The Satyridon

“You’re all nattering on about things of no concern in heaven or on earth, and all the time no one gives a damn about the crippling price of corn. I swear I couldn’t afford a mouthful of bread today…”

The Satyricon. Petronius.

Don Fac Hoc reached forward to select a devilled egg. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and considered it closely before popping the whole egg into his already full mouth. The assembled delegates watched their glorious leader. Don Fac Hoc was eating, which was a good thing. If he was hungry then he was almost always bad tempered, although after he had eaten he was generally sleepy, which could also be problematic. The question of the woman’s death or demise was a matter of State importance since it had been raised by the Head of State. The men around the table were obliged to apply due diligence.

“Yes. I quite agree,” the Treasurer began carefully, hesitating just long enough so that any comment that came after would not be taken as dissension but rather a matter for consideration, “She is very popular, however”.

Don Fac Hoc popped another egg into his mouth exposing the remains of many others and chewed slowly, showing no signs that popularity was of any interest to him on this occasion.

“Sue Ellen is not a good role model for the people,” he announced (spitting pieces of the eggs from his mouth as he did so). Most of the delegates nodded agreeably. “Not only has Sue Ellen had unfaithful thoughts about Rex but I suspect she has designs on her husband’s company” he stated emphatically, “She is nowhere near attractive enough to warrant keeping on.”

The Treasurer made an effort to keep his face neutral. Managing a daily soap opera was not what he had envisaged when entering politics. Yet he had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who had facilitated the original relationship with the show’s producers. He had done nothing but encourage their leader to believe that his contributions were gratefully received and implemented due to his prodigious talent rather than because of back door payments. But to acknowledge the truth now would be political suicide or worse.

Don Fac Hoc lent back in his chair. His wide belly resting almost level with the top of the table. The tip of his tongue searched for the powdery yellow yolk that had gathered at the corner of his mouth and he let out a belch before righting himself.

“I will share now that have always thought Sue Ellen was an unsuitable wife for Ranch Buchannan,” he said, his piggy eyes retreating into their sockets. “Ranch is a great leader of men and would not be with someone as shallow and conniving as Sue Ellen. I suspect she will get an incurable disease which will take her life within the next two episodes; either that or she will be abducted by Aliens.”

As if on cue, the surging theme song from A Life Twice Lived erupted from a large television mounted on the wall.

“You know, I have been told that I bear a striking resemblance to Ranch,” he said twirling his fingers regally as the credits began.

The Treasurer suppressed an eye roll and motioned for the attendants, who had been hovering obsequiously to wipe their glorious leader’s mouth and bring the next dish. The fact remained that payments for plot manipulation of A Life Twice Lived were not just demoralising, they were becoming fiscally untenable. Countless economic demands were already placed on governmental coffers maintaining the crumbling infrastructure of their once great nation and out of control inflation was devaluing their currency by the second. No one knew better than the Treasurer that their leader’s endless extravagant demands all added up.

“Pork ribs in a Coca-Cola glaze,” the server announced as she put a platter of spare ribs glazed generously with barbecue sauce down, bowing low enough so that the obese man was able to wipe his finger tips on her hair; he smiled and reached forward to select a sticky rib from the pile.

“I can confirm that people do agree you and Mr Buchannan share similarities, Your Excellency,” the Secretary said adopting a greasy grin that had been honed in the corridors of power. “I myself mistook a picture of him for you just the other day as a matter of fact.”

Despite hating the Secretary’s guts, the Treasurer was pleased in this case for his comrade’s blatant ass-licking. As long as their leader was in a good mood negotiations remained possible. He mentally steadied himself and tried again.

“Ranch is a handsome man, it is true, and he is also a powerful businessman. I do not think he would fall prey to Sue Ellen’s simple ruses. Our Glorious Leader sees right through her, so perhaps Ranch does also? Perhaps it would be more valuable to have Sue Ellen succumb to Ranch?” he suggested, directing his words at the Secretary to avoid appearing impudent.

The Secretary’s raised his eyebrows but remained silent. Both men awaited Don Fac Hoc’s response while he nibbled the end of his second spare rib thoughtfully. The theme song for Fortune’s Wheel began in the background.

“I have just now had a third idea regarding Sue Ellen, perhaps my best one,” their leader announced, the rib hovering just in front of his lips. “In fact I am sure it is the best. I know now that Rex should be the one to die. It has become clear to me that Sue Ellen must suffer, as the people too must suffer; then the lesson will be learnt.”

From the great man’s expression, it was apparent to the Treasurer that the matter was closed. He allowed himself an inward sigh and comforted himself with the fact that arranging the murder of Rex was definitely preferable to arranging the demise of Sue Ellen. Sue Ellen was the production company’s most bankable asset but there could be another Rex; he was a bland man who had none of Sue Ellen’s spunk, none of her commercial appeal; his death would be much cheaper.

Don Fac Hoc self-satisfyingly resumed nibbling and a murmur of approval travelled around the table. The Secretary pursed his lips clearly disappointed that he had not been more influential. The host of Fortune’s Wheel grinned manically. The giant wheel had just determined that two game contestants would have to swap lives for a year and the contestant’s wives looked horrified.

“This show is brilliant!” declared Don Fac Hoc. “I may just have to get a wheel like that myself.”

The large man winked for the benefit of the assembly. The Secretary laughed slightly too hard while the Treasurer quashed thoughts around trade sanctions that had just been imposed by none other than Don Fac Hoc himself, technically making any negotiations regarding A Life Twice Lived illegal, for the time being. There was no telling what was next on the agenda but history proved that anyone was replaceable.

Don Fac Hoc smacked his lips together, letting the rib fall as he did so. The assembly collectively flinched.

“Where is the matter of the Great Wall at?” he demanded, reminding the Treasurer, not for the first time, of a petulant child, “I am hearing reports that there is a rival construction starting between the Americas as we speak. It will not do for them to complete their wall before we have begun ours.”

“We have samples for you, your Excellency,” said the Secretary quickly, regaining his composure and indicating for a selection of blocks to be brought forward. Alongside humble concrete blocks and clay bricks were mirrored glass cubes and slabs of marble.

“Our engineers suggest that a concrete block wall, reinforced with steel will be the strongest solution,” The Treasurer advised, annoyed that whoever had sourced the blocks had not thought to limit the leader’s choice by omitting some of the more difficult blocks to work with, or the ones that would be more difficult to source.

“I want the wall to convey not only strength but style…,” Don Fac Hoc paused to watch the wheel clack to a stop once more.

This time the forfeit was juvenile (rather than life changing) but evidentially no less pleasing to him: a new contestant was required to spend five minutes in his underwear submerged in ice cold water. He laughed heartily as the attractive female host feigned embarrassment while pointing at the man’s privates. This time, the Treasurer noted that the Secretary kept his own laughter in check so that it blended with the chorus. Their leader’s gaze eventually returned to the building materials.

“This Mexican Wall,” Don Fac Hoc said distractedly, before selecting one of the glass cubes from the table. “Do we know what it is being built of? Do we know what it will look like when it is finished? I mean, what is the use of the wall if our side won’t be more photogenic?”

The Secretary smiled, “I believe the Mexican wall is presently grey Your Excellency but they may well add a mural at a later date.”

“A mural -”

“Yes. They will build first and decorate after perhaps.”

The Treasurer was impressed. The Secretary was usually not so skilful at steering their glorious leader in the right direction. The headache of a wall built of mirrored glass was not something the Treasurer would enjoy undertaking; a mural was definitely preferable given their debt and resources.

“A mural -” Don Fac Hoc said more confidently. The idea was clearly gaining momentum in his imagination. He reached forward and stroked the plain face of the concrete. He put the glass cube to one side, “Yes. I can envisage a great mural as testament to my greatness; a mural where the great moments in my life will be depicted.” He pointed his rib at the Secretary, who readied his pen, “One section should feature my humble beginnings; my mother holding me in her arms, me playing with cute animals, building impressive things from blocks.”

“Impressive. Yes.”

“I have learned that people respond well to things that are attractive and impressive. My vision is of kittens and piglets and an enormous star so make a note of those. And my mother should be at least as beautiful as Maria Sharapova; I think that’s important too. I am attractive so it would make sense that my mother is attractive. My mother was slimmer when I was young so it will be more accurate if the muralist paints under my direction. It really doesn’t make sense for someone to guess how she might have looked based on how she looks now or to work from an old photograph. You know before digital photography everyone was much less attractive. I would work from a picture of Maria. That’s my advice. Write that down.”

He adjusted his sizeable stomach, considering the plate in front of him. The Secretary scribbled conscientiously.

“There definitely should be a section devoted to me writing my Manifesto; before my rise to power.”

“But of course” the Secretary responded without looking up from his pad.

“And I think excerpts should feature. Motivational language achieves so much.”

“I’ve always been partial to the passage that says, “The road to greatness is best found by following in the footsteps of a great leader. To stand in his shadow is to stand in the sun,” The Secretary took yet another opportunity for flattery by quoting Don Fac Hoc to himself. “Winners always win”, that’s Your Excellency as his most succinct.”

“It is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep,” Don Fac Hoc asserted.

“I’m not sure I’ve heard that one before?” the Secretary said pausing, to look up.

“It’s Benito Mussolini but I could have said it so I think it should be included. Write it down”, Don Fac Hoc tapped the table impatiently, “You know people often say that I look like him.”

“Indeed,” the Secretary said quickly attempting to regain lost ground, “Although you have much better hair”

Don Fac Hoc smiled widely. He lifted another sticky rib from the pile and snapped his fingers summoning another delicacy. A large bowl of mashed potato with marshmallow topping was laid beside the ribs. He plunged the rib into the potato and shooed the server away.

“I would suggest a section depicting some of your appearances on “The Strongest Influence”. The episode with dry ice and lasers, the Bon Jovi tribute, your acoustic guitar set — “, came a suggestion from the wider gathering.

“A great banquet scene with sumptuous dishes representing all of your favourite food; great men such as Simon Cowell, Kanye West and Vladimir Putin joining you at the table -”

“Yes! Yes! Ranch Buchanan’s arm will be around me, Fortune’s wheel will be behind me. My dogs too will need to be included of course and there should be guns; all of my wives. The mural will be symbolic of both my power and my popularity,” Don Fac Hoc was ecstatic.

“The people do like your dogs,” The Treasurer said dryly.

“The Romans built great monuments; documented their greatness in art,” their leader informed the table, his potato coated sceptre upright. “Their emperors accomplished good things, great things. I see myself as an emperor of sorts, in the democratic sense, but of course that is self-evident, I would think.”

Don Fac Hoc paused for the group’s reflection, his many chins lifted in an Augustan pose.

“History will show that there are so many similarities Your Excellency,” The Secretary rushed to gain political advantage once again, “You like wine for instance and your house has many columns. And parties, you throw stupendous parties.”

Don Fac Hoc stroked the smooth concrete again.

“Maria Sharapova or Heidi Klum.”

“Of course.”

Don Fac Hoc slapped the block indicating his choice and tore a chunk of flesh from the rib, catapulting potato mash onto the secretary’s pad as he did do. The Treasurer signalled for the selection of materials to be removed before their glorious leader changed his mind.

Don Fac Hoc eased himself backwards again in his chair, letting the rib fall limply to one side.

“All this talk of business is making me hungry,” he said, his stomach gurgling loudly, “but first I need to excuse myself. Nature calls.”

*

As the door to the room swung shut, there was an audible gasp for air as the assembly regained their breath. The Secretary tilted his potato spattered notepad. An attendant moved forward to wipe it. The Treasurer looked up at the ceiling in despair.

“We are in so much debt,” he sighed under his breath, half to himself but also in half in hope that he would be proved wrong. However, talk around the table had already turned to that weekend’s State dinner, who was there, who had drunk too much, and what they had been wearing.

The delegate did a mental calculation. Diplomatic bribery had remained stable at $100 Billion but the compounding interest of government debt was proving more difficult to staunch. Since the people had ceased to be productive, the country had become even more fiscally beholden to overseas interests. Not only was A Life Twice Lived produced overseas but so was everything else…except that Don Fac Hoc had privately decreed that it shouldn’t be labelled that way.

“The idea is what counts and the origin of all great ideas come from our great nation so in a way everything should be labelled as ours” he had informed them when the goods shortage was at its peak.

Don Fac Hoc’s Manifesto had demanded a “People’s Community” but his divisive rhetoric had compelled the workforce to stop working altogether. “Why should you work for someone else?” he had asked the people. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“The appetizers were irradiated micro koi encased in jelly made of Krug Clos d’Ambonnay at two thousand dollars a bottle!” the Councillor beside him enthused.

The Treasurer rubbed his temples. At least the matter of the wall was at hand. The Mexican’s were building their own, no doubt to stop the democratic political refugees who were leaving on rafts from Argentina for the dogmatically centrist haven of New Zealand. They would claim the Mexican Wall as their own publicly and the people wouldn’t know any different. He knew that Don Fac Hoc would come around to thinking that the Mexican Wall was his initiative under the “ideas originating from” argument. They would frame the Wall’s decoration as an artistic endeavour for the elevation of the country and assure that whoever was commissioned to paint it saw it has an opportunity for celebrity which would keep the cost down. The only stumbling block was that both Heidi and Maria were astute business women so either would be sure to charge for the use of their likeness. He decided to suggest a hybrid woman; Maria’s legs and teeth with Heidi’s breasts and hair or vice versa.

He looked down at the agenda he had optimistically prepared. Debt and unemployment were now major problems but due to their Leader’s stance on “The Poor” these were the most difficult topics to address. “The Poor” were the part of the population that Don Fac Hoc liked the most as he credited them for making him rich. He had campaigned on their deservedness and now there were more of them than ever before. Don Fac Hoc had also argued that true unemployment did not exist as long as people shopped. Consumption was the pivot on which all economies rested he had espoused and had just last week ordered a task force to go door to door policing the state requirement for the ownership of no fewer than ten small appliances and three televisions per household. Posters were currently being produced declaring “Non-ownership of a Nutri Bullet is an act of communism” and “Recycling is destroying our economy — Embrace the sunshine” but it wasn’t enough. The unemployed poor, who were now the majority, lacked money; this was proving a