Wth some buddies of mine like those horseying at maverickysm.BC and allofhelen.BC, their Posts often tickle the humerus bone, and if Desi tries to go anywhere near Mave's Bayi jokes, or sisdar helen's Tai-tai's sharings/swaerings, Desi often falls short. Physically and metaphorically -- those who have met Desi will knoweth, with uncuntrolled laughter?
For the less amorous among you, the Post's retitled alternatively:
"aMore of Wilde Hemlock, Thou Knotty ER?"
In the olde daes, when you wanna love thy enemy to death, you use hemlock to welcome him/her into thy chamber, if you couldn't put a dagger into that part of the anatomy below his/her hemline.
Nowadaes, Desi has learnt the finer art of lacing tehtarik with arSENic, slowly loving thee till death do us party.
So if you wanna educate yourself into swearing in Victorian HI-society, here's aMore witticism from wild Oscar himself.
"THE LITTLE BOOK
BETTY JO RAMSY
with illustrations by
My copy (please don't steal IT!)
and was published by
TOPPAN COMPANY, LIMITED
PETER PAUPER PRESS, INC.
New York, U.S.A.
"M. Zola is determined to show that, if he has
not got genius, he can at least be dull."
"There are two ways of disliking poetry, one
way is to dislike it, the other is to read Pope."
"(Bernard Shaw) hasn't an enemy in the
world, and none of his friends like him."
"Mr. Hall Caine, it is true, aims at the grandi-
ose, but then he writes at the top of his voice.
He is so loud that one cannot hear what he
"Mr. James Payn is an adept in the art of con-
cealing what is not worth finding."
"The first rule for a young playwright to fol-
low is not to write like Henry Arthur Jones ....
The second and third rules are the same."
"Mr. Henry James writes fiction as if it were
a painful duty."
"George Moore wrote brilliant English until
he discovered grammar."
On George Moore: "He leads his readers
to the latrine and locks them in."
Some barb-trading, which MPs of NegaraKu can never rise to; they only know how to kowtow or descend into the pits:
On Oscar Wilde: "What has Oscar
in common with art? Except that he dines at our tables
and picks from our platters the plums for the
puddings he peddles in the provinces.
Oscar -- the amiable,irresponsible, escurient Oscar --
with no more sense of a picture than of the fit
of a coat, has the courage of the opinions... of others!" -- James M.Whistler
Oscar Wilde's reply to Whistler's attack:
"As for borrowing Mr Whistler's ideas about art,
the only thoroughly original ideas I have ever heard
him express have had reference to his own superiority
as a painter over painters greater than himself." -- Oscar Wilde
Whistler's reply to Wilde's reply: "A poor thing, Oscar!
-- but, for once, I suppose your own."-- James M. Whistler
"(George) Meredith is only a prose Browning --
and so was Browning." Oscar Wilde
"If you can't enjoy wit, then toy it."
The lust one cometh from an Oscar clone, YL Chong - Desi,
_________________A DEVOTED FRIEND ART THOU? ____________________
"The Devoted Friend",
written by Oscar Wilde.
One morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole.
He had bright little eyes and a long black tail. The little yellow ducks were swimming about in the pond, and their mother, who was white with real red legs, as trying to teach them how to stand on their heads in the water.
“You will never be among the top people unless you can stand on your heads,” she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them how to do it. But the little ducks paid no attention to her. They were too young. It is a great advantage to be among the top people, but the little ducks were too young to know that.
“What bad children!” cried the old Water-rat.
“Not at all”, answered the Duck. “Everyone must make a beginning. Children need plenty of time to learn. Every parents know that.”
“Ah! I know nothing about the feelings of parents,” said the Water-rat; “I am not a family man. In fact, I have never been married, and I never want to be. Love is very good, in a way, but friendship is much higher. There is nothing in the world that is more beautiful than a devoted friendship.”
“And what, sir, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?” asked a Green Linnet. The little bird was sitting in a tree by the pond, and he had heard the Duck and the Water-rat talking.
“Yes, that is just what I want to know,” said the Duck. Then she swam away to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give her children a good example.
“What a silly question!” cried the Water-rat. “I should expect my devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course.”
