Nude King On The Blog

Morning Has Broken...

I witness the simple ceremony as I stand behind Wonder Boy and Rafael. I pay little attention to them. After all, I was the one who wrote the swearing-in script. Instead, I focus on the gathered crowd. The fake smile on their faces belies the hatred in their hearts.

Wonder Boy begins, "Do you, Rafael Hui, swear to be my loyal confidant for the next two years?"

Rafael nods and says, "Yes, I do."

"...solve the West Kowloon Cultural headache once and for all?"

Rafael nods excitedly.

"...keep the other cabinet ministers off my back?"

Rafael grins and makes a victory sign.

"...initiate a democracy reform consultation project that lasts for the next 12 years?"

Rafael winks and smiles.

"Well buddy," Wonder Boy shakes Rafael's hand, "welcome aboard. You are now the Chief Secretary."

As the crowd cheers and claps, I hear Rafael whispering in Wonder Boy's ear, "Now we're rocking!"

I ignore Rafael and I look at the crowd. Everyone tries to wear benign expressions. But who is that little man who is jumping up and down at the back of the crowd? Why? It is Lee Wing-tat, captain of the rudderless Democratic Party of Hong Kong.

"You cheat!" Lee snarls, "tell us about your collusion with property developers of Hong Kong."

Everyone ignores him and the fake cheering goes on. I step outside and I start whistling a song – Morning has broken...

Ciao!

Note: Double-click on any word in any post or comment at Nude King and check the meaning in a dictionary. Posts at Nude King are written in US English.

Dancing In The Streets

Early morning breakfast meeting at Victoria House, I meet an odd-looking character. "Rafael Hui," Wonder Boy introduces him. We shake hands, and from that moment onwards, it is clear that he dislikes me. The feeling is mutual; I abhor him. As we settle down, Wonder Boy and Rafael Hui start chatting.

"The Sichuan opera troupe and Shenzhen artists arrive today," Rafael says. "This July 1," he continues, "we will stage world's biggest cultural show ever on the streets of Hong Kong. And that will dwarf the other show in comparison."

"By other show," Wonder Boy asks, "do you mean homosexuals leading the pro-democracy protests and demonstrations?" Rafael nods. "That thing," Wonder Boy bursts out laughing, "almost sounds like a conspiracy to reduce demonstrators' numbers." Rafael agrees and he too wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. I keep staring at them.

Realizing that I am nonchalant, Wonder Boy asks my opinion. "Remain neutral," I tell him, "and ignore the pro-Beijing cultural show. That will help your political image. As far as demonstrators are concerned, not many will take to the streets this year. And those who do will look foolish. Besides," I smile, "it will rain heavily on July 1, and the Sichuan ladies will look very sexy when they are wet..."

"But," Wonder Boy interrupts me, "I checked the weather forecast, and Hong Kong Observatory forecasts a few drizzles, otherwise it will be sunny and dry." Instead of answering him, I look out the window and smile. Let's see who is right.

Carefully placing my chopsticks on my bowl, so that they are pointing at Rafael's heart, I announce my departure. I am in a hurry. After all, someone must check out the Sichuan dancers.

Ciao!

Note: Double-click on any word in any post or comment at Nude King and check the meaning in a dictionary. Posts at Nude King are written in US English.

Long Hair Vs. Bald Don

Reminiscent of the prime slot of the mandatory national anthem before the evening news, unpatriotic Che Guevara reincarnate Long-Hair Leung Kwok-hung steals Wonder Boy Donald Tsang's first Legco question-answer claptrap show.

While other legislative members raise their hands like pupils in a classroom and wait for the permission of fastidious Rita Fan before they speak aloud, Long-Hair unfailingly captures the essence of the show. His gig is like a forced advertisement between the national anthem and the news. Knowing fully well that he will never be given a chance to voice his thoughts, or get a satisfying answer, he does what he wants to do and leaves. Or rather, he is usually "ejected!"

Tung is gone. Does Wonder Boy still need Rita Fan to nanny him around? But then, she is "elected!"

