Not so long ago, there was a big country called Guy-Yah where the people were divided into two classes: the Bankers and the Peasants.
The Bankers didn't all work in banks; they could be accountants, insurance agents, financial consultants or economists. Still, they were called the Bankers because they knew each other and were fabulously rich.
The Peasants didn't all work at farms; they could be educators, transport workers, healthcare workers, artists or scientists. Still, they were called the Peasants because they didn't know each other and were remarkably poor.
The Bankers were a tiny minority but controlled most of the money in the country and lived lives of obscene wealth and excess. The Peasants were far more numerous but tolerated the Bankers' behaviour because they were convinced by them that the Bankers were indispensable to society.
In particular, many greedy Peasants enthusiastically supported the Bankers because they were promised endless riches, which the Bankers gave out sparingly.
Then one day, everything went very wrong.
The Bankers, in an attempt to outdo each other in creating the Ultimate financial technology to milk more and more money from the financial system, finally caused the system to crash. The entire economy of the country was collapsing, and the government had to resort to printing money out of thin air in order to prevent a total meltdown.
But because the Bankers considered themselves to be indispensable to society, they needn't hold themselves responsible for their misdeeds.
Instead, they continued to collect their huge paychecks and fat bonuses as usual, leaving the Peasants to bear the brunt of the economic turmoid in the forms of retrenchments, unemployment, home foreclosures, lost retirement savings and bankruptcies.
The Peasants are poor but not totally made of stupid.
They soon realized what was going on and gradually organized themselves, launching massive protests in major cities to compel the Bankers to exercise accountability in their actions. Some of the Bankers who witnessed the anger of the Peasants firsthand were rightly alarmed of the terrible public opinion of Bankers, and decided to keep a low profile.
However, for some unknown reason, Bankers in the small city of Ning continued to strut around proudly and flaunt their ill-gotten wealth as if nothing had happened.
They wanted to employ more people to join the Bankers, and so with blatant disregard to the public sentiment, took out full-page "infomercials" in the newspapers with glossy photos of aspiring Bankers to show off how insanely rich and powerful a Banker can become.
Initially, the response was muted as the enraged Peasants continued to believe that the Bankers were indispensable.
But they slowly realized that if the Bankers could not quickly repair the ailing economy, then their "indispensability" would be disputed and become a rallying call for action.
Months later, during the worst stage of the economic crisis, the Peasants finally struck back.
The reprisal was swift and merciless.
Financial institutions were broken into by huge angry hordes and the Bankers were dragged out screaming and kicking, and brutally beaten to death - their bodies hung on traffic lights as a grisly warning to others.
Fellow Bankers in other cities looked on in horror at the scale and ferocity of the massacre.
They asked: "Where are the security guards?"
The Peasants replied: "Retrenched!"
They asked: "Where are the police?"
The Peasants replied: "Forced to go on unpaid leave!"
They asked: "Where are the LAWYERS!?!!"
The Peasants replied: "LAID OFF!"
Indeed the Bankers had become so effective at absorbing the maximum wealth for themselves that they had left the Peasant class with nothing to lose, thus inadvertently sealing their own fate.
From a distant vantage point, an observer watched as hundreds of dead bodies swung eeriely on lamp posts and traffic lights throughout the country.
Nodding approvingly, the observer wrote something into his notebook and left the scene.
Saturday, 4 April 2009
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Gone Too Far
Long time ago in a land far away, there lived a walking time bomb.
He wasn't born a time bomb; he was specifically modified by powerful people to become their deadly political tool.
Not only was he equipped with heightened sensitivity to the environment, he was also dangerously smart and designed to be absolutely relentless when presented with a target.
However, for some unknown reason, instead of assigning the time bomb to a mission so that he can fulfill his destiny, he was simply unleashed on to a unsuspecting public to fend for himself.
He was lost and confused, but yet acutely aware of his lethal potential and his inability to control the explosive power within.
To avoid hurting innocents, he attempted to hide away from the crowds.
But society, unaware that he was not really human, constantly tested his patience.
Like a live grenade that is thrown about by unknowing children, he was subjected to one hard knock after another.
In response, he appeared to be meek and quiet, and the people around him mistook that behaviour of incredible restraint as a sign of weakness.
Then one day, a brash young man, high from his recent career success and wealth, decided to provoke him.
The time bomb tried to defend himself, but the young man was neither interested in fair play, nor the truth. He just wanted to attack the bomb to show off to his friends, and for kicks and giggles.
He continued hurling accusations at the bomb.
The bomb immediately signalled his retreat.
But the young man was not satisfied yet.
To cut off his escape route, the young man got his friends to gang up against the bomb, surrounding him completely and keeping up a constant barrage of abuse.
The young man believed that superior numbers would guarantee his safety.
Human beings tend to think this way.
But his opponent was not human.
The thin thread of control that was holding back the detonator pin finally snapped.
A ticking sound started.
Pale with fear, the bomb tried to warn his attackers to run away from imminent doom, but of course they simply laughed as they continued beating up their victim.
Even if they did listen, it was already too late.
From a distant vantage point, an observer watched as a brilliant flash of light engulfed the entire city.
When the fireball finally subsided, not even a fleck of dust remained.
