A LOOMING water shortage won’t be much of a worry to certain species of reptiles. They can slow down their own signs of life, say breathing, gorging on food or taking water to keep body mass intact. They can play half-dead—the exact term is hibernation which sounds too close to nation. Reptiles like that are, for short, called Rep.
A liter of water costs more than a liter of premium gas any time. But sometimes a few drops of spittle turn out to be costlier burden on a consumer or taxpayer’s pockets. Say, the sort of spittle that time and again mists the august halls of the House of Rep.
We can zero in on one instance. Our reporter Tita C. Valderama’s story which saw print December 1, 2006 bore this four-decker: “GMA’s allies: Cha-cha more important than water crisis.”
Wow! That report was as mouth-watering as the waxed-neat fringes about the cleft ‘tween Britney Spears’ thighs that we see a lot of these days.
So we can drool and revel over the revelation.
As the Valderama report bears out, out the House of Rep. window went any discussion about an impending water crisis. Unceremoniously ditched like Britney Spears’ panties. Most of ‘em in that gathering of honorable Rep. wanted to do spray-drip irrigation of collective spittle on another topic more suited to their appetites.
Like that Spears letting her hair down, shedding her knickers, gamboling and gambling and plying the all-night party circuit, they just want to dance.
They’re probably keeping an eye on the P129-billion war chest of Malacañang’s—a chest like that’s more interesting than even the public display of nether lips of a Britney Spears. Plain folks won’t even bother with splitting pubic hairs over trifles over exposed labia majora or the House of Rep. majority. We’re adults. We’ve seen things that can make kids cringe. Nobody can tell us which is obscene, which isn’t.
A P129-billion war chest ought to take care of cloud seeding to bring rain to certain parched parts of the country. At about P5 million per planeload of salt to be dispersed above fat clouds to induce rainfall, that multi-billion chest can go a long way in averting threats of drought, crop failures, water crisis and cash shortages among Palace devotees.
If all else fails, we can import shamans, warlocks and wonder-workers among the Sioux and Navajo nations. They can conjure rainstorms by a quaint rite. Something called rain dance.
Or we call on the gathering at the House of Rep. to devise something that can crank out downpours. They’ll improvise a rain dance.