"How do I look?" Wonder Boy asks me as he comes out of his Legco question-answer session. That is the first time I see him during the day. I look at him and shake my head. I am to blame! Out of self-pity resulting from my new job as the Special Advisor of a Chinese crow flailing peacock feathers in an effort to act like a British Don, I drowned myself in gallons of vodka, which is why I woke up late and was unable to stop Wonder Boy's second PR disaster.

"Your new hairstyle," I tell him, "looks like an egg of an ostrich. Or, like an oval piece of shit on your head. There was no need for you to make yourself look balder. If you don't have confidence, and if you can't trust yourself, all this makeup won't help. You are supposed to perform, damn it, and not act!"

Displeased by my comment, Wonder Boy throws tantrums. "You always despise everything I do, and you don't care," he says.

I bark at him, "And you always highlight the follies of the previous administration in your speeches despite my warnings, and you bitch like a woman."

Wonder Boy holds his head in his hands and starts crying. I give him the middle finger and drive back home in my new government sponsored Porsche – SA 1.

Ciao!

Note: Double-click on any word in any post or comment at Nude King and check the meaning in a dictionary. Posts at Nude King are written in US English.

Five Commandments Of Wonder Boy

In a pose resembling Moses, Wonder Boy addresses what he believes is an imbecile crowd. "I have just returned from Beijing," he begins, as if he has just come down from Mount Sinai, "and on my first day as the Chief Executive of Hong Kong, here are my five resolutions." He then unfolds a list that looks like a tablet of Five Commandments of Wonder Boy.

Adjusting his bow tie, he starts reading aloud:

"1. Thou shall accept Rafael Hui and none other, as my nomination for the Chief Secretary of Hong Kong.

2. Thou shall not challenge me, thy Lord, in my plans to restructure the Executive Council that is responsible for assisting me in my administration of Hong Kong.

3. Thou shall trust my judgment of appointing talented people from various sectors to the restructured Commission on Strategic Development and government advisory bodies in Hong Kong. However, thou shall not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them even if they are better than thy Lord is. Thou shall only worship thy Lord, me!

4. I am thy Lord, and I shall meet different political parties and independents. As thy Lord, I might even question them in Legislative Council. And whenever I go to the Legislative Council and address them, thy must stop working. Thy must listen and thy must understand that it is a Sabbath day and keep it holy.

5. Honor thy Lord, me, so that I will take in to consideration your suggestions and requests, and therefore, thy days (of prosperity) may be long."

After reading the five commandments and still under the impression that he is addressing a crowd full of idiots, his mouth volleys out disastrous words, "...we must rebuild the trust between the Government and the people of Hong Kong." And then, in a voice that sounds like that of Adolf Hitler's, he starts quoting Shakespeare.

"How did I perform?" Wonder Boy asks me as soon as we are seated in the comfort of the luxurious government car – AM 1.

"Your speech was a political disaster. Apart from your first commandment, you cannot achieve anything else you blurted, within the next two years. Were you part of the Tung administration?" I ask Wonder Boy. He nods. "Were you second in line after Tung?" he nods again. "Then why are you shooting your own foot by saying, 'rebuild the trust between the Government and the people of Hong Kong.'?"

"Did I screw up?" Wonder boy asks. I nod.

"At times," I tell him, "you must keep your mouth shut. Only the weak, jealous, and deranged people constantly criticize and attack others." My advice seems to work. Wonder Boy looks out of the window and he is lost in thoughts. Even I start thinking about my statement of criticizing and attacking others. What am I writing here?

Ciao!

Note: Double-click on any word in any post or comment at Nude King and check the meaning in a dictionary. Posts at Nude King are written in US English.

On Probation

Expecting praise, congratulations, and perhaps a brotherly hug, Wonder Boy Donald Tsang was shocked when Wen Jiabao gave him a stern lecture. "This isn't a ticket to Disneyland," Wen said, holding up Donald's appointment letter for everyone to see. "You are supposed to work," Wen barked, "and don't play mahjong with tycoons in government offices like that fat old Tung. Or else," he creased his brows, "instead of Government House, you will live in a Harbin gulag until kingdom come!"

