"I suppose you know why you are here" she asked with just enough sarcasm in her voice to trigger what was probably the wrong reply. "I figured you were going to tell me which of the myriad of reasons is the cause of my presence in front of you." That did not please them, because as I looked further into the corners of the proverbial "corner office/throne room" I saw that quite a gathering had been assembled to give me the latest "dressing down" in a lifetime full of them.
One of the non-throne occupants sighed and said, "I told you not to be a jackass, why wouldn't you listen to me?" No reply that I could think of would much help that comment, so I decided to keep my mouth shut, for once. Keeping one's mouth shut is an art and a science, and can be very hard to do for someone with a willful disposition. "Well?" the throne asked, "Care to tell us why you are here?"
I shrugged and replied carefully "again, I figured you would tell me, after all your spies, and we all know you have them, and who they are by the way, would have briefed you on whatever reason you needed to frog march me in here." A small, but still hard to notice unless you were paying attention, and my life is built upon paying attention so I noticed, hint of surprise flickered in the throne's eyes at my statement about her spies and people knowing their identity. "If you're going to create spies, or turn people against each other it is best to be a bit more subtle. I understand the iron fist in the velvet glove approach, but that is about ruling, not about being a spymaster."
While undeniable true, that statement did not win me any friends among the group assembled. The good news, if there was any good news, is that I already knew that I didn't have any friends in that group, so I hadn't really lost anything. "I mean other than dressing them up in leather trench coats, giving them a fedora, a sneer, and maybe a scar or two, could you have been more obvious in your choice(s) of spies?" You are not, I hate to break the news to you, Felix Dzerzhinsky (my favorite Bolshevik, by the way), and this little group of yours isn't the Cheka, and your power is not as limitless as you'd like to think." I figured since I had been unceremoniously dragged into this "meeting" I had might as well get my money's worth. Once you're in enough trouble, you reach a point of diminishing returns as to the punishment you can receive, I had reached that point.
However, that little speech, while sounding quite pretty to me, was not particularly well received by my audience. Did I mention keeping one's mouth shut being an art and a science? I can't draw a stick figure properly, and most of the science I know is that the atomic number of Carbon is 6. Perhaps my classical education wasn't as classical as I had previously thought. "Well since you don't care to articulate the actual reason you are here, let's just talk in generalities shall we?"
"It's your party boss, I am just the guest of honour." That, at least produced a laugh from somewhere behind me, had more of my fan club filed in while I was ruining my career with my smart mouth? "Some honour" I heard someone say with a chuckle, and recognized the voice as another one of "them". Jesus they had brought out the entire line up of bigwigs for this dressing down. Like the British using the entire Royal Navy to "show the flag" to some banana republic that needed a little show of might to be brought to heel. It seemed a bit of overkill to me, but it wasn't my party, it was more like my funeral, and I didn't even get to pick the music.
The throne began to speak, and I realized it wasn't going to be pleasant, and since no cookies had been provided to take the edge off of unpleasant, I held up a hand to forestall the "list of your sins" speech from getting into top gear. "I already know what you're going to say. I have my spies as well you know." Here, I stopped (a dramatic pause if there ever was one), and took a long slow look around the room. Not because any of these cunts were my spies, but it never hurts to spread doubt among one's enemies. Let them ponder that bit of impossible news for a second or two, maybe they were a bit like the Bolsheviks, and after so many years "in power" they would start to turn on each other and devour themselves.
Not that they would mind you, they weren't quite the power mad bastards that Stalin and his cronies were, but it was worth a small prayer to the gods that it might happen. "You will be even sadder to know a few things about my spies" I said with just enough conviction in my voice to convince me that I actually did have spies (which wasn't exactly true by the textbook definition of the term, but luckily for me this lot hadn't look at a textbook in over a quarter of a century). "First, you don't know who they are, they aren't the obvious people you would think, if you bother to think about it at all. Two, I don't have to pay them, nor can I offer them any reward for good information, or punishment for bad information. Thirdly, unlike your lot, they are loyal. Fourth, and this is just my personal opinion, they are smarter than your group, which makes it quite entertaining for me." That little speech did NOT go over well, but by this juncture, I was beyond caring about the eventual, obvious outcome of this meeting. I had endured a long day, and I just wanted a beer or ice cream, or maybe a ice cream beer float.
"Well that was certainly a wonderful speech," I heard from behind me, "Anything else you'd like to rally the troops with there, Churchill?" This came from the throne's version of Molotov, the plodder in the group that somehow managed to achieve a high position to the amazement of everyone, up to and including themselves. It was a bit clever for them, and I figured that another one of "them" had provided the quote to "Molotov" in order to keep from speaking themselves. "No, I figure that most of Churchill's wisdom would be lost in this situation, and besides I have not dusted off any of his speeches in a while. So you can go ahead and set my punishment now, though with your lack of imagination I know the choices execution or exile."
That drew a oddly disturbing smirk from the throne, and when the throne smirks it cannot be anything but bad news to the person at which the smirk is aimed. "No, genius we've decided against either one of those option, though there were a couple of us that spoke quite vehemently for the former, but they eventually came around to the majority view." I arched an eyebrow in question as to what these mad bastards could have concocted as a third way of punishing me. They were not known for their imagination. "It took us a while, but we figured out the best way to, in your words "punish" you was quite simple." She leaned forward tenting her hands (a la Monty Burns) and said with pure joy, "We are going to promote you."
You unbelievable, magnificent bastards ....
