Yesterday, I complained (without really complaining) how a satirical piece could be taken in the improper spirit — seriously. But there is a clear explanation for this state of affairs.

Unless one is a certified comedian, a person with some authority in government, politics, business, and society, is taken seriously when what he or she says anything that is publicized in media.

Thus, when a senator or the president speaks of "political tsunami" and another senator follows it up with "economic tsunami," their words gain as much currency as the US dollar. When Malacañang notes that a lot of beer has been consumed and a large number of cellphones bought, it is reported as a serious statement about the economy.

Not long ago, some government official said that the Philippines was a rich country pretending to be poor, and the rest of us reacted violently because it was publicized. The coffee shops reverberated with arguments pro and con. Soon after, a ship of rotten rice was said to have "drowned," then everything was forgotten.

In other words, officials can say anything they please and get a serious hearing. Three tenors, dubbed as "terrors," were able to raise funds by putting a premium on their voices as if they were Domingo, Carreras, and Pavarotti, and nobody laughed. Perhaps, it was dangerous or expensive to do so.

Erap’s romp in Hong Kong was regarded as a serious violation of prisoners’ privilege, a "matter of state," and his being allowed to leave an impeachable offense. The charge of "plunder" is upheld, although there is no precedent in any legal system. Meanwhile, Marcos’ remains are unburied because the Himlayan is reserved for heroes, although an exhumation of the records of some of those buried there will reveal something else.

I’m beginning to believe that you could write a straight political history of the Philippines and come up with a satirical masterpiece. What’s even more satisfying is that it will be read as fiction.