It was “in” with one sin, “out” with another this week.
Yes, our dear government banned smoking in most public places last Sunday to protect our health. Then it legalized gambling a couple days later to protect our economy. Nice one, guys.
I’m happy to report that this leaves our island’s karmic scorecard unchanged, with the net amount of vice now identical to that of a week ago.
Time magazine’s blog (the future of all journalism) reported: Religious groups in Taiwan protested the decision, arguing that casinos would have a negative effect on society.
Sheesh, lighten up, will you?
The magazine-slash-blog went on to report that South Korea and Singapore experienced similar protests. The solutions? South Korea bans locals from most casinos (in other words, they’re waiguoren-only), and Singapore charges a hefty US$68 entrance fee (but waiguoren enter free of charge — their fleecing comes later).
In Taiwan, my guess is that limiting casinos to the main island of Penghu will do the trick.
After all, only punters with serious time and money to waste are going to shell out the airfare to go to that barren, windswept rock to be parted with more of their cash.
In fact, let’s just go ahead and make Penghu Taiwan’s official vice capital. I call this development plan “Pimpin’ Penghu: Formosa’s Pescadorian Pot o’ Gold.”
We’ll legalize prostitution, recreational drugs, firearms, gangs and murder (within reasonable limits) within the confines of that sadsack archipelago. Basically, it will become Macau circa 1998.
Chinese lovers of vice will be ferried to Penghu free, and no papers required.
Then we’ll allow director John Woo (吳宇森) to film the whole thing and broadcast 24 hours a day on YouTube.
Speaking of justified murder, in Hsinchu this week it was ... The Dharma master, in the hotel room, with a lamppost.
No, this wasn’t some hippie, multicultural version of the classic boardgame Clue. We’re talking real-life, cold-blooded monk-on-monk mayhem between members of a tour group on a “goodwill exchange” from a Chinese temple.
Deutsche Presse-Agentur (DPA) had the scoop. Chinese monk Chun Ru (純如), 53, killed fellow monk Jing Ran (淨然), 32, in their shared hotel room, according to Hsinchu police, then did himself in by pitching himself off the top story of the hotel.
Wrote DPA: “When they went to the 10th floor to call the pair, they found only Jing Ran, 36, in a pool of blood in his bed, having received blows to the head by the iron support of the table lamp, and Quan Ru [sic] was not around.”
I don’t know about you, but if this is the way Dharma masters go around treating each other, I’ll stay unenlightened, thanks very much.
What was the lamp-packing monk’s beef?
Said DPA: “Members of the Chinese delegation said Quan Ru, in charge of administration at [the monks’] temple, did not get along well with Jing Ran [you don’t say], who was promoted to be the abbot of the temple in November 2006.
“After arriving in Taiwan, they quarreled again because Quan Ru lost his entry permit and Jing Ran chided him.”
So the straw that broke the camel’s back was a stray bit of pesky paperwork. Don’t these guys do relaxation exercises?
Of course, murder’s no laughing matter, and we at NewsWatch mourn the tragedy. Actually, my gal Cathy Pacific alerts me — via e-mail from Green Island — that the monks must not have knocked and asked permission from the room’s spirits to enter, which, as all Taiwanese know, is de rigueur in such situations.
For you big noses who don’t follow me, it’s common knowledge among Taiwanese that hotels are veritable “hungry ghost” hothouses, bursting with spirits of past guests, some quite cranky. As a courtesy, you’re supposed to rap lightly on the hotel room door before taking up residence for the night. If you don’t, you’re inviting a double monk-load of mafan.
So who forgot to tell the Dharma masters?
After all, during the Cultural Revolution over there in Crazyland (that’s China to you, buddy), the Chicoms stomped out a lot of common-sense customs. This might have been one of them.
Speaking of clueless people, it was a close race for the title of “most PR-challenged” this week between former prez Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) and the prosecutors trying to nail him — er, I mean the justice officials seeking the truth about A-bian’s extracurricular financial activities.
Prosecutors were caught with their pants down (almost literally) when a video circulated on the Web of a “skit” at an event marking the anniversary of Taiwan’s Law Day. In the skit, one of our nation’s finest justice officials mocked A-bian by raising up her “handcuffed” arms, just as the Son of Taiwan did last November as police led him off to detention. The lampoon sparked guffaws from a roomful of judges and prosecutors.
Hey, I’m a purveyor of satire. I get it.
But when the mockers are the very officials tasked with probing the case of the man they’re publicly ridiculing, we have a problem. The phrase “astonishingly inappropriate” comes to mind.
But this being Taiwan, where public officials display all the PR savvy of the post-Chernobyl Soviet government, we get the following from Minister of Justice Wang Ching-feng (王清峰), per The Associated Press:
“Wang said the skit should not be taken seriously, because it reflected widespread sentiment on the island of 23 million people.”
Ah, I see, so anything the majority “feels” must be right.
“‘It is just a little performance reflecting on current affairs,’ Wang said. ‘Prosecutors and judges will not hold any biases against Chen, and his trial will be open for all to see.’”
Riiiight. Still, just when you’re starting to feel sorry for the poor bastard — and I think I speak for the feelings of the majority here — A-bian goes and titles his forthcoming book as The Cross of Taiwan. Get off it, you lunatic — you’re no Jesus Christ — not even close (for starters, the Son of God had a classy beard).
Chen’s office released part of the manuscript on Wednesday after gossip rag Next Magazine ran a sensational report that purported to leak its contents.
Per our own Taipei Times, “the ... report cited Chen’s diary as saying that he had a dream in which he was asked to run for president at the last minute and in return he proposed he would run for only one term, he would also forfeit his salary and use the president’s discretionary fund for emergency relief purposes.”
Excuse me while I puke on a small dog ... oi! Laifu, come to Johnny. Your destiny is now. Sit.
“The report also said that Chen had interpreted the meaning of his prisoner number, 2630: the number two symbolized to ‘run again,’ six meant ‘luck,’ three represented a ‘third term of presidency’ and the zero meant ‘perfection.’”
Yes, that’s Chen Shui-bian: from hero to zero in eight years flat.
In response, Chen’s office clarified that “to dream and to actually run for president were two completely different things.”
Don’t I know it. If they weren’t, my Penghu development plan would have become reality years ago — and I’d be there now, sipping a Vice Island Iced Tea (my creation, heavy on the rum) under a disco ball in my palatial President Johnny lovepad.
And no Dharma masters allowed.
Got something to tell Johnny? Go on, get it off your chest. Write to dearjohnny@taipeitimes.com, but be sure to put “Dear Johnny” in the subject line or he’ll mark your bouquets and brickbats as spam.
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