“And what would you do in return?” said the little bird, standing upon a silver branch, and moving his wings up and down.
“I don’t understand you,” answered the Water-rat.
“Let me tell you a story on the subject,” said the Linnet.
“Is the story about me?” asked the Water-rat. “If so, I will listen to it, for I like stories that are not really true.”
“It is not about you, but it has something to do with you,” answered the Linnet; and he flew down and, landing by the side of the pond, he told the story of The Devoted Friend.
“Once upon a time,” said the Linnet, “there was a pleasant little fellow named Hans. He never stole, and never told a lie.”
“Was he a high-class man?” asked the Water-rat.
“No,” answered the Linnet. “I don’t think he was high-class at all, but he had a kind heart, and a funny round smiling face. He lived in a little house all by himself and everyday he worked in his garden. In all the country-side there was no garden so lovely as his. Every kind of flower grew in it, month by month, one flower taking another flower’s place, so that there were always beautiful things to look at, and pleasant flowers to smell.
“Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of all was big Hugh the Miller. Indeed, he was so devoted to Hans that every time he passed his garden he wound lean over the wall into the garden. While doing so, he would pick several flowers, or fill his pockets with fruit if it was the right time of year.
“Real friends should share everything between them,” the Miller used to say. Then little Hans smiled in agreement, and felt very pleased to have a friend with such fine ideas.
“Sometimes, the neighbours thought the friendship a little strange. This was because the rich Miller never gave little Hans anything in return, though he had a hundred sacks of flour stored away in his windmill, and six fine brown cows, and fifty large white sheep. But Hans never troubled his head about these things. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to the Miller as he spoke about friendship. The Miller used to say wonderful things about the unselfishness of true friendship.”
“So little Hans worked away in his garden,” continued the Linnet. “During the spring, the summer, and the autumn he was very happy, but then the winter came. In the winter, when he had no fruit or flowers to bring to the market, he suffered a good deal from cold and hunger. He often had to go to bed without eating anything but a few pieces of dried fruit. In the winter, also, he was very lonely, as the Miller never came to see him then.
“There is no good in my going to see little Hans as long as the snow lasts,” the Miller used to say to his wife. “When people are in trouble they should be left alone. It is not right for visitors to come and take up their time. That at least is my idea about friendship, and I am sure I am right. So I shall wait till the spring comes, and then I shall pay little Hans a visit. He will be able to give a large basket of primroses (a yellow spring flower), and that will make him so happy.”
“You are certainly very thoughtful about others,” answered the wife, as she sat in her large warm chair by the big hot fire; “very thought indeed. It is very pleasant to hear you talk about friendship. The clergyman himself could not say such beautiful things as you do, though he does live in a fine big house, and wear a gold ring on his little finger.”
“But could we not ask little Hans up here?” said the Miller’s youngest son. “If poor Hans is in trouble I will give him half my breakfast, and show him my black and white cat.”
“What a silly boy you are!” cried the Miller. “What is the use of sending you to school?” you seem not to learn anything. Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good breakfast, and all our red wine, he might start wanting such things for himself; and that is a most terrible thing in a man, and would make his nature unfriendly. I certainly will not allow Han’s nature to become unfriendly. I am his best friend, and I will always watch over him. Besides, if Hans came here, he might want to have some flour and pay for it later, and that I could not allow. Flour is one thing, and friendship is another. The two words are quite different, and they mean quite different things. Everybody can see that.”
“How well you talk!” said the Miller’s wife, taking up a large glass of warm beer. “Really I feel quite sleepy. It is just like being in church.”
“Lots of people act well,” answered the Miller; “but very few people talk well. So we can see that talking is much the more difficult thing of the two, and much the finer thing also.” Then he made a very serious face, and looked across the table at his little son. At that, the boy hung his head down, and grew quite red in the face, and began to cry into his tea. However, he was very young, so that was quite natural.”
“Is that the end of the story?” asked the Water-rat.
“Certainly not,” answered the Linnet. “That is the beginning.”
“Then you are quite behind the age,” said the Water-rat. “Every good storyteller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the beginning, and finishes with the middle. That is the new method. I heard all about it the other day from a critic who was walking round the pond with a young man. He spoke of the matter at great length. He must have been right, for he looked very clever, and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered “Nonsense!” But please go on with your story. I like the Miller very much indeed. I have all kinds of beautiful thoughts myself, so he and I are very much alike.”
