The prime minister keeps the members of parliament entertained with his futuristic visions and dreams of mega-bucks to come (from who knows where). They look alert when he is present for two primary reasons. They recall how he reminds them that he alone decides who will be the candidate in their district in the next election. And his choice always wins, by means they know to be successful, though of questionable ethics.

But today the prime minister finds few familiar faces fawning and flattering as in the high-faluting days of flavored flatulence just past. There is a new scent in the air. Lunas has awakened the sleepers, and now the man from Pahang has delighted the opposition with his teasing taste at turned tables.

Lunas showed that the guarantee of electoral success is now hollow, and the perks of office are not assured when running under the old BN banner. That deflates the temper of the threat. If the prime minister makes the mention again the mirth will melt him in his mules.

Now the man from Pahang has lifted a corner of the tent, and all see the new situation. Alarm creates the new scent, as the perspiration of fear humidifies the hallowed halls. The threat of resignation is now worth more than the worthless promise of being re-chosen. The BN wants no more Lunas's for now, especially with Sarawak state elections souring, and will pay pretty pennies to keep the boys in their seats. Seeing the discomfort, the boys squirm with smiles that widen and wink.

The prime minister is faced with a house packed with his party's potential losers, who can probably win only by joining the opposition. But before doing that then, they can squeeze a million or two today by threatening a by-election that ripens when they resign in protest at the obvious corruption that they, as newly minted men, turn toes to tolerate.

There is constant mention of the majority's decision that put the present rogues back in power. But the revelations of massive electoral fraud make this argument moot. They have enjoyed with arrogance the thought that only street violence might wrest from them their sinecure. Now it is not so certain. The man from Pahang has sent the supreme council into emergency session. Unity talks take a tumble. This new twist is at the core of things.

The conspirators now face increased costs, at a time when less ready cash is available. There are drains caused by the necessity to shore up the caving bulkheads. The times call for enlightened leadership. The times they go a-begging.

Instead, the actor onstage directs a frail finger to the mezzanine. In a leafy voice he leavens, "Look there! Out to the far horizon ... look for the visions of fullsome phantom future." The audience has heard this same line delivered interminably before. It is stale with false hope dashed. They look down, finding the present unpalatable, and consider instead prospects for deriving gain from a falling tree.

All watch to see how the man from Pahang fares in his lonely quest for improvement from within. None offer much hope, but the potential for trading is definitely there, and there and there ... everywhere. Now it is the ex-MB whose nose is in the noose. Tomorrow who knows whose nose? And all think the same thought. All these antics are about one warped old man.

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