problem and nip it in the bud.

The problem is everyone (even the peasants themselves!) knows or rather can define main bits of the bottom of this problem but it has grown so big with flowers in full bloom and roots the size of an elephant’s trunk (not surprising given the fact that it was planted two decades ago) that it is now near impossible to nip it in the bud.

Then again, when you convene a council of wise men like that, the wise men would be expected to deliver. So the council of wise men continued to deliberate, plot more charts, analyze more numbers and postulate more figures, and in the process dunk gallons of coffee and ingested thousand boxes of donut, just so that they can come up with a world-class solution that will put other gahments in the First World to shame.

***

So on the day they were supposed to deliver, the council of wise men gamely stood at the tower of the castle with the scribes, who held the job of simplifying whatever that would be announced to the peasantry via the national rags, waiting below with their hands holding a notebook and a pencil with bated breath.

One of the wise men, who arranged for a hairdo job at a neighbourhood salon (frequented by the old Bengs and served by old Lians), strode to the rostrum, cleared his throat and gently tapped on the microphone to make sure that every peasant on the island would hear his wise words.

Next, he took out a scroll, which no doubt was pored over by all the court officials in the kingdom and possibly even the King (not to be confused with the man named Elvis, although both Kings were made popular during the same era) thousand times over, and started to declare, not the results of the recent Oscars, but the solution of the century.

"Dear peasants," he began in his deep-throated voice, which seem to resemble how the mannequin of Nicolas Cage would sound like if it spoke. "We have deliberated over the problem for months on end, plotted a thousand and a million charts, consulted the almanacs, the stars, postulated a million figures, balanced a thousand and one equations and of course, analyzed a gazillion and one numbers… �?

And so, the spokesman from the council of wise men droned on, while the peasants continued with their usual activities, i.e., queuing up for tickets to watch some Aerospace show, debating over whether their kingdom should rejoin some football league with neighbours from the north, complaining about dirty toilets and how the brightest of the peasantry do not know enough of current affairs. While at the bottom of the tower, the scribes were busy scribbling down every word the spokesman said.

It took ten minutes for the spokesman to plough through the scrolls which gave detailed description of every figure analyzed, every chart plotted and every time contents of many a coffee mugs were spilt on the scrolls. It took them another ten to give some background on why conception rates were so fearfully low.

At the end of the long introductory speech, the spokesman’s facial muscles began to contort a bit as though a smile was slowly forming on his otherwise poker-like face. A little twinkle in his eyes, always reserved for times when he receives his paycheck (some say the council of wise men were always paid seven-digit figures just to plot charts, analyse figures and postulate numbers), came on. The scribes looked up, anticipating the solution of the century.

�?My fellow pea- , I mean, countrymen. After months of deliberation, we have finally found the solution that will signal the end of the falling trend in terms of our conception rates,” he introduced again.

�?From now on, our female pea-, I mean, countrymen, will be given two extra months of maternity leave! We are confident that by releasing them from up to another 40 days of work in the fields or treadmills, they will be charged up enough to want to have another child just so that they can try to get themselves off work for another 40 days!”

The scribes, having long conditioned to such rousing (but in essence boring speeches), applauded as though they were all Peter Jacksons at the recent Oscars.

Then, another member from the council of wise men strode forward, gently nudged the spokesman away and proclaimed how the council had fine-tuned the policy further.

�?We will use a sliding ruler for this,” he said, in a voice reminiscent of a cross between Elton John and Michael Jackson. �?Female peasants who are first-time mothers will get 40 work-free days and for every subsequent baby peasant that they conceive, they will get few work-free days until they hit their fourth child when they would be entitled to a maximum number of 40 extra work-free days. Imagine that 40 extra work-free days!”

Again, the scribes applauded as though they were Dubyas during the capture of one certain man by the name of Saddam.

�?That is our world-class solution, worthy of our pay-check of six zeros and preceded by the number �?one’,” boomed the voice on the microphone which was drowned out by all the applause. �?Before long, we are confident that the conception rates will rise again!”

Meanwhile, on another tower, another council of wise men just announced the latest change in the policy which would allow more �?barbarians” into the kingdom to work because the kingdom had to be more prosperous (to ward off competition from other barbaric kingdoms) and since the peasantry were too lazy to upgrade themselves by learning how better to wash test tubes and they had been asking for way too many work-free days, especially those female peasants.

***

Background article     # D W denies liability.3/04/2004 12:17:00 am