“Well,” said the Linnet, standing now on one leg and now on the other. “I shall continue the story. As soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their pale yellow stars, the Miller spoke to his wife. “I shall go down and see little Hans,” he said.
“Why, what a good heart you have!” cried his Wife. “You are always thinking of others. And remember to take the big basket with you for the flowers.”
“So the Miller tried the sails of the windmill together, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm. When he arrived, Hans was working in his garden.
“Good morning, little Hans,” said the Miller.
“Good morning,” said Hans, looking up from his work, and smiling from ear to ear.
“And how have you been all the winter?” said the Miller.
“Well, really,” cried Hans. “It is very good of you to ask, very good indeed. I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring has come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.”
“We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,” said the Miller, “and wondered how you were getting on.”
“That was kind of you,” said Hans; “I was half afraid you had forgotten me.”
“Hans, I am surprised at you,” said the Miller; “Friendship never forgets. That is the wonderful thing about the full beauty of life. How lovely your primroses are looking, by the way!”
“They are certainly very lovely,” said Hans. “and I am very lucky to have so many. I am going to bring them into the market and sell them to the Mayor’s daughter, and buy back my wheelbarrow with the money.”
“Buy back your wheelbarrow? Have you sold it? What a very silly thing to do!”
“Well,” said Hans, “I had to sell it. You see, the winter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no money at all to buy bread with. So I first sold my Sunday coat, and then I sold my smallest chair, and then I sold my big pipe, and in the end I sold my wheelbarrow. But I am going to buy them all back again now.”
“Hans,” said the Miller, “I will give you my wheelbarrow. It is rather old; indeed, one side is gone, and there is something wrong with the wheel; but in spite of that I will give it to you. I know it is very kind of me. A great many people would think me very foolish of giving it away, but I am not like the rest of the world. I think that kindness is the most important part of friendship, and besides, I have got a new wheelbarrow for myself. Yes, you may set your mind at rest, I will give you my wheelbarrow.”
“Well, really, that is kind of you,” said little Hans, and his funny round face shone all over the pleasure. “I can make it as good as new, as I have a plank of wood in the house.”
“A plank of wood!” said the Miller; “why, that is just what I want for my mill-roof. There is a very large hole in the roof, and I must mend it. How lucky you mentioned your plank! It is quite wonderful how one good action always leads to another. I have given you my wheelbarrow, and now you are going to give me your plank. Of course, the wheelbarrow is worth far more than the plank, but true friendship never notices things like that. Please get the plank at once, and I will set to work on my roof this very day.”
“Certainly,” cried little Hans, and he ran into the house and pulled the plank out.
“It is not a very big plank,” said the Miller, looking at it. “After I have mended my roof there won’t be any left for you to use for the wheelbarrow; but of course, I can’t help that. And now, as I have given you my wheelbarrow, you will of course want to give me some flowers in return. Here is the basket, and make sure you fill it quite full.”
“Quite full?” said little Hans, rather sadly, for it was really a very big basket. If he filled it, he saw, he would have no flowers left for the market; and he very much wanted to have his Sunday coat back.
“Well, really!” answered the Miller. “As I have given you my wheelbarrow, it is surely not much to ask you for a few flowers. I may be wrong, but surely friendship, true friendship, is quite free from selfishness of any kind.”
“My dear friend, my best friend,” cried little Hans, “You are welcome to all the flowers in my garden. I would much rather have your good opinion than my Sunday coat, any day;” and he ran and picked all his pretty primroses, and filled the Miller’s basket.
“Goodbye, little Hans,” said the Miller, as he went up the hill with the plank on his shoulder, and the big basket in his hand.
“Goodbye,” said little Hans, and he began to dig away quite happily, he was so pleased about the wheelbarrow.
“The next day,” continued the Linnet, “Little Hans was nailing up some tall flowers against the front of the house, when he heard the Miller’s voice calling to him from the road. So he jumped down from the house, and ran down the garden, and looked over the wall.