Nodding approvingly, the observer wrote something into his notebook and left the scene.
He wasn't born a time bomb; he was specifically modified by powerful people to become their deadly political tool.
Not only was he equipped with heightened sensitivity to the environment, he was also dangerously smart and designed to be absolutely relentless when presented with a target.
However, for some unknown reason, instead of assigning the time bomb to a mission so that he can fulfill his destiny, he was simply unleashed on to a unsuspecting public to fend for himself.
He was lost and confused, but yet acutely aware of his lethal potential and his inability to control the explosive power within.
To avoid hurting innocents, he attempted to hide away from the crowds.
But society, unaware that he was not really human, constantly tested his patience.
Like a live grenade that is thrown about by unknowing children, he was subjected to one hard knock after another.
In response, he appeared to be meek and quiet, and the people around him mistook that behaviour of incredible restraint as a sign of weakness.
Then one day, a brash young man, high from his recent career success and wealth, decided to provoke him.
The time bomb tried to defend himself, but the young man was neither interested in fair play, nor the truth. He just wanted to attack the bomb to show off to his friends, and for kicks and giggles.
He continued hurling accusations at the bomb.
The bomb immediately signalled his retreat.
But the young man was not satisfied yet.
To cut off his escape route, the young man got his friends to gang up against the bomb, surrounding him completely and keeping up a constant barrage of abuse.
The young man believed that superior numbers would guarantee his safety.
Human beings tend to think this way.
But his opponent was not human.
The thin thread of control that was holding back the detonator pin finally snapped.
A ticking sound started.
Pale with fear, the bomb tried to warn his attackers to run away from imminent doom, but of course they simply laughed as they continued beating up their victim.
Even if they did listen, it was already too late.
From a distant vantage point, an observer watched as a brilliant flash of light engulfed the entire city.
When the fireball finally subsided, not even a fleck of dust remained.
Nodding approvingly, the observer wrote something into his notebook and left the scene.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
A Tale Of Two Bottles
A long long time ago, there was a factory that made soft drink bottles.
At first, the bottles were made of plastic.
For many years, the plastic bottles were sterilized by heating them in a giant oven.
The bottles were always capped before they went into the oven. Nobody remembered the purpose of this step, but the company had always done this.
Sometimes a few bottles will be deformed during the sterilization process.
Employees will examine the results and lower the heating temperature or duration to reduce the number of deformed bottles in the next batch.
One day, new management arrived and they were not satisfied with the performance of the company. Glass bottles had become very popular on the market. They wanted to expand their product line to include glass bottles.
Employees were hastily informed that a new production line for glass bottles is being constructed and some of them would be immediately re-deployed to the new line.
However, in order to cut costs, the same sterilization oven would be used for both plastic and glass bottles.
To step up the production volume, the time that each batch of bottles spent in the oven had to be reduced. The temperature was raised to compensate for the shorter heating cycle.
Employees were told to use the usual procedures to sterilize both types of bottles.
When plastic bottles were subject to the higher temperatures, their deformation rate increased and wastage went up immediately. Some of the bottles were so horribly bloated that the employees were alarmed. They alerted the management immediately.
In contrast, the rigid glass bottles kept their shape and there was no wastage at all.
Management winked at each other with glee.
They realized that a plastic bottle will show signs of distress when subject to slightly more heat and pressure. It is a weak material.
On the other hand, a glass bottle can withstand high temperature and pressure while remaining perfectly shaped. It is a strong material.
A strong company is built from strong materials.
Management loved this symbolism. The employees were ordered to switch to glass bottles and increase production volume to unprecedented levels.
Profits went up.
Since every new batch of glass bottles looked physically unaffected by the sterilization process, the oven was set to higher and higher temperatures.
Then one day, something went horribly wrong.
The entire sterilization oven exploded, showering the factory with deadly glass shrapnel. A number of employees standing nearby were killed and many more were injured.
The temperature had been set so high that the air pressure inside the glass bottles caused them to explode in unison.
An investigation revealed that the procedure of capping the bottle before sterilization was responsible for the tragedy.
Management absolved all responsibility because this procedure was a company tradition that predated their arrival.
Instead, they blamed the employees for negligence and not exercising common sense.
Some of the employees who didn't die in the tragedy were thus slapped with a fine and a demotion.
The accident scene was quickly cleaned up and a new sterilization oven was ordered. Employees were ordered to go back to work.
The profits this year was much higher than last year's, so the management gave themselves a generous raise.
At first, the bottles were made of plastic.
For many years, the plastic bottles were sterilized by heating them in a giant oven.
The bottles were always capped before they went into the oven. Nobody remembered the purpose of this step, but the company had always done this.
Sometimes a few bottles will be deformed during the sterilization process.
Employees will examine the results and lower the heating temperature or duration to reduce the number of deformed bottles in the next batch.
One day, new management arrived and they were not satisfied with the performance of the company. Glass bottles had become very popular on the market. They wanted to expand their product line to include glass bottles.
Employees were hastily informed that a new production line for glass bottles is being constructed and some of them would be immediately re-deployed to the new line.
However, in order to cut costs, the same sterilization oven would be used for both plastic and glass bottles.
To step up the production volume, the time that each batch of bottles spent in the oven had to be reduced. The temperature was raised to compensate for the shorter heating cycle.
