Skip to main content

Satan's clause

TWO of every three Filipinos say they will vote “No” in a plebiscite on a new Constitution that the current top tenant in Malacañang wants, according to the November 2006 Social Weather Stations survey.

The telling clause to that sentence? A new Charter that the current top tenant in Malacañang wants.

We can also substitute another clause. Say, a new set of errand dogs that the current top dog in Malacañang wants elected.

Plunk down another clause. What about new Garci that the current top resident in Malacañang wants for more satisfying mid-term election results?

Surveys like that one plied by SWS come in handy questionnaires. Respondents’ replies to questionnaires don’t necessarily reflect genuine sentiments.

Sentiments can be swayed, say, at gun point or before an overwhelming presence of hired riff-raff bristling with menace and mayhem plus firepower.

People’s sentiments and perceptions can also be coaxed for suitable ends with some legal tenderness.

Sumptuous sums could be trickled down to the nation’s 42,000 barangays to win converts and perverts. People’s talk is cheap and should be fixed. Money talks.

Wrenched off the pockets of the nation’s army of taxpayers for the 2007 spending binge is a P127-billion war chest for Malacañang. Let the taxpayers weep at that.

The monies can convince voters to switch their loyalties. They’ll likely do that without a twinge of regret.

Monies can also persuade oppositionists to switch their allegiance, even drop out of the poll race.

If that doesn’t work, more monies can ensure another Garci clone or a similar set of operatives to knead poll returns.

Lap dogs, attack dogs, and errand dogs for Malacañang should garner most of the seats in both chambers of Congress. A canine majority must be kept intact so as to quash any try at toppling the top tenant in Malacañang.

That ought to be the scheme of things unreeling before our eyes in 2007.


Popular posts from this blog

Every single cell of my body's happy

I got this one from Carmelite Sisters from whose school three of my kids were graduated from. They have this snatch of a song that packs a fusion metal and liebeslaud beat and whose lyrics go like this:

"Every single cell of my body is happy. Every single cell of my body is well. I thank you, Lord. I feel so good. Every single cell of my body is well."

Biology-sharp nerds would readily agree with me in this digression... Over their lifetimes, cells are assaulted by a host of biological insults and injuries. The cells go through such ordeals as infection, trauma, extremes of temperature, exposure to toxins in the environment, and damage from metabolic processes-- this last item is often self-inflicted and includes a merry motley medley of smoking a deck a day of Philip Morris menthols, drinking currant-flavored vodka or suds, overindulgence in red meat or the choicest fat-marbled cuts of poultry and such carcass.

When the damage gets to a certain point, cells self-destruct. T…


Viagra au naturel

IT LOOKED eerie—a blaze of fireflies pulsing like stars in the nippy air, throbbing with mating passions. That show of lights somehow eased the shadows of a Holy Thursday night on a dry river bed a few kilometers trudge up Mount Makiling.

It’s likely that no river has lain in sleep for months on that moss-grown, boulder-strewn bed—except my 20-year old kid Kukudyu and I. We were out to spend the night, do on-site learning sessions by the next day. Usual father-and-son bonding. As the late Benjamin Franklin once begged: "Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn."

Past noon from the foot of the mountain’s northern section, it took us four hours ploughing non-stop through prickly bushes and forest undergrowth to get to that site. We got there in one bruised piece. By then, dusk was falling; the sylvan air hummed with a trill of crickets, cicadas, critters nameless in choral orison. That incessant “sh-r-r-e-eemmm---“ layered with “k-kr-r-eeengg--” …