“There was the Miller with a large sack of flour on his back.
“Dear little Hans,” said the Miller. “Would you mind carrying this sack of flour for me to market?”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Hans, “but I am really very busy today. I have got all these tall flowers to nail up, and all my other flowers to water, and all my grass to roll.”
“Well, really!” said the Miller, “I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and now you refuse to go to market for you. That seems rather unfriendly.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” cried little Hans, “I never want to be unfriendly to you;” and he ran in for his hat, and walked tiredly off with the big sack on his shoulders.
“It was a very hot day, and the road was terribly hot and dray. Before Hans had walked for two hours he was so tired that he had to sit down and rest. However, he got up and went on again, and at last he reached the market. After he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of flour for a very good price, and then he returned home at once with the money.
“It has certainly been a hard day,” said little Hans to himself as he was going to bed; “but I helped the Miller, and I am glad of that, for he is my best friend. Besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow.”
“Early the next morning,” the Linnet continued, “the Miller came down to get the money for his sack of flour, but little Hans was so tired that he was still in bed.
“Well, really!” said the Miller. “Still in bed! I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, which is very kind of me; and I think you should work harder because of it. I certainly don’t like it when my friends lie in their beds instead of working. You must not mind my speaking quite openly to you. Of course, I only speak openly because I am your friend. What is the good of friendship if one cannot speak openly? Anybody can say nice things and try to please, but a true friend always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend he tries to give pain. To give pain is to do good.”
“I am very sorry,” said little Hans, trying to keep his eyes open and sitting up in bed, “I was so tired that I wanted to lie in bed for a little time, and listen to the birds singing. I always work better after hearing the birds sing, did you know that?”
“Well, I am glad of that,” said the Miller, laying his hand on little Hans’s shoulder, “for I want you to come and help me now. Come up to the mill as soon as you are dressed, and mend my roof for me.”
“Poor little Hans very much wanted to go and work in his garden, for he had not watered his flowers for two days; but he did not like to refuse the Miller, as he as such a good friend to him.
“I really am very busy today; does that sound very unfriendly?” he asked very quietly.
“Well, really!” answered the Miller. “It is not much to ask of you. Remember, I am going to give you my wheelbarrow; but of course if you refuse to help me, I will go and do the work myself.”
“Oh! I can’t allow that,” cried little Hans; and he jumped out of bed, and dressed himself, and went up to the Miller’s.
“He worked there all day long, till sunset, and at sunset the Miller came to see how he was getting on.
“Have you mended the hole in the roof yet, little Hans?” cried the Miller with a friendly laugh.
“It is quite mended,” answered little Hans, coming down from the roof.
“Ah!” said the Miller, “There is no work so delightful as the work one does for others.”
“I am certainly very lucky to hear you talk,” answered little Hans, sitting down on a stone. “I am very lucky indeed. But I am afraid I shall never have such beautiful ideas as you have.”
“Oh! Ideas will come to you,” said the Miller, “but you must work harder at it. At present you have only the practise of friendship; some day you will have the theory also.”
“Do you really think I shall?” asked little Hans.
“I have no doubt of it,” answered the Miller; “but now that you have mended the roof, you had better go home and rest. You must rest now, for I want you to drive my sheep to the mountain tomorrow.”
“Poor little Hans was afraid to say anything to this. Early the next morning the Miller brought his sheep round to the little house, and Hans started off with them to the mountain. It took him the whole day to get there and back; and when he returned he was so tired that he went off to sleep in his chair, and did not wake up till it was broad daylight.
“What a delightful time I shall have in my garden,” he said, and he went to work at once.
“But somehow he was never able to look after his flowers at all, for his friend the Miller was always coming round and sending him off the market or the mountain, or getting him to help the mill. Little Hans felt very worried about this at times. His flowers, he felt, would think he had forgotten them. However, he felt better when he remembered that the Miller was his best friend. “Besides,” little Hans used to say to himself, “he is going to give me his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of great kindness.”
“So little Hans worked away for the Miller, and the Miller said all kinds of beautiful things about friendship. Hans wrote these things down in a notebook. Then he used to read the notes at night, for he was very good at reading and learning.”