Employees were told to use the usual procedures to sterilize both types of bottles.
When plastic bottles were subject to the higher temperatures, their deformation rate increased and wastage went up immediately. Some of the bottles were so horribly bloated that the employees were alarmed. They alerted the management immediately.
In contrast, the rigid glass bottles kept their shape and there was no wastage at all.
Management winked at each other with glee.
They realized that a plastic bottle will show signs of distress when subject to slightly more heat and pressure. It is a weak material.
On the other hand, a glass bottle can withstand high temperature and pressure while remaining perfectly shaped. It is a strong material.
A strong company is built from strong materials.
Management loved this symbolism. The employees were ordered to switch to glass bottles and increase production volume to unprecedented levels.
Profits went up.
Since every new batch of glass bottles looked physically unaffected by the sterilization process, the oven was set to higher and higher temperatures.
Then one day, something went horribly wrong.
The entire sterilization oven exploded, showering the factory with deadly glass shrapnel. A number of employees standing nearby were killed and many more were injured.
The temperature had been set so high that the air pressure inside the glass bottles caused them to explode in unison.
An investigation revealed that the procedure of capping the bottle before sterilization was responsible for the tragedy.
Management absolved all responsibility because this procedure was a company tradition that predated their arrival.
Instead, they blamed the employees for negligence and not exercising common sense.
Some of the employees who didn't die in the tragedy were thus slapped with a fine and a demotion.
The accident scene was quickly cleaned up and a new sterilization oven was ordered. Employees were ordered to go back to work.
The profits this year was much higher than last year's, so the management gave themselves a generous raise.
Monday, 10 March 2008
National Hero
In the small island state of Eurapagis, a new national hero emerged.
Born into a rich family, he eventually became richer.
Trained in the highly technical subject of word-play, he succeeded in the field of administration, a profession that was dominated by women. This was considered a rare feat because he did not engage in any office politics.
He avoided office politics by bootlicking while others were currying favour, and currying favour while others were bootlicking.
Thus, he was considered to be both creative and bi-talented, notable skills that were highly valued in Eurapagis.
Eventually, he un-politicked his way to the top by bootlicking a large and powerful country, which coincidentally was the country that the government of Eurapagis had always wanted to bootlick.
As a result, he earned enormous gobs of money which he respectfully and unapologetically flaunted to the public by buying expensive goods like luxury cars and boats.
A summary of his contributions to society:
1. Exemplar of the classic rich-to-richer story
2. Bi-talented in both bootlicking and currying favour
3. Creative switching between bootlicking and currying favour
For his outstanding wealth, bi-talented talents and creativity - he was hailed as the Eurapagis Man of Year by the government.
The crowds cheered their new hero.
Born into a rich family, he eventually became richer.
Trained in the highly technical subject of word-play, he succeeded in the field of administration, a profession that was dominated by women. This was considered a rare feat because he did not engage in any office politics.
He avoided office politics by bootlicking while others were currying favour, and currying favour while others were bootlicking.
Thus, he was considered to be both creative and bi-talented, notable skills that were highly valued in Eurapagis.
Eventually, he un-politicked his way to the top by bootlicking a large and powerful country, which coincidentally was the country that the government of Eurapagis had always wanted to bootlick.
As a result, he earned enormous gobs of money which he respectfully and unapologetically flaunted to the public by buying expensive goods like luxury cars and boats.
A summary of his contributions to society:
1. Exemplar of the classic rich-to-richer story
2. Bi-talented in both bootlicking and currying favour
3. Creative switching between bootlicking and currying favour
For his outstanding wealth, bi-talented talents and creativity - he was hailed as the Eurapagis Man of Year by the government.
The crowds cheered their new hero.
Friday, 21 September 2007
Drum Of The Cosmos
After years of preparation, the first Cornelan astronaut was ready to take his historic flight into space.
Though Cornela had no space technology of its own, the nation was eager to use this mission to showcase the advancement of their society and the eminence of their culture.
The vehicle would be a Naser Peace-90 spacecraft, and the Cornelan government had already paid the Naserian government tens of millions to train their elite astronaut team.
This landmark space flight would take place in January - commandeered by the pioneering Cornelan astronaut together with two other Naserian veterans - and they would perform sensitive chemical experiments in orbit.
As the launch date approached, a problem started brewing.
Every Cornelan must face their Ancestor's Hill and beat the ritual Drum ten times, repeating this activity ten times daily.
Two metres high and two metres deep, the Drum is the centrepiece of every Cornelan home and the most important symbol of Cornelan culture.
Failing to perform this ritual would mean that the doors of Paradise would be slammed shut to the Cornelan during his afterlife.
Thus it was imperative that the astronaut must beat the Drum while in space too.
But difficulties abound.
Firstly, the standard 2m X 2m Drum was too large and too heavy to fit in the cramped crew compartment of the Peace-90. Compromises were made and a 50cm X 50cm Drum was installed between two seats in the flight deck.
Next, a Cornelan must face Ancestor's Hill when beating the Drum, otherwise his efforts would be meaningless. But because the astronaut would be in space, the relative position of Ancestor's Hill would be changing rapidly as the spacecraft travels in its orbit.