Wonder Boy's legs started an involuntary tap dance. And the oily shine on his face was replaced by ashen grey looks of a vampire. "Why is he shouting at me on my first day as the Chief Executive? I haven't done anything wrong yet!" Wonder Boy started murmuring in the advanced microwave communicator, in an effort to seek solace.

"Just smile and nod." I whispered back. "And for Christ's sake stop acting nervous and control your body language. They are still pissed on His Foolish Highness Tung Chee-hwa and this lecture has nothing to do with you. They are just warning you."

Following his swearing-in ceremony, which lasted for ten minutes, Wonder Boy behaved like a lamb in front of a tiger. Gone was his dignity and gone was his boisterousness upon which he floated in a triumphant victory to Beijing. In fact, he was so afraid of Wen Jiabao that he kept clinging on Hu Jintao's hand for a total of 23 seconds. It seemed like Wonder Boy's handshake was doing the talking. "Help me," his handshake seemed to say, "and keep this disciplinary loony away from me."

After a tiring day, where I spent my time observing sparrow-faced Elsie Leung, wondering when (not if) she will resign, or to put it aptly, when she will be allowed to go, I finally boarded the private jet on a return flight to Hong Kong. Wonder Boy insisted that I sit next to him, and Selina, his wife, took the jump seat in the cockpit. Figure that!

Like a gramophone stuck on a groove, Wonder Boy repeatedly kept asking me why Wen shouted at him. Unable to escape from the deranged Catholic man, I tried to enlighten him:

"Who is the most British local civil servant in Hong Kong?"

"Me?" Wonder Boy replied with little hesitation.

I gave him a concerned nod and continued, "Leaders of Chinese Communist Party are more cunning than snakes. Combined, Hu and Wen can make a pit full of anacondas squirt like squirrels. So why would they select you as the chief executive of Hong Kong?"

Wonder Boy started scratching his head. Apparently, he didn't have a clue.

"Because," I roared, "Tung was a fool, and they screwed up by appointing a tycoon as the first chief executive of Hong Kong. At this stage, they have realized that they cannot successfully administer Hong Kong, and therefore, they want to turn the clock back to before the handover. In other words, they want to restore Hong Kong to what it was before the 1997 handover, and that is why they selected you."

"You think so?" Wonder Boy looked glad and surprised.

"Yes, I do think so!" And after patting Wonder Boy's shoulder, I went to the cockpit and requested Selina to return to Wonder Boy. She is the only human who has the patience to tolerate a neurotic man asking stupid questions.

While Wonder Boy kept chirping to Selina, I slept in the jump seat, eagerly awaiting my return to Hong Kong.

Ciao!

Note: Double-click on any word in any post or comment at Nude King and check the meaning in a dictionary. Posts at Nude King are written in US English.

Wonder Boy Goes North!

Like a mother hen, Wonder Boy Donald Tsang frights over the health of journalists and reporters. "You have been accompanying me," he begins, while standing on the tarmac, "from my home to the church, and here. You are wet and I am afraid that you might catch cold. Our job," he looks up at the skies, "is tough, and even your job is as tough as mine. So please do take care of your health, and thank you, thank you very much for all your support."

As soon as he enters the private jet, I grab him by his bow tie and drag him inside the three feet wide bathroom. Closing the door behind us, I bark, "Do you want me to resign right now? On my first day as your special advisor?" His face goes pale and he shivers.

"No," he speaks in a meek voice. I release my grip and help him straighten the knot of his bow tie.

"What did I teach you this morning?" I look at him in contempt. And without waiting for his answer, I continue, "I told you to act indifferent. Pretend that this is just another ordinary day. And before boarding the airplane, just wave at the reporters and the crowds, touch the side of your wet head and then wring your hand as if you are not concerned about the rain. Over and above all, I insisted that you should wear a broad smile, like Clinton, so that people will pay less attention to your cunning, ambitious, and devilish eyes. Now you are a leader for God's sake, so try to act like one!"

"Don't bring God into this," Wonder Boy croaks as he starts biting his fingernail. I sigh. "Don't forget the other lessons," I tell him as I open the bathroom door. Selina, Wonder Boy's wife, pretends that she didn't see us coming out of the bathroom, together. She is an ideal housewife. However, others look at us with eyes popping wide.