“Now it happened,” the Linnet continued, “that one evening little Hans was sitting by his fireside when a loud knock came at the door. It was a very wild night, and the wind was blowing and roaring terribly round the house. It was blowing and roaring so terribly that at first he thought the knock at the door was only the storm. But a second knock came, and then a third, louder than either of the others.
“It is some poor traveller,” said little Hans to himself, and he ran to the door.
“There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the other.
“Dear little Hans,” cried the Miller. “I am in great trouble. My little boy has fallen off a wall and hurt himself, and I am going for the Doctor. But the Doctor lives far away, and it is a very bad night. It would be much better, I think, if you went instead of me. After all, I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and so it is only fair that you should do something for me in return.”
“Certainly,” cried little Hans. “I am very glad that you came, and I will start off at once. But you must let me have your lantern, as the night is so dark. I am afraid I might lose my way in the darkness, and leave the road by mistake.”
“I am very sorry,” answered the Miller, “but it is my new lantern. It would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.”
“Well, never mind, I will do without it,” cried little Hans. He took down his thick winter coat, and his warm hat, and started off.
“What a terrible storm it was. The night was black. It was so black that little Hans could hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarely stand. However, he never lost heart. After he had been walking for about three hours, he arrived at the Doctor’s house, and knocked at the door.
“Who is there?” cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom window.
“Little Hans, Doctor.”
“What do you want, little Hans?”
“The Miller’s son has fallen off a wall, and has hurt himself, and the Miller wants you to come at once.”
“All right!” said the Doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his coat and hat, and his lantern. Then he came downstairs, and rode off in the direction of the Miller’s house, little Hans walking tiredly behind him.”
“But the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain faster and faster, and little Hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the horse. In the end he lost his way, and the road by mistake. He was now in a wild, open place which was very dangerous, as it was full of deep holes. And into one of these great holes, as full of water, little Hans fell. The next day, poor little Hans’s dead body was found by some men. They pulled the body out of the great hole full of water where it lay, and they carried it back to the little house.
“Everybody went to little Hans’s funeral, as they all loved him, and the Miller was the most important person there.
“As I was his best friend,” said the Miller. “It is only fair that I should have the best place.” So he walked ahead of all the other people in a long black coat, and every now and then he put a big pocket-handkerchief to his eyes.
“Little Hans is certainly a great loss to everyone,” said one of the men, when the funeral was over, and they were all sitting round the table, drinking hot wine and eating sweet cakes.
“A great loss to me at any rate,” answered the Miller. “Why, I was going to give him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don’t know what to do with it. It is very much in my way at home, and it is so old that I cannot even sell it. I will certainly take care not to give away anything again. One always suffers for being kind.”
“Well?” said the Water-rat, after a long silence.
“Well, that is the end,” said the Linnet.
“But what became of the Miller?” asked the Water-rat.
“Oh! I really don’t know,” replied the Linnet; “and I am sure that I don’t care.”
“Well, one thing is certain,” said the Water-rat; “you yourself never feel sorry for anyone.”
“I am afraid you don’t quite see the moral of the story,” remarked the Linnet.
“The what?” cried the Water-rat.
“So the story has a moral?”
“Certainly,” said the Linnet.
“Well, really!” said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner. “You should have told me that before you began. Then I need not have listened to you. In fact, I should have said “Nonsense,” like the critic. However, I can say it now.”
So he shouted out “Nonsense” at the top of his voice, waved his black tail twice, and went back into his hole.
“And how do you like the Water-rat?” asked the Duck, who came swimming up some minutes afterwards. “He has a great many good points, but for my own part I have a mother’s feelings. When I see a man who is still not married, the tears come into my eyes.”
“I am rather afraid that I have made the Water-rat angry,” answered the Linnet. “The fact is, that I told him a story with a moral.”
“Ah! That is always a very dangerous thing to do,” said the Duck.
And I quite agree with her.
NOTE by DESI: The above story is re-cycled
as is wont of Desi lost in a lazy hazy mazy
korner of Furong.
