*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
In politics, chaos is not born. It is built — with purpose, with rhythm, and with precision. Every “scandal” that grips the nation, every “whistleblower” who suddenly emerges from nowhere, is rarely a child of conscience. More often than not, they are children of design.
Twice in my lifetime, I have seen the same design unfold — two administrations apart, yet following the same chilling sequence of manipulation.
It always starts with a man who claims to have found his courage. He appears before cameras, trembling with righteous fury, holding papers that promise to expose corruption. The nation listens. The media amplifies. And the illusion of truth begins.
The first was a man I call Lou Baba — fiery, persuasive, and perfectly timed. His target: a Senator, respected for integrity and public service. Lou Baba accused him of corruption, painting a picture of power tainted by greed. For a moment, he was the hero of the people — the man who dared to defy the mighty.
But truth has a way of waiting.
When the dust settled, Lou Baba confessed. The documents were forged. The accusations were fabricated. The narrative was manufactured. He was coached, funded, and guided by handlers who used his voice to assassinate another man’s honor. What was paraded as bravery was, in truth, performance.
Years later, history repeated itself. Another figure appeared: Marine Man. Polished, calm, articulate — the kind who could sell sincerity even to cynics. His accusations were directed not at one, but at several congressmen, alleging massive corruption in flood-control projects. His affidavit seemed official; his tone, unflinching. Once again, the public leaned in.
And once again, the story collapsed. The affidavit was fake. The notarization forged. The witness handled. The same choreography, the same purpose — to destabilize, divide, and dominate the public narrative.
Behind both Lou Baba and Marine Man stood Lalim Tapos Asim — the handler.
Lalim Tapos Asim is the archetype of the political operator who speaks in layers. Deep in intrigue (lalim), sharp in deceit (asim). He thrives in noise, feeds on confusion, and mistakes manipulation for strategy. He recruits pawns, shapes their lines, and defends them as martyrs while quietly polishing his own image as a crusader. To the public, he is a patriot; to those who see deeper, he is the merchant of distortion.
But Lalim Tapos Asim himself is not the final player.
Above him — silent, precise, and calculating — reigns the Cool Cat.
The Cool Cat is a she: elegant, composed, and merciless in her mastery of timing. She never appears in the frame. She never signs the papers. She never touches the mess — she designs it. She manages not the pawns, but the handler who believes he’s leading them.
The Cool Cat doesn’t create truth — she manufactures versions of it. Her art lies not in revelation but in distraction. She fabricates heroes to erode trust, stirs outrage to cloud judgment, and plants scandals to shift focus. Her aim is not to destroy the system, but to weaken it just enough to make it malleable.
The Cool Cat doesn’t roar. She purrs.
And when she purrs, even Lalim Tapos Asim mistakes the sound for his own brilliance.
When the scandal dies, Lou Baba fades into obscurity. Marine Man retreats into silence. Lalim Tapos Asim looks for the next pawn to polish. And the Cool Cat remains — serene, invisible, and undefeated.
Her power is not in shouting but in silence. Not in proof but in precision. She knows that the public no longer wants truth — only confirmation of their anger. And so she provides it, wrapped in forged affidavits, delivered by pawns who mistake their scripts for destiny.
In the end, politics becomes her theater. She is the playwright, the director, and the unseen audience applauding her own performance.
Because in her world, confusion is control.
And every “whistleblower” is just another note in her quiet, perfect symphony.
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