Welcome to 27.193.45’s broadcast of the tenth anniversary of the Directorate of Propaganda; I’m your host, Mr. Smith. We’re reporting live today from the Franklin Compound where employees and their families are playing host to guests from around the country. Here comes a happy employee now…

Excuse me Miss, may we have a moment of your time?

“Why of course, we’re having an open house of sorts here today, and hey, even if we weren’t, I work for you and your listeners anyway.”

Thank you. Could you tell our listeners a little bit about what it’s like to work at the Directorate of Propaganda?

“I’d be delighted! I started working here almost six years ago. Before then I was working for the marketing division at one of the big four drug firms and I can’t imagine going back to that; the atmosphere here is just so much better.

How so?

Well, at the drug company I was always battling to drive the competition down. I wasn’t so much selling one product as I was strategizing and plotting to defeat all the other guys out there with similar products.

Here things are much more positive, there’s no subterfuge or conflict, here we’re promoting a product that has no competition, a product that doesn’t require financing or credit, here we’re promoting pride and it’s free for all.”

That is very insightful, I’m sure you’ve inspired many listeners out there.

“Oh really, that’s fantastic, we’re always looking for great new people to join our team.”

Did you hear that listeners, perhaps I should drop my personal information off and see what the Directorate could offer me. Until then though, I’ll see who else can take a break from the festivities to join our broadcast.

Excuse me, umm hello sir.

“Hello, oh are we streaming live.”

Yes we are sir.

“That’s fantastic, can I say Hi to my wife and kids.”

You just did sir.

“Oh hey, that’s right, you got me there. What can I do for you, and your listeners?”

Well sir, perhaps you can tell us all what brought you here today.

“Sure thing! I drove out this morning, six hours it took me to get here but I figured it would be worth it; how often does a guy have the opportunity to hang out on the front lawn of the Franklin Compound sipping wine and nibbling on, well whatever this here cracker thing is?

I should be honest with you though, that’s not the real reason I’m here. The real reason is much more personal.”

Please, go on.

“Of course…I’m here today because the Directorate of Propaganda saved my life. Ten years ago I was suffering from severe depression. I felt like a complete failure, I had just lost my job with the city because of tardiness, or something like that, the bank repossessed my car and my girlfriend left as quickly as my Chevy did.

I was on mood enhancing drugs which kept me from going right over the edge but they were sucking up the last of my savings and I had maybe three more weeks before I would have been left high and dry. I really thought that I was a worthless waste of carbon until I saw the first ever effort broadcast by the Directorate of Propaganda.

I was sitting on my Mother’s sofa when the old Propaganda march came on the television, you remember the one, hey maybe you can pipe it through to the audience when we’re done here. Anyway, that march was a classic I tell you, it literally pulled me up off that old piece of junk sofa and held me transfixed for over an hour.

After the broadcast had ended my heart was near bursting with pride, I forgot all my shame and realized that as a part of this great society of ours I am important. I help this fantastic machine that is our country run smoothly, powerfully, and compassionately.

The moment I realized that I had a very important role to play I tossed the last of my drugs, ran out of that house and got my life in order. I got a job checking wires at the relay station, found myself a wife, and had two children to carry on our great tradition. I could never have done that if the Directorate of Propaganda hadn’t opened my eyes to the pride that I’m entitled to feel not because of who I am but because of the part I play in our society!”

That’s a great story sir, unfortunately the original Propaganda march was decommissioned years ago but we have a great recording of the latest version which I’m sure our listeners will enjoy just as much. Here you go listeners, you’re amongst the first group to hear the anniversary Propaganda march and I’m sure it will bring tears of pride to your eyes as it did to mine.

I’ll be back with more from the Franklin Compound in an hour, just as soon as the march is done.

Well we’re back, and wasn’t that fantastic. My loyal listeners, while you were so engaged in that passionate and prideful march I tracked down one of the top historical analysts here at the Directorate of Propaganda, Mr. Albert Flash.

Mr. Flash, our most heartfelt welcome.

“Thank you and welcome to all of your listeners, it truly is a shame that they couldn’t all be with us today, the weather is perfect and the party’s in full swing. We’re going to be taking this show on the road though, a full year of appearances and special releases to celebrate the Directorates’ anniversary.”

That sounds fantastic; we’ll provide our listeners with a complete downloadable schedule at the end of this broadcast.