Wonder Boy returns to his seat and I take the jump seat in the cockpit. The private jet is comfortable, except for one problem. All flight attendants are nuns. As we takeoff from Chek Lap Kok, Wonder Boy, Selina, and everyone else starts singing from the bible. I start singing an appropriate song - "Puff, the magic dragon..."

As the flight nears Beijing, I tell Wonder Boy that for the next two days, I will stay away from him and mingle with the crowds. At the most, people will think that I am a curious American reporter. "But," I hiss, "don't forget the advanced microwave communicator. That will ensure that we are always in touch."

I go to the cockpit and cup my mouth. "Testing 1, 2, 3..." the grainy microphone tied to my wisdom tooth transmits my voice to Wonder Boy. "Hallelujah!" Wonder Boy's booming voice shatters my ear. It was a bad idea. We shouldn't have pierced the grainy receivers behind our right ear lobes.

The advanced microwave communicator disrupts the airplane's Instrument Landing System. The airplane stalls, and goes in an inverted deep-dive. I look out of the cockpit. We are approaching on a wrong angle. But Hu and Wen (not who and when) are still smiling. Welcome to Beijing!

Ciao!

Note: Posts will be delayed by one day as I am in Beijing.

Crossroads

"Is this a joke?" my boss barks at me. He is referring to my resignation letter:

Boss, I resign. Michelangelo Buonarroti

It may be world's shortest resignation letter, but no one can deny that it is concise and to the point. "Won't you reconsider your decision?" my boss begs.

"No," I tell him, "I am going on a two-year Antarctic expedition, and I leave tomorrow." In fact, I am not telling a lie. The political environment during the next two years of Wonder Boy's administration will closely resemble Antarctic. It will be cold and hostile. And it will be rough and wild. It will prove to be a challenge for Wonder Boy and a challenge for the rest of us.

For Wonder Boy, it will be a time for learning, soul searching and delivering upon the promises he has made to all of us. That is why I decided to accept his offer, as I pity him. Wonder Boy might be an excellent civil servant, but he has a long learning curve before he becomes a true politician.

After a hurried goodbye, I leave my boss and go to HR. As I hand over the keys of the company apartment, I write them a check – three month's remuneration in lieu of advance notice of my resignation.

Back in my office, I collect my belongings. Married-but-available Rita Fan enters and she is surprised. "What are you doing?" she asks. I make an excuse of throwing away stuff I don't want, and after entertaining her for ten minutes, I pretend to work. She leaves on a pretext of going to McDonald's for a fast grub. I shiver. What if she realizes that I am about to leave and will be gone, for good? And what if she forces me to drink a strawberry milkshake from McDonald's?

I throw my belongings into a box and run down the stairs. I would be stupid to wait for the elevators. Ten minutes, and I am out of Central Dominion Holdings. I look back. It was fun. But only the feeble-minded form bonds and emotions with their place of work.

Tomorrow, I fly to Beijing.

Ciao!

The Divine Cleansing

Enjoying the breakfast served by Wonder Boy's orderlies, we discuss the weather. Looking out of the huge glass windows, we are thrilled to see torrential rain. The accompanying thunder and lightning thrills us.

"Today afternoon," Wonder Boy says as he nibbles his cinnamon toast, "they will officially declare that I am the new Chief Executive of SAR Hong Kong!" I nod. "With immediate effect," he adds. I nod again. Of course, there can be no surprises. Except that on this fateful day, even the heavens have opened up and are literally baptizing Hong Kong by cleansing away the sins of Tung administration.

"But I face several daunting tasks," he says, as he drinks milk from a glass. "What with the West Kowloon Cultural hub, unemployment and poverty eradication..."

I interrupt him by waving my hands. "Your most daunting task is," I tell him, "ensuring that there are no public demonstrations on July 1. And if no one demonstrates, that would be the final nail in the coffin of Tung's administration."

Wonder Boy nods as he wipes drops of milk from his bow tie. "Mike," he says, excitedly, "do you think it will rain heavily on July 1? If it rains, then no one would participate in the demonstrations."