As an After-Thought because the GOoD Lord gave each of us a unique brain to THINK?~~~~~~~
Further Rumination is based on “The Devoted Friend” by Oscar Wilde, (see Top of Page!). Lust night, as I lay sleeping, some Funny, Familiar, Forgotten Feelings swept over me; and in case some of you should ask, I did not see any special angkong jie (4D-lah for the ignoramuses among tee!:( even with BOTH MY EYES OPEN!
If you should be a neighbout of that Jasin MP, his One Eye Closed sees more ringgit than your thousand pairs. And that Zakaria Mad Deros could have given each of the local councillors a few BIG sticks of satay before they pulled down the DZ Sate house, eh! Yes, in good fellowship, the councillors left poor Zak of many tricks -- Ooops, trades! -- to cramp his BIG family into only a mini, tiny, li’l house in the vast Klang Valley, part of the most developed state this part of the world where when world oil prices go up, our pump prices go up too when Petronas petroleum commands a premium price.
Wow, a long Intro indeed, and it's not even Inter:nude for the Doc, because Desi was just up and about from semi-hiatus. No, I didn’t go to Haiti – MAS did not respond to my SOS for flee tickets. They said if Desi were to head for Cuba, I could potentially get a one-way ticket on condition I showed them a political asylum status PR... Anyone hear knows Fidelis Castrate?
Okay, back to the Wilde one, whose Oscar winning quotes are right, or left, up my alley, where cats mate in great abundance and also abandon – it’s really a free world! – Desi cracked his head after Dr Yeoh SM –- yes, sireee, the ysm after maverick if his name in short, in “long” form have to ask his secretary who is tending to a brood of Bayi always singing in the ward.
Quoting his Thinking Aloud: “
"I like the story but I didn't catch the insights.
Why not you too try Bayi's style jokes...hehehehehehehehehehehehehe
By Maverick SM, at 4:21 PM "
My Thinking Allowed that followed: “
Thou art not the only wan -- I read the Short Story a few times; still digesting it; still not foolly getting the "insights".
Wonder if the wilde wan won't spare us some time clarifying his message?:)
By desiderata, at 5:03 PM
As I was saying, when lust night as I lay sleeping, some FFFF (hey, it's not a dirty swear word!) came rushing into my small brain. Ah, that mighty generous Hari Raya Do/Did/Deed at the small house in the royal city of Klang. It provided the major “insight” – or is it small inside? – into that Wilde story with a “moral” which upset the Water-Rat.I guess rats get upset o’er all sorts of things not edible. So I wonder if like the orphans at that Zak do, did they ask for more?
If by now, half of my ER – hey, it’s not Emergency Room, it’s for EsteemedReaders, if you are stil in te adrk to date, you’reno friend of mine, go join the rats!—would be cursing beneath their breath, why is this Desi so longwinded and not get to the gist of the moral of the story. Folks, I am trying darn’d hard to cultivat the noble trait of Patience among Malaysians. Others get paid stipends and listed/listing companies' directorsheeps, badge of honours like Datuk and DanSi(Horst of allOFhelen says it means "Waiting to die" in Kantonis, ya ke?)for doing NS, Desi gets nothing but some requests for aMore tehtarik – jest watch the fine minute nanosecondthsized mobulae of arsenic, OK! (If you could find the word mobula in Da Dick, I just coined that word because it sounds right. In the exquisite company of Oscar writers, you are allowed some Leejeanswear.
Now where was I? Okay, just to braek the long journey, I reprise from one of the more readable MSM columnists, SYED NADZRI,in the same league as Citizen Nades and Jacqueline Ann Surin(also our mutual buddy Howsy's faves!:) mayhaps?
SYED NADZRI on Tuesday:
The house that Zak built
The public must judge for themselves whether the mansion built by Datuk Zakaria Md Deros is merely a legal issue or one that has moral questions attached to it.
EXACTLY a year ago, this column raised some questions about Port Klang state assemblyman Datuk Zakaria Md Deros and the luxurious bungalow he was building in Pandamaran, near Klang.
The house attracted a lot of attention as it was sticking out like a sore thumb in the midst of humble dwellings of the working class in Kampung Idaman -- very much like a scene of a palace in a feudal kingdom.
It was a hot subject then because it was said that the big house was being built without proper approval under the local council's building and planning regulations.
In that column, I wrote that the whole issue would be very much simpler if it was all merely about a legal issue.
"But," I continued, "quite obviously, it is not.
"There are moral questions. And political consequences. Which is why it is likely that the whole controversy is going to become more complex even after the legal point has been well and truly settled."
That was on Oct 16 last year.
True enough. The legal point has been settled because planning permission has since been obtained. Zakaria is in the clear under the law.
But ironically, the story about "the house that Zak built" was given a new lease of life when newspapers carried the latest reports and pictures about it on Friday.
The New Straits Times story on this, among others, says the celestial mansion has 16 bedrooms and 21 bathrooms, is 21/2 storeys high, and has a large fish pond and swimming pool.
"The flooring in the main hall is marble-tiled with many chandeliers above. There is also a mini golf course and a large garage. The size of the master bedroom could only be compared to a whole apartment and its attached bathroom comes with a jacuzzi."
At a house-warming do last Tuesday, Zakaria hosted about 500 orphans to dinner, prayer session and a sleepover. Oh, how thoughtful.
Going back to where I left off last year, I now leave it to readers to judge on the poser as to whether the above is just a legal issue or one that has moral questions in it. With political consequences.
________________ Ends Syed Nadzri's art __________________
DESIDERATA, being lazy as his CON BF has not arrived nyet, Cut&Paste from his own thoughts the day the story broke showing the lavish, ravishing "small" house that that Water-Rat -- Ooops, Zak -- built. The lardy Miller broke my concentration and Oscar in is winding ways did not help at awe!:(
There is indeed indecency in two Houses -- Starhub and Zakaria's 'palace' -- when the newspaper instead of chastising a law-breaker deemed it "fit" and proper (while others like me are getting the fits reading it) to celebrate Zakaria's elevation to being a "King" of the small house towering only 2-1/2-storeys in the Royal city of Klang. (I thought it was supposed to be 4 or 4-1/2 storeys, HOWsy?)
Indecent may not be the right word -- something incestuous is going on mayhaps because in the early days when the story broke about Zakaria having broken the buildings bylaws,, the People's Paper headed by a Datuk even great to great length to call on its Indian feng shui expert to write a PR shit -- oops, mind your language, sheet! -- about Zakaria's misfortune as being due to his mansion's locational bad fengshui. So it's not improbable that one Datuk is rubbing the other Datuk's back and each getting a high in their orifices where the sun don't shine, Yes/NO/Maybe... your democratic objective test, my EsteenmedReaders.
Wrt "...Zakaria said 30 orphans slept in the master bedroom and the rest in other rooms.He said he wanted to honour the children and also to allow them the opportunity to stay in luxury." -- Mayhaps the now law-abiding and charitable State Assemblyman should give these orphans permanent residence in the 'palace'? Anyway, it's only a "small" house what!
As for the major "insight/inside" that Desi wishes to share with Mave is that
like the Miller, Zakaria the state assemblyman, is indeed a kindhearted and generous man. He shared with the orphans -- he promised another group of orphans many happy returns of the day the next Hari Raya Aidilfitri cometh2008! By then he would have added more bathrooms, more chandeliers, and ah,mayhaps, at lust, aMore Mistress Medroom adjoining the Master Bedroom. I qquote from Nadzri's quoted report: --
"The flooring in the main hall is marble-tiled with many chandeliers above. There is also a mini golf course and a large garage. The size of the master bedroom could only be compared to a whole apartment and its attached bathroom comes with a jacuzzi." --
Now if only Pak Lah could be as kind and generous as the Miller and Zakaria, all Malaysians who have a BIG family would be gifted a "small" house by next Hari Raya Aidilfitri. And every recipient would ensure the 'hole keluarga mesra's "V"OTES FOR BN. Long Live, Pak Lah, Long Live Zakara, Long Live the Water-rats!
"The flooring in the main hall is marble-tiled with many chandeliers above. There is also a mini golf course and a large garage. The size of the master bedroom could only be compared to a whole apartment and its attached bathroom comes with a jacuzzi."
"V" for Vendetta. I hear a small voice from Furong valley smiling at Desi at Men Kee food court where there gather many BIG FAT CATS for CON BF like Desi. I hate Water-Rats! Give me a Miller's daughter anytime!