“Much obliged, we could never have achieved the successes we’ve had without you and your audience.”

Mr. Flash, you’re too kind. We’re all familiar with the work of the Directorate but perhaps you could explain the story to us, from a historical point of view.

“Of course; there are no trade secrets in this industry, you all know the basic history of the Directorate…we strode forth under the genius direction of Mr. Franklin to stem the tide of emotional decay spreading across our society.

To be sure our society was great even ten years ago, but it was crude. Why the only solution for depression, anxiety, and other emotional maladies were drugs, peddled by large corporations looking to earn a buck off every sucker that had a moment’s doubt.

Mr. Franklin was a reporter very much like yourself back then. He was covering an epidemic in Asia delivering stories from treatment camps where thousands of people were dying needlessly because governments couldn’t afford the required medications.

Upon his return to this country Mr. Franklin was shocked by the emotional maladies that, at the time, were the proverbial cash cows for the big four drug companies, and so he worked behind the scenes to build the Directorate of Propaganda…free, wholesome treatment for our societies emotional woes, we haven’t looked back since then.”

Indeed we haven’t, and thank goodness for that, who knows where we’d be today if it wasn’t for Mr. Franklin. During the break you were telling me just how cost-efficient the Directorate of Propaganda is, can you repeat those numbers for my listeners?

“Yes, of course. Our economists have calculated the cost of running the Directorate for the past ten years and compared it to the expected costs to both the government and to society had mood enhancing drugs been the only option during the same period of time.

Based on historical tax breaks and subsidies given to the big four drug companies to develop so called ‘emotional drugs’ and calculating the costs of operating rehabilitation centers to treat emotional drug addictions, the Directorate of Propaganda costs the government less than half of what would have been spent otherwise. Add the costs to society of purchasing drugs and dealing with unforeseen consequences and the Directorate budget rounds off at only about one third of what the anticipated expenditure would have been under the old system.”

Wow, it’s hard to believe that there are still critics out there. People are all-round happier, the government is saving money, society is more productive and, let’s face it; you guys throw a great party.

Speaking of which, it’s time for me to sign off listeners and go and enjoy the fun myself. Remember to stay proud, stay happy, and tune in tomorrow for another live broadcast. In the words of the great Mr. Franklin…happy trails to you.

Usually my posts are based on personal experiences but in this case it’s very tangental…ready?

Ok, we bought a car in Virigina and were going to register it in DC except that in DC they charge you a full 1% higher tax if your car weighs over 3500 pounds (something to do with heavy cars tearing up the streets). Well at 3550 pounds our car was just over the limit and despite the fact that we don’t drive around with 100 pounds worth of kids in the back seat, and never mind that between the two of us we’re at least fifty pounds lighter than the average American couple…nope none of this mattered, we were facing car discrimination on the basis of weight so…

Then I heard a great rant on the metro which I only caught a few words of, but I imagine it could have gone a bit like this

- It will be fourteen

- Fourteen what?

- Fourteen Dollars sir.

- You’re kidding right?

- No sir.

- Fourteen dollars! Jesus, can’t I claim it through health insurance?

- I don’t think so.

- I could if I was fat!

- Pardon me?

- Well I probably could.

- I don’t see how.

- Well they get all sorts of free stuff.

- Who does?

- Fat people. Did you know that they get a tax deduction for joining a health club?

- Can’t say that I did.

- You should pay more attention to things like that you know. I mean us skinny people are paying for that. For smokers too you know.

- Smokers?

- Yeah, they’re a drain on the medical system. That’s why insurance is so expensive, and it doesn’t even cover my fourteen dollars at that!

- I see.

- Yeah, and do you think we can do anything about it? The fat people I mean.

- I’ve never thought about it.

- You should! At least smokers are addicted, what’s the fat peoples’ excuse?

- I think it’s genetic.

- Genetic, oh come on now, genetic? It’s not genetic, it’s McDonalds and Pizza Hut and hot dogs.

- Perhaps.

- Especially hot dogs. Did you know that they have a competition for eating hot dogs?

- No.

- They do. And it’s not even the fat people who win. It’s always a skinny little Japanese girl.

- Why?

- Why what?

- Why do the skinny girls win?

- Ah hah! Now you’re interested.

- Just making conversation.

- Whatever. It’s because they stretch their stomachs with water, no calories in water you know. The fat guys practice with food; water works better though.

- I see.

- Yeah, fat people have too much fat, their stomachs can’t stretch the way they can in skinny people.

- Really?

- Yeah, of course. You see, nothing good can come of being fat.

- Except the health club thing.

- Damn it, yeah! And the fact that they probably wouldn’t have to pay the fourteen dollars.

- Will you?

- What?

- Pay the fourteen dollars?

- Yeah, yeah fine, take them up although on principal I object.

- Why?

- Because having short legs is just as much of a disability as being fat. And it’s genetic. Where’s my free stuff?

- I don’t know sir but your pants will be ready on Thursday.

- I bet a fat person would get them on Wednesday.

They say there is a wild beast hidden within each of us: an animal born from risk, suckled on adrenaline. I have seen such a beast emerge, break free from its human bonds. Yes, I have ridden in an Italian taxi. Amongst the ancient streets of Rome; a city baptized long ago by the blood of a thousand slaves, a city possessed by the luring temptation of a hundred flavors of gelato, is it any wonder that beast abound?

My encounter with the beast began with a wait; a seemingly endless and tediously long wait. Like a lion stalking antelope at a waterhole, the taxi beast lulled me into a bored sense of security. He approached through the cobbled streets, flanked by a protective swarm of scooters. Pedestrians scattered before him trailing panicked streams of cigarette smoke. But I stood unaware, unaffected by such warning signs, pleased in fact that the very taxi that bore the beast forth had finally arrived before me.

In I slid, naively sitting with my purse perched daintily on my lap. In I slid, gracefully brushing a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. In I slid, oblivious of the tenuous thread by which my mortality would soon be measured. And it began…

Through first gear, pushed a little too far causing the engine to emit an inhuman growl and plastering me solidly against the seat. To second gear which the beast pushed through despite the groan of the cobles and the whipping wind striking the walls not half a foot to either side of us. In third the beast whipped around a fountain, the squealing tires shouting back to the roaring spray of water. In forth the beast exploded, sliding both hands away from the wheel and draping them entirely across the dashboard in supplication to chaos. We reached fifth before we reached the highway screaming around on-coming cars in a defiant display of territorial supremacy. On streets built for plodding donkeys, the beast embraced 80; along lanes the width of a bicycle, the beast madly tore a path.

I was trapped, trapped in this terrible dance by the grinning beast. I could do nothing more than watch, with morbid fascination, the flashing images which I was sure would be my last visions of this world. Truly I was amazed by the beasts gall, by his apparent immortality, by his evident insanity. I cringed when the cell phone rang, trilling its sarcastic rendition of Rule Britannia. I shrank back against the seat in terror when the beast answered it. I stifled a cry of despair as the wily beast held his phone with one hand, gestured wildly with his second, spun the steering wheel with his third, and shifted constantly through the gears with his forth. How could it be, how could such a beast exist?

And then with a sudden revelation equal to that of a two year old child discovering the word ‘no’, I realized the true extent of the beasts presence. I understood at last his skill, his supremacy, and I relaxed. The beast glanced in the rear view mirror and saw my serene smile, a single eyebrow raised in response to my purposefully graceful gesture as I reached for the window controls and tapped lightly on the button. ‘A touch more air’ I spoke with my action, ‘the roaring wind no longer frightens me’. I saw a glimmer of panic in the beasts eye, a momentary lapse as he saw my terror slipping from his grasp (or perhaps the panic was in response to the on-coming yogurt truck, who can really pretend to understand such folly). A wild shift across three lanes, the taxi momentarily broadside to the rest of traffic. But no reaction from me. I know you now beast. I know that I am safe with you. I am no longer afraid.

We raced together, the beast and I, testing this new camaraderie. He drove now for my enjoyment, for the thrill of our understanding. He showcased his talents like a child before a grandfather, steering around a stalled car with nothing but his knees, hanging his entire torso out of the window to whistle into the wind for a beautiful woman, blurring green into yellow, into red.

Too soon, it seemed, our journey ended and I slipped out of the taxi confident and alive. I stood and watched the beast tear away, the high pitched squeal of tires his departing cry as off he raced, hunting for another fare to test yet another victim. So beware you who walk the streets of Rome, there is a beast on the loose.