In order to fulfill this important duty, special modifications were made to the Drum such that it can swivel to face the correct direction. A GPS system was installed to show the astronaut which direction to gradually turn as he beat the Drum, so that he is always precisely aimed at Ancestor's Hill.
Finally, tradition states that a Cornelan must beat the Drum ten times daily. However, the spacecraft would be orbiting the Earth 16 times every 24 hours. As such, the astronaut must beat the Drum 160 times in a 24 hour period!
The Cornelan High Council debated this for weeks. Some Elders thought that it would be more practical to reduce this to 10 times per 24 hours. Many others fiercely opposed it, because such a big departure from tradition would render the whole purpose of Drum beating meaningless.
The astronaut team agreed - a space mission is important, but not so important for a Cornelan to forgo his eternity in Paradise.
Eventually the launch day arrived.
Journalists all over the world converged at the Bronhare Spaceport as the first Cornelan blasts off into space.
It was a joyous occasion of tremendous national and cultural pride.
The mission then proceeded without a hitch, with the Cornelan performing nearly 800 Drum beats during the five-day spaceflight.
The sensitive chemical experiments were abandoned of course, because vibrations from the Drum were disrupting the tiny crystals that were grown in orbit. So the two Naserian chemical specialists played cards and listened to folk songs instead.
On the fifth day, the Peace-90 spacecraft re-entered the atmosphere accurately and safely splashed-down into the Baldrick Sea.
The astronauts were given a hero's welcome. Cornela's first astronaut was given a special award by the King himself.
It was an absolute success.
Though Cornela had no space technology of its own, the nation was eager to use this mission to showcase the advancement of their society and the eminence of their culture.
The vehicle would be a Naser Peace-90 spacecraft, and the Cornelan government had already paid the Naserian government tens of millions to train their elite astronaut team.
This landmark space flight would take place in January - commandeered by the pioneering Cornelan astronaut together with two other Naserian veterans - and they would perform sensitive chemical experiments in orbit.
As the launch date approached, a problem started brewing.
Every Cornelan must face their Ancestor's Hill and beat the ritual Drum ten times, repeating this activity ten times daily.
Two metres high and two metres deep, the Drum is the centrepiece of every Cornelan home and the most important symbol of Cornelan culture.
Failing to perform this ritual would mean that the doors of Paradise would be slammed shut to the Cornelan during his afterlife.
Thus it was imperative that the astronaut must beat the Drum while in space too.
But difficulties abound.
Firstly, the standard 2m X 2m Drum was too large and too heavy to fit in the cramped crew compartment of the Peace-90. Compromises were made and a 50cm X 50cm Drum was installed between two seats in the flight deck.
Next, a Cornelan must face Ancestor's Hill when beating the Drum, otherwise his efforts would be meaningless. But because the astronaut would be in space, the relative position of Ancestor's Hill would be changing rapidly as the spacecraft travels in its orbit.
In order to fulfill this important duty, special modifications were made to the Drum such that it can swivel to face the correct direction. A GPS system was installed to show the astronaut which direction to gradually turn as he beat the Drum, so that he is always precisely aimed at Ancestor's Hill.
Finally, tradition states that a Cornelan must beat the Drum ten times daily. However, the spacecraft would be orbiting the Earth 16 times every 24 hours. As such, the astronaut must beat the Drum 160 times in a 24 hour period!
The Cornelan High Council debated this for weeks. Some Elders thought that it would be more practical to reduce this to 10 times per 24 hours. Many others fiercely opposed it, because such a big departure from tradition would render the whole purpose of Drum beating meaningless.
The astronaut team agreed - a space mission is important, but not so important for a Cornelan to forgo his eternity in Paradise.
Eventually the launch day arrived.
Journalists all over the world converged at the Bronhare Spaceport as the first Cornelan blasts off into space.
It was a joyous occasion of tremendous national and cultural pride.
The mission then proceeded without a hitch, with the Cornelan performing nearly 800 Drum beats during the five-day spaceflight.
The sensitive chemical experiments were abandoned of course, because vibrations from the Drum were disrupting the tiny crystals that were grown in orbit. So the two Naserian chemical specialists played cards and listened to folk songs instead.
On the fifth day, the Peace-90 spacecraft re-entered the atmosphere accurately and safely splashed-down into the Baldrick Sea.
The astronauts were given a hero's welcome. Cornela's first astronaut was given a special award by the King himself.
It was an absolute success.
Monday, 21 May 2007
Impossible Task
Once, there was a man who liked making pots. He handmade simple pots for holding water.
A friend convinced him to turn his interest into a business. He wanted the pot-maker to become the boss of this company and said that he would become the technical assistant.
The pot-maker thought that a technical assistant should work on the technical aspects of the company. So he asked his friend to prepare a production plan.
But the plan never came.
Instead his friend came back with many statistics about the potential market of waterpots. He dreamt of how rich they will soon become.
So the pot-maker made his own production plan, since he was more familiar with the details of pot making anyway. He then asked the technical assistant to work on a financial plan.
Again the plan never came. His friend only gave him bits of information about the cost of raw materials, but flooded the pot-maker with loads of statistics about huge global market for water containers of every possible type. He was also working on the expansion plan to turn the company into an international corporation. He told the pot-maker how he would buy a car and buy his mother a present when they became rich.
And so the pot-maker made his own financial plan.
Without anyone realizing it, things were gradually changing. Instead of the boss, the pot-maker had become a technical assistant, while the technical assistant wasn't doing anything technical at all.
When the pot-maker tried to think of his own market idea, his friend became furious, banged on the table and shouted at him. The pot-maker became more and more frightened of his friend.
His friend wanted to become a grand market strategist.
The pot-maker was just happy to receive any form of help. He focused his efforts on designing a simple pot that can hold water.
He then passed this prototype pot to his friend.
"No," his friend said. "Your pot lacks details. It needs many details to be a good pot."
Although his friend was not an artist and has never made a pot before, the pot-maker had no idea what kind of pot the market wanted, so he let his friend modify the design.
When the redesigned pot came back, the pot-maker was stunned.
Many large globs of clay were stuck on the pot in a disorganized fashion. The simple aesthetics of the pot had been transformed into a hideous mess. To make things worse, deep cracks were made into the pot such that it now leaks water.
The pot-maker was disappointed but he didn't want to offend his friend. So he tried his best to carve a simple design by cutting off as little of the clay as he could. He then plugged the cracks in the pot so that it no longer leaks.
When his friend saw the refined pot, he was pleased with its improved appearance. The pot-maker asked his friend to help remove more of the clay to make the pot better.
However, instead of reducing the clay, his friend went ahead to add more and created more cracks. This time the additional clay bits were so sharp that a person could get injured by these protrusions.
The pot-maker was devastated. He didn't want to get scolded by his friend but he had to remove those dangerous points. It was a stressful decision.
To his relief the friend accepted those changes and the first production pot was completed.
Next, they had to make a promotion brochure to help sell the pot. The printing company originally allocated two pages for them, but due to practical limitations that was reduced to a one-page pamphlet.
The original brochure design was too long to fit in one page.
The pot-maker removed some details from the brochure design and asked his friend to help remove more details.
To his horror, his friend once again added more information, including detailed statistics of a market segment they were not even entering. He demoted the main market segment to the bottom of the pamphlet. Even worse, there was much more text than even the original brochure.
When the pot-maker asked his friend to reduce the information and simplify the text, he started to get angry again. He wanted the pot-maker to do the editing.
The pot-maker was faced with an increasingly impossible task - how could you fit more stuff into less space and still have large, readable fonts?
He gave up completely and asked his friend to prepare the whole brochure. Later the pot-maker called his friend to check on his progress. His friend was very angry because despite his efforts he could not fit all his stuff into one page.
The pot-maker said "I am the only one who can fit the brochure into one page."
His friend retorted "That is because you are an egomanic!"
To which the pot-maker weakly replied "No. It's because I have less stuff."
His friend was still furious and scolded the pot-maker continuously for a few minutes.
Suddenly the pot-maker felt a crushing pain on his chest, screamed and collapsed.
A friend convinced him to turn his interest into a business. He wanted the pot-maker to become the boss of this company and said that he would become the technical assistant.
The pot-maker thought that a technical assistant should work on the technical aspects of the company. So he asked his friend to prepare a production plan.
But the plan never came.
Instead his friend came back with many statistics about the potential market of waterpots. He dreamt of how rich they will soon become.
So the pot-maker made his own production plan, since he was more familiar with the details of pot making anyway. He then asked the technical assistant to work on a financial plan.
Again the plan never came. His friend only gave him bits of information about the cost of raw materials, but flooded the pot-maker with loads of statistics about huge global market for water containers of every possible type. He was also working on the expansion plan to turn the company into an international corporation. He told the pot-maker how he would buy a car and buy his mother a present when they became rich.
And so the pot-maker made his own financial plan.
Without anyone realizing it, things were gradually changing. Instead of the boss, the pot-maker had become a technical assistant, while the technical assistant wasn't doing anything technical at all.
When the pot-maker tried to think of his own market idea, his friend became furious, banged on the table and shouted at him. The pot-maker became more and more frightened of his friend.
His friend wanted to become a grand market strategist.
The pot-maker was just happy to receive any form of help. He focused his efforts on designing a simple pot that can hold water.
He then passed this prototype pot to his friend.
"No," his friend said. "Your pot lacks details. It needs many details to be a good pot."
Although his friend was not an artist and has never made a pot before, the pot-maker had no idea what kind of pot the market wanted, so he let his friend modify the design.
When the redesigned pot came back, the pot-maker was stunned.
Many large globs of clay were stuck on the pot in a disorganized fashion. The simple aesthetics of the pot had been transformed into a hideous mess. To make things worse, deep cracks were made into the pot such that it now leaks water.
The pot-maker was disappointed but he didn't want to offend his friend. So he tried his best to carve a simple design by cutting off as little of the clay as he could. He then plugged the cracks in the pot so that it no longer leaks.
When his friend saw the refined pot, he was pleased with its improved appearance. The pot-maker asked his friend to help remove more of the clay to make the pot better.
However, instead of reducing the clay, his friend went ahead to add more and created more cracks. This time the additional clay bits were so sharp that a person could get injured by these protrusions.