"I don't work for the weather bureau," I tell him, "and I am not a fortune teller. But!" a sudden flash of inspiration crosses my mind, "perhaps, the Observatory could preannounce bad weather. Including a warning – 'Torrential rain and freak storms are expected. Stay indoors'!"

"Perfect!" Wonder Boy exclaims. "In that case," he muses, "it would be a job well done!"

As I prepare to leave his mansion, Wonder Boy asks me to sit down. "Mike," he says earnestly, "I want you to be my permanent advisor, for as long as I remain in office. Name your price," he says, "and I am prepared to pay."

I hesitate. "Let me think about it," I tell him, "In the meantime, pray to your Almighty, and on July 1, let it pour."

Ciao!

Coronation Day

It is an odd scene. Amidst church-like music, Wonder Boy gently walks in the aisle and approaches a throne. Tycoons and politicians stand up as they sing, "Long Live the King." As Wonder Boy approaches the throne, the local head of the Chinese Communist Party places a silver crown on Wonder Boy's head.

Everyone claps, but I stifle a laugh. For the first time in my life, I see a king with a bow tie and a crown on his head. After a short speech, Wonder Boy raises the Hong Kong S.A.R. flag.

The scene, in Wan Chai election campaign office, is solemn if not profound. We are rehearsing for July 1, 2005, the upcoming coronation day. However, there are disagreements. Some members of the Chinese Communist Party don't like the idea of parading a king with a bow tie and a crown on his head. "It is sheer mockery of our culture," they say. "How ludicrous it would be if a bow-tied man raises the flags of our sovereign nation in Bauhinia Square?"

Not as ludicrous as Tsang Hin-chi announcing that Wonder Boy has already won the next two consecutive elections as well.

Ciao!

The Power Of 714

I receive an invitation to Wonder Boy's victory celebration party. "Please do come!" reads Wonder Boy's meticulous handwriting at the end of the two-page "Thank You" note.

As I approach Victoria House, I see finance legislator Chim Pui-chung playing guitar outside the mansion's gates. Democratic Party chief Lee Wing-tat, standing besides Chim, is holding a megaphone. And despite being drenched by the heavy rains, the pair sings:

Every breath you take, and every move you make,
Every bond you break, every step you take,
I’ll be watching you!

I drop tattered 10 RMB notes in their pockets and I ignore them. As I enter the partially enclosed veranda, I see a huge crowd of people. It is an odd bunch comprising of priests, nuns, civil servants, politicians, tycoons, and eager businessmen. Even some ruffians seem to be there.

Despite the heavy rains, Wonder Boy insists on fireworks. Soon the skies above Victoria House light up and everyone claps. Wonder Boy and his wife Selina make victory signs, and everyone says, "Yea!"

Once inside, while everyone is enjoying, Wonder Boy flicks on the switch of a huge neon sign. '714', '714'... the sign blinks on and off. "Look!" Wonder Boy says, "I got 714 nominations! This means that now I am already the new Chief Executive of Hong Kong S.A.R." Everyone claps, and Wonder Boy and Selina make victory signs, again. "Yea!"

I drag Wonder Boy in a corner and whisper in his ear, "714," I tell him, "is a bad omen. In Cantonese, it literally means 'sure easy death'. It could also mean that within 7 days of your new regime, your fame, name, and game will be over, as in finished. And generally speaking, it can also mean that your career (as a Chief Executive) could end sooner than you expect."

Wonder Boy looks worried for a while. But he controls himself and snaps, "We are Catholics. We don't believe in superstitions or omens!" And then, after patting my back, he walks away. I shrug. Let time be the judge. We will see if this number, 714, comes to haunt him back.

No longer in a mood to dance alongside Wonder Boy, I leave the party. As I walk out of his mansion, I see that Chim and Lee are still singing the same song. But instead of standing, the drenched souls are sitting on the road. They must be tired. In fading voice, they keep singing:

Oh can't you see, the throne belongs to me...

I whisper in their ears, and tell them about Wonder Boy's '714' bad omen. They stop singing and their faces brighten up. They start laughing, and then they laugh hysterically. Even I laugh. Is it possible that the Chinese Communist Party deliberately fixed that (inauspicious numbers)?

Ciao!