GOOOD MORRNNNING, Malaysia! Now a look at the news. The Sun has gone down, and may not come up again, so what is news ... we can't get a tan today, but Ling Ham's in the chair. If you go out, the streets are full of journalists, some carrying signs, some crying and others leaping with joy to be free of their shackles. It's easier to dance with the chains off. Look there ... that old man. He shakes his head, "Too late, too late, not a Chinaman's chance."

On the TV there is a lady in blue, sitting quietly as in prayer. Then a turbaned man walks up behind her. After a moment's reflection, he raises his rifle and shoots her in the back of the head. Her brains are splattering and splaying onto the dirt in front of her. She doesn't move. Not dismayed, the man points his rifle at her head again and fires. Bang! But there is no sound. This is a silent film. Still she does not move, as though she is lost in prayer.

He raises the rifle a third time, shoots into her brain again. This time she, at least her body, smoothly folds forward to the ground. The man seems satisfied. He has finished his work. He strides away, leaving the lady in her blue burqua in her final peace. This is the news in Malaysia.

Hear! Hear! The TV is miraculous in its ability to graphically portray events of importance, whether they happened last week or the century before, or not at all. There is really no need to say. Just let the pictures speak for themselves. They are so, so convincing.

Comes the next scene. Those men with their hands tied behind them are coming out of some bushes. A couple of them are wearing white t-shirts with camouflage pants. Those are policemen guiding them along. There is no sound, so I guess it is a picture of men who have been taken prisoner by the police on their way to be executed like the lady in blue. We just don't know.

TV is a great stimulus to the imagination.

Another memorable scene from TV Today is the part played by the holes. Don't ask me why the holes are on prime time TV, this is radio; although some think we are always in a hole here too.

A closeup of one hole shows it has a step in it, just like soldiers make. I think they call that a 'firing step', but I'm no expert on field maneuvers. Maybe the men dug the holes so they could get in them and fire at the police when they showed up.

That would make a lot of sense. Just steal a gun, dig a hole, get in it and wait for the police to come. Then you shoot at them. A fun day for all, wouldn't you say? A nice outing for a quiet Sunday? Oh well, maybe they were bored. Or maybe they were thinking of taking over the country. Steal some guns and take on all comers. "Here, shoot me!" Show invincibility. Who knows? People do funny things sometimes.

Lucky for us the police were there. Stopped this nonsense early, before it caught on. Let's give a cheer for the police. Hip, hip, hooray!

And there's the Prime Minister. Again. What's he limping for, bad fitting conscience? He talks seriously, gesticulating and jabbing the air. Something about a sandwich, or not a sandwich. Didn't get it all.

Goood Mornnning, Malaysia! It's election time again in the north. Somebody in office died. Again. Risky, those offices. One man stopped at a traffic light, and didn't leave enough room for the motorbikes to get ahead of his car to the white line. The blokes went amok and the pillion rider punched his eyes out with a handgun. Gotta watch out for those pillion riders. A nasty bunch, especially if you have a lot of married girlfriends.

But this office is empty from a natural death. Natural causes, or as natural as bad breath in Malaysia allows. So the contest is on for a new seat holder. Between two educators, and that is certainly a good thing. We need all the education we can get in Malaysia, right? Education suffers when no discussion, no travel and no thought is allowed. Thought is a one-way street in Malaysia, as in spoonfed. Two-way streets are forbidden; seditious.

Some are going abroad for an education. Why, oh why, don't they come back? We need more educated people, who can think and do. How's that? Do ...? Well not in Malaysia you don't. This is Matarahsia, don'cha know. Opportunity is limited except to aspiring politicains who can master the Russian welcome, a kiss on both cheeks, with the cute touch of combining it with a bow. Extra promotion for pulling the head back and moving it slowly side to side while taking a deep whiff, all the while expressing a look of deepest ecstasy. That's the famous Asian Way.

Who is that fellow over there? Looks like a dapper lad to me. And there are two or three running to point a finger at him. "Go home! Go home!" they are shouting. "You don't belong here! We told you not to come, now see what it gets you." Maybe he won't be so dapper in a few days. "Dapper is dead," is the new slogan.

Whoa, now ... there is somebody waving a cleaver. He has a little white goatee, and the cleaver has something written on it. Let's see; oh, yes, it says "Islamic State" on the blade. Must be the manufacturer's name. Probably something from Afghanistan, made by Taleban Industries. Or maybe he made it himself. It is certainly an original design.

What's the man doing????? Ohhh myyyy goodness, he has sliced the cold venison apart with his cleaver. See how it bleeds. Either he is careless or he means business. Wait, there he goes again, swinging his Toledo blade. He is trying to cleave off another chunk. Not much luck, too tough. He hacks away. What a pastime. Good luck to him, and to his little audience too. Ooops, he has cut his own hand off. He is smiling. Did he mean to do that? Who does that fellow work for? He looks well paid.

Here's a little item of interest. Hummm, this one is about telephone calls. Two telephone calls actually. The first call is from a man to his wife. "Bye, bye," says he, "Take care of the kids, and remember where the savings are." "Why, why must you die?" asks the wife. "It's not my choice," he says, "This one is on the boys upstairs. "Goodbye, my love." Click. That's all for call number one.

The second call comes a day or so later. It is from his friends at the office. By this time she knows her husband is missing, perhaps taken hostage. Actually, it was reported by the media that he was taken hostage, so she knew. Remember, it is a day or so later. Got that? The second phone call came a day or so after the Sunday morning he was last known to be in his apartment in the police barracks. It came a day or so after he is supposed to be in the ranks of the revolutionary rifle robbers on the run.

"We need a change of clothes for your husband," they say. "Where is he? Is he OK?" "Oh, yesss," says they, "He is in stable condition." She hears snickers in the background. She is already plenty suspicious. In Malaysia this 'stable condition for the dead is a standing joke. "Why does he need a change of clothes?" asks she. "Just to be neat and clean," says they. Neat oh.

Later she learns he was taken on a little ride in a white Proton car. Up the Grik road, out of his regularly assigned territory. He was put out beside the roadside, to face the robbers on a hot Sunday afternoon. But he was instructed to go up the hill, and there was another undercover man on his motorbike waiting to accompany him. It was a wet day, and the rutted clay road was slippery. So he promptly stole a handy motorbike, and up the hill they went, two undercover policemen in their plain clothes.

Like Jack and Jill, they went up the hill. The Judas goat and the lamb. Jack came down. Jill came four days after. Spent four days in a hole, he did. Or so they say. No mention of the change of clothes. Funny story, huh? You aren't laughing.

Take two. A mutiny on a hillside. Two policemen in the main road say they saw their swat team leader through binoculars, disarming the mutineers. Lucky fellow was rewarded at the police brigade in Ipoh two weeks later. Promoted and transferred. Selected for high honour, he came to the capital to get his prized ribbon. In the big chamber, he strutted up, chest pushed out with pride, chin at a big angle, to be given his little title. Saved the King and country, he did. He's a Dah-duke now, or something like that. Front row, right up there with all the other big horses who have given service. Good shot, too, right between the eyes.

A followup on the widow. She made history. For the first time in Malaysia, a policeman's widow got a house and half a million ringgit for her part. Something for the big book of records. Same for a Ranger in the hole with him. This is the new standard, then, a special caliber for important missions of service to the country? Nexxxttt ...

A home video shows the two bodies as they were taken from the hole, the two who voluntarily gave their lives for the political survival of the government, and their clothes are clearly seen. Their bodies were taken to the morgue for a postmortem. The clothes were removed. Can you guess which clothes Sgt. Sagadevan was wearing?

Gooddd Mornnning, to the Islamic State of Malaysia, where the news is nothing if not neutered, the Chinese have the initiative and the companies, the Malay cronies swap their contracts for MB's and Beemers, and the Indians are whacked with parangs all day. Sooo-o-o-o long, now, and don't forget to vote for the guys who count the votes. They will help. Just raise your good right hand.

Give a wave to the 500,000 illegal aliens kept in Malaysia's concentration camps. Wave at those arrested under the ISA, who are given no chance to defend themselves. They are buried brothers, fathers, husbands, sons. Wave with the wives and mothers. Wave with their children. Wave at the Al Maunah, who are kept apart from other company, to keep them from any contaminating truth. Wave at your Muslim brothers, kept like animals in this Islamic State of ours.

Look closely into their eyes. Be alert in your looking and you will see yourself. It's important that you see yourself; because it's not too late to save yourself.

GOOOD MOURNNNING, MALAYSIA!!!!

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