The pot-maker was devastated. He didn't want to get scolded by his friend but he had to remove those dangerous points. It was a stressful decision.
To his relief the friend accepted those changes and the first production pot was completed.
Next, they had to make a promotion brochure to help sell the pot. The printing company originally allocated two pages for them, but due to practical limitations that was reduced to a one-page pamphlet.
The original brochure design was too long to fit in one page.
The pot-maker removed some details from the brochure design and asked his friend to help remove more details.
To his horror, his friend once again added more information, including detailed statistics of a market segment they were not even entering. He demoted the main market segment to the bottom of the pamphlet. Even worse, there was much more text than even the original brochure.
When the pot-maker asked his friend to reduce the information and simplify the text, he started to get angry again. He wanted the pot-maker to do the editing.
The pot-maker was faced with an increasingly impossible task - how could you fit more stuff into less space and still have large, readable fonts?
He gave up completely and asked his friend to prepare the whole brochure. Later the pot-maker called his friend to check on his progress. His friend was very angry because despite his efforts he could not fit all his stuff into one page.
The pot-maker said "I am the only one who can fit the brochure into one page."
His friend retorted "That is because you are an egomanic!"
To which the pot-maker weakly replied "No. It's because I have less stuff."
His friend was still furious and scolded the pot-maker continuously for a few minutes.
Suddenly the pot-maker felt a crushing pain on his chest, screamed and collapsed.
Thursday, 25 January 2007
New 'Three Little Pigs' Story
...by the flickering candle-light, the three little pigs were in deep thought.
"The wolf is approaching fast. Our booby traps will not hold him for much longer. We need to build fortifications and we need them NOW."
"If we want haste, then we should build houses out of straw. I can gather the materials in one day and finish assembly by the next."
"No, straw will not hold. We should build houses out of sticks. It will take a few days to gather these from the woods and a few more to put them together. But it should be able to resist wolf attacks much better."
"My brothers, you underestimate the strength of a wolf! We need a house of bricks. True, it will take a week to prepare the materials and another week for construction, but it is the ultimate defence against wolves and all other predators."
"To increase our chances of survival, let's build our houses differently. Speed or strength... we can't have both."
The three little pigs started building feverishly, but the wolf was nearly there.
On the third day, the wolf arrived at the door of the first little pig. The straw house was built in two days, and the pig had spent a day resting.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!"
"Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll ram your house down!"
The house of straw finally fell, but the pig was energetic enough to escape with some injuries.
On the sixth day, the wolf arrived at the door of the second little pig. The stick house was just completed and the pig was tired.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!"
"Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll ram your house down!"
The house of sticks lasted longer, but in time, it fell too. Luckily the wolf was worn out by the repeated ramming and couldn't catch the escaping pig, who escaped with minor injuries.
On the nineth day, the wolf arrived at the door of the third little pig. The brick house wasn't due for completion until five days later. The pig was still building desperately and was caught completely by surprise.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!"
"Then I'll huff and I'll puff... and oh look there's a hole in your construction"
So the wolf sneaked in to find a frightened and completely exhausted pig inside.
And ate him up.
"The wolf is approaching fast. Our booby traps will not hold him for much longer. We need to build fortifications and we need them NOW."
"If we want haste, then we should build houses out of straw. I can gather the materials in one day and finish assembly by the next."
"No, straw will not hold. We should build houses out of sticks. It will take a few days to gather these from the woods and a few more to put them together. But it should be able to resist wolf attacks much better."
"My brothers, you underestimate the strength of a wolf! We need a house of bricks. True, it will take a week to prepare the materials and another week for construction, but it is the ultimate defence against wolves and all other predators."
"To increase our chances of survival, let's build our houses differently. Speed or strength... we can't have both."
The three little pigs started building feverishly, but the wolf was nearly there.
On the third day, the wolf arrived at the door of the first little pig. The straw house was built in two days, and the pig had spent a day resting.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!"
"Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll ram your house down!"
The house of straw finally fell, but the pig was energetic enough to escape with some injuries.
On the sixth day, the wolf arrived at the door of the second little pig. The stick house was just completed and the pig was tired.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!"
"Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll ram your house down!"
The house of sticks lasted longer, but in time, it fell too. Luckily the wolf was worn out by the repeated ramming and couldn't catch the escaping pig, who escaped with minor injuries.
On the nineth day, the wolf arrived at the door of the third little pig. The brick house wasn't due for completion until five days later. The pig was still building desperately and was caught completely by surprise.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!"
"Then I'll huff and I'll puff... and oh look there's a hole in your construction"
So the wolf sneaked in to find a frightened and completely exhausted pig inside.
And ate him up.
The Archer who shot down the Sun
A long time ago in the Ancient World, there was a master archer.
He was a skillful archer with impeccable strength and accuracy.
Although he was a young man, he liked to boast to his fellow archers that he came from a long family history of superb archers.
The other archers simply shrugged off his arrogance, because they knew part of the reason why he could shoot so far and so accurately was because someone else made his bows and arrows.
Then one day, the Archer decided to prove himself to his critics. He modified his own bow and arrow to have incredible range. As an ultimate demonstration of his superiority, he would aim at the Sun.
But instead of announcing this to everyone, he kept it quiet. For fear of humiliation, he wanted to reveal his actions only AFTER he has successfully shot the Sun.
