Mimpi Ngeri...
>> Thursday, June 07, 2012
The hall was packed with thousands of
people from all walks of life. Some were wearing yellow t-shirts. Some
wore red t-shirts. Some wore white t-shirts. But the odd thing was,
everybody was wearing a t-shirt with logos on it. Nobody was wearing any
shirt at all. Or baju kurung. Or baju batik. Zilch. Nada. Null. சுழி.
Zéro. 零. Well, you get the idea.
I
was trying to move, inching my way toward the stage. And it was damn
difficult to do so because of the crowd. Somewhere in the middle of the
crowd, I could see Rais Yatim with a tasbih. Strangely enough, when I
was near him, he turned to me, smiled and as if knowing my puzzlement as
to what he was doing with the tasbih, he explained, “I am doing head
count Bro…”
“Oh…..no
wonder…” I thought. As if he knew what I was gonna ask next, he said, “I
think there are 22000 people in this hall,” smiling. “Oh…okay…” again, I
thought.
As I arrived in
front of the stage, Irshad Manji was adjusting her short skirt and tight
t-shirt. “Hmmm…even the debater is wearing a t-shirt,” I told myself.
Irshad was sitted to my left. Her white t-shirt says “Lock up your
dotters, I am lezbie.'’
Sitting
to my right was a goateed guy in a kain pelikat and green t-shirt. His
t-shirt says “MasyaAllah, Na’uzubillah, neraka jahannam.” He looked like
he was an officer from JAIS. Or something like that.
Adorning the wall behind both of them was a huge banner. It reads, “Welcome to the great debate.”
The crowd was getting restless. The debate was scheduled to start at 1pm. And it was already 1.30pm. Yet there was no sign the debate was going to start any soon. Outside the hall, there were about 6000 policemen, 5 tanks, and about 20 armoured vehicles. The Deputy IGP was seen ordering some thosai telor at a stall set up by some Indian NGOs nearby. Anwar Ibrahim was rolling his hands, as if to signal something to Azwan Ali, eh…I mean Azmin Ali.
The crowd was getting restless. The debate was scheduled to start at 1pm. And it was already 1.30pm. Yet there was no sign the debate was going to start any soon. Outside the hall, there were about 6000 policemen, 5 tanks, and about 20 armoured vehicles. The Deputy IGP was seen ordering some thosai telor at a stall set up by some Indian NGOs nearby. Anwar Ibrahim was rolling his hands, as if to signal something to Azwan Ali, eh…I mean Azmin Ali.
Not
far from that, Umi Hafilda was screaming through a loud hailer,
“Al-Juburi, Al-Sodomite, Al-Adulterer, Al-Kohol…” over and over again,
like she was on a repeat mode. In front of her, about 5 people would
repeat what she said.
Over
at the other end of the spectre, there were burger stalls. Nobody
bought their burgers. And so they were giving them away for free. Even
then, nobody took their burgers. Earlier in the day they were telling
me, “bisnes teruk la Bang….rugi besar ni….” I saw “NFC” written on their
beef burger wrapping. “Hmmm…that prolli explains it all,” I thought.
Again.
Suddenly there was loud music. “I want your ugly, I want your disease, I want your everything as long as its free…” the speakers were blaring them out. Hamaigawd…Lady Gaga.
And
there she was. In all her sinful glory. She was wearing…err…not so much
really. There was this black PVC bra with a hole in the middle of each
of the cup showing her nipple. And a skimpy pair of red PVC panties with
a heart in the place where her “anu” is. And knee-high black leather
boots with what looks like a 1-foot heel each.
Jesus Christ, Lady Gaga was the moderator.
She
went to the mike. “Afternoon guys and gals, lezboz and homosexuals,
welcome to THE debate,” she proclaimed to loud cheers from a section of
the hall. The goateed guy was almost in a state of delirium. I didn’t
know whether it was out of sheer fright, joy, sickness or all three.
After some pleasantries, and a short explanation of the rules of the debate, Irshad Manji took the mic.
“I don’t understand why my book is banned by JAIS. Isn’t Islam about tolerance? Isn’t Islam about the eternal search for the truth? Who owns the truth? Not me. And surely not YOU!” she said while pointing to the goateed guy.
“I don’t understand why my book is banned by JAIS. Isn’t Islam about tolerance? Isn’t Islam about the eternal search for the truth? Who owns the truth? Not me. And surely not YOU!” she said while pointing to the goateed guy.
“After all,
Caliph Al-Mahdi used to debate with Timothy 1, the Nestorian patriarch.
They would do it at the Caliph’s palace, in front of everybody.
“The
Caliph would say, O Catholicus, it does not benefit someone like you,
someone of learning and experience, to say about God Almighty that He
took Himself a wife and bore a son.”
To which Timothy 1 would retort that God did not have a wife and someone who said so was a blasphemer.
Timothy
1 would then say that “it is not my business to decide whether [the
Quran] was from God or not…but all words of God found in the Thorah and
the Prophets, and those of them found in the Gospel and the writings of
the Apostles have been confirmed by signs and miracles; as to the words
of your book they have not been corroborated by signs and miracles.
Since signs and miracles are proof of the will of God, the conclusions
drawn from their absence in your Book is well known to your majesty.”
“Well,
did the Caliph ban Timothy 1 after that? Did the Caliph order Timothy’s
death after that? No. He did not. In fact he invited him to a sumptuous
banquet and later he invited him again and again for such debates in
his palace. If your faith is strong and you believe in God, why must you
fear opposite or differing views?”
“If
a Caliph could behave in that way, why can’t we? Why can’t you?” she
asked to the thunderous applause of some very liberal looking guys and
gals wearing Pink Floyd t-shirt and baseball cap in the hall.
Lady
Gaga then stood up and took a whip and whipped the floor of the stage.
“That was freakin’ good arguments youall!” “Cheers to Irshad. Cheers to
Irshad,” she exhorted. Quite obviously, she was not impartial. “Well, I
am not impartial, okay…, just like some of your Judges in your country,”
she screamed.
I could then see VK Linggam giving a thumbs down sign. “Boo…,” he was saying.
The
goateed guy stood up. Went to the mike. “Assalamualaikum…,”he said.
“Irshad Manji is a threat to Islam. A threat to our akidah. A potential
resident of hell. She is a lesbian too. I demand that the government
revokes her citizenship.”
He
then went back stage. Everybody was astounded. Several minutes later he
came back with a big box. He opened it on stage. And out came what
looked like Hassan Ali doll. And the damn doll could move and talk.
“Damn, an electronic Hassan Ali,” I whispered to myself.
The doll took the mike. “I have proof of proselytisation efforts by Christian mercenaries. I will show you in a minute….”
Suddenly
a section of the crowd in red t-shirt moved forward. Then they turned
around, their back now facing the stage. Lady Gaga then said, “oh oh…it
is senaman bontot time…”
The crowd in red t-shirt, their back facing the stage, started to wiggle their derriere, in various shapes and forms.
Then the President of the Petty Trader Malaysia
came out from his Lamborghini Gallardo from no where. He went on stage.
He said, “come to my shop and eat some ikan, and you could win this
car…”
He then got into the car again.
And HomaiGawdilinggam…he drove the car straight toward me. He was going to run me over. Bang, boom, crash….suddenly I was awake. I had fallen off the bed. My wife was laughing at me.
“Bad dream eh?”, she asked….
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