So he took a hard look at the Sun, pulled back on the recurve and...
*ZOOOK!*
The arrow flew straight into the Sun. He did it!
However, to his horror, the Sun then exploded into hundreds of pieces and spread deadly debris throughout space.
The following "day" not only was there no Sun, but deadly debris was raining from the sky and becoming a hazard to everyone.
The other archers protested angrily "Why did you shoot down the Sun? Now we will always have darkness, interrupted by random flashes of deadly rain!"
The Archer replied condescendingly "Hah! You guys are just jealous that I can hit the Sun."
In reality, a few of the other archers could have hit the Sun years ago, but restrained themselves to avoid an environmental catastrophe. They tried to explain this, but the Archer simply ignored them.
He simply hummed a victory tune to himself.
While the sky came down in pieces around him.
He was a skillful archer with impeccable strength and accuracy.
Although he was a young man, he liked to boast to his fellow archers that he came from a long family history of superb archers.
The other archers simply shrugged off his arrogance, because they knew part of the reason why he could shoot so far and so accurately was because someone else made his bows and arrows.
Then one day, the Archer decided to prove himself to his critics. He modified his own bow and arrow to have incredible range. As an ultimate demonstration of his superiority, he would aim at the Sun.
But instead of announcing this to everyone, he kept it quiet. For fear of humiliation, he wanted to reveal his actions only AFTER he has successfully shot the Sun.
So he took a hard look at the Sun, pulled back on the recurve and...
*ZOOOK!*
The arrow flew straight into the Sun. He did it!
However, to his horror, the Sun then exploded into hundreds of pieces and spread deadly debris throughout space.
The following "day" not only was there no Sun, but deadly debris was raining from the sky and becoming a hazard to everyone.
The other archers protested angrily "Why did you shoot down the Sun? Now we will always have darkness, interrupted by random flashes of deadly rain!"
The Archer replied condescendingly "Hah! You guys are just jealous that I can hit the Sun."
In reality, a few of the other archers could have hit the Sun years ago, but restrained themselves to avoid an environmental catastrophe. They tried to explain this, but the Archer simply ignored them.
He simply hummed a victory tune to himself.
While the sky came down in pieces around him.
Sunday, 14 January 2007
The Messenger's Fury
A long time ago, there was a powerful Kingdom in the ancient world.
The Kingdom was ruled by a wise royal family. They realize that in order to administer the Kingdom effectively, they must have control over the judges, the soldiers and the messengers.
Their most influential messenger was a grand old lady called Gwen Forsynth.
As the chief messenger, her duty to the Kingdom was to convey accurate information to the peasants and workers. She was also the official spokesperson of the royal family.
Despite her cool and impartial appearance, Madam Forsynth was a very tortured soul.
On one hand she lived among the peasants and workers, and talked often with them, so she identified with them.
On the other hand she had frequent audiences with the royal family, and understood the importance of their decisions, so she respected them greatly.
The problem is - whenever the royal family and the workers disagree, they both tend to blame Mdm Forsynth.
The royal family reminds Gwen to exercise restraint over her words, because miscommunications can be devastating to the Kingdom. The workers accuse Gwen of withholding too many words, because that is a form of miscommunication.
Caught in the middle and shot by both sides, Gwen was plagued with inner conflict. It was a pent-up frustration that was waiting for a chance to explode.
Then one day, that opportunity came.
A friend of the royal family made a glaring mistake.
He was the head officer of T&T Welfare Services, which obtains funds from the workers and redirects them to needy people. He had become greedy over the years and was diverting much of this money into his own pocket.
Gwen was suspicious of T&T because of the officer's extravagant ways and his arrogance. She hinted to the workers as diplomatically as she always did, that T&T had controversial practices.
This "hint" immediately drew the ire of T&T, which read the insinuation as a direct accusation. T&T wanted blood. The head officer challenged Gwen to a public duel to defend his honour.
Gwen tried to settle this disagreement privately, but the T&T head was unmoved. He was an expert marksman who had shot dead some of his opponents before. He looked down on Gwen, a mere old lady.
He was sure that he would win.
On the fateful day of the duel, Gwen and the head officer were each handed a flintlock pistol. They paced outwards, back to back.
3...2...1... FIRE!!!
POP! POP!
The head officer was shocked. His shot went completely wide. Gwen's shot however, stuck him right at his chest.
To add insult to injury, the head officer's formal dress was damaged by the blast, causing all of his ill-gotten gold coins to drop all over the ground.
T&T was finished. But Gwen was not done yet.
Shrieking like a crazy woman, she repacked the black powder, reloaded her flintlock and shot the officer again and again, with child-like pleasure in her eyes.
POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!
It was relentless. She knew that the royal family would not protest because he was a "mere friend". She used this opportunity to release all of her inner frustrations.
POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!
This went on for days and days. Although the head officer's body was already shot through like swiss cheese, Gwen refused to stop.
The royal family could only smile weakly and pretended not to notice.
The Kingdom was ruled by a wise royal family. They realize that in order to administer the Kingdom effectively, they must have control over the judges, the soldiers and the messengers.
Their most influential messenger was a grand old lady called Gwen Forsynth.
As the chief messenger, her duty to the Kingdom was to convey accurate information to the peasants and workers. She was also the official spokesperson of the royal family.
Despite her cool and impartial appearance, Madam Forsynth was a very tortured soul.
On one hand she lived among the peasants and workers, and talked often with them, so she identified with them.
On the other hand she had frequent audiences with the royal family, and understood the importance of their decisions, so she respected them greatly.
The problem is - whenever the royal family and the workers disagree, they both tend to blame Mdm Forsynth.
The royal family reminds Gwen to exercise restraint over her words, because miscommunications can be devastating to the Kingdom. The workers accuse Gwen of withholding too many words, because that is a form of miscommunication.
Caught in the middle and shot by both sides, Gwen was plagued with inner conflict. It was a pent-up frustration that was waiting for a chance to explode.
Then one day, that opportunity came.
A friend of the royal family made a glaring mistake.
He was the head officer of T&T Welfare Services, which obtains funds from the workers and redirects them to needy people. He had become greedy over the years and was diverting much of this money into his own pocket.
Gwen was suspicious of T&T because of the officer's extravagant ways and his arrogance. She hinted to the workers as diplomatically as she always did, that T&T had controversial practices.
This "hint" immediately drew the ire of T&T, which read the insinuation as a direct accusation. T&T wanted blood. The head officer challenged Gwen to a public duel to defend his honour.
Gwen tried to settle this disagreement privately, but the T&T head was unmoved. He was an expert marksman who had shot dead some of his opponents before. He looked down on Gwen, a mere old lady.
He was sure that he would win.
On the fateful day of the duel, Gwen and the head officer were each handed a flintlock pistol. They paced outwards, back to back.
3...2...1... FIRE!!!
POP! POP!
The head officer was shocked. His shot went completely wide. Gwen's shot however, stuck him right at his chest.
To add insult to injury, the head officer's formal dress was damaged by the blast, causing all of his ill-gotten gold coins to drop all over the ground.
T&T was finished. But Gwen was not done yet.
Shrieking like a crazy woman, she repacked the black powder, reloaded her flintlock and shot the officer again and again, with child-like pleasure in her eyes.
POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!
It was relentless. She knew that the royal family would not protest because he was a "mere friend". She used this opportunity to release all of her inner frustrations.
POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!
This went on for days and days. Although the head officer's body was already shot through like swiss cheese, Gwen refused to stop.
The royal family could only smile weakly and pretended not to notice.
Where we came from...
"So class, this is where we came from. The sperm and the egg from our parents fuse to become the one-cell zygote. Then the foetus grows and grows and is born to become a healthy baby!"
The teacher was giving a presentation on sex education to a room full of giggling teenagers.
Then suddenly a mocking laughter was heard and a boy stood up, shaking his head.
"Teacher, you are completely wrong!"
"What do you mean, Arthur?"
"How can a complex human being arise from just a single cell? This is utterly ridiculous. You, as a smart well-educated teacher, can tell us that a single cell, due to random chance can become the trillions of cells that make up a person?"
"But Arthur, the development process isn't just random chance..."
"Ha Ha Ha! A single cell dividing randomly will become a person? Every cell must ensure that newly divided cells must be in the exactly correct position. And the next cell must ensure that too. And the next... there are trillions of cells! The probability is one in ten kazillion!"
"No Arthur, the absolute position is not critical..."
"HA HA HA! Don't you realize that human beings are exactly like mechanical watches? We have millions of parts that must fit together perfectly to function - it is irreducible! If your lungs are growing faster than your ribs, you will explode! If your heart is growing slower, then your blood vessels cannot reach your brain! Everything is perfect!"
"Wait a second. Arthur, aren't you growing? You are much taller than you were last year, but your eyes growing less. Won't that make your eyeballs fall out of your sockets?
"Of course not, stupid teacher. I didn't exist last year. I was instantly created last night at 12 midnight, fully formed and completely perfect."
The teacher was giving a presentation on sex education to a room full of giggling teenagers.
Then suddenly a mocking laughter was heard and a boy stood up, shaking his head.
"Teacher, you are completely wrong!"
"What do you mean, Arthur?"
"How can a complex human being arise from just a single cell? This is utterly ridiculous. You, as a smart well-educated teacher, can tell us that a single cell, due to random chance can become the trillions of cells that make up a person?"
"But Arthur, the development process isn't just random chance..."
"Ha Ha Ha! A single cell dividing randomly will become a person? Every cell must ensure that newly divided cells must be in the exactly correct position. And the next cell must ensure that too. And the next... there are trillions of cells! The probability is one in ten kazillion!"
"No Arthur, the absolute position is not critical..."
"HA HA HA! Don't you realize that human beings are exactly like mechanical watches? We have millions of parts that must fit together perfectly to function - it is irreducible! If your lungs are growing faster than your ribs, you will explode! If your heart is growing slower, then your blood vessels cannot reach your brain! Everything is perfect!"
"Wait a second. Arthur, aren't you growing? You are much taller than you were last year, but your eyes growing less. Won't that make your eyeballs fall out of your sockets?
"Of course not, stupid teacher. I didn't exist last year. I was instantly created last night at 12 midnight, fully formed and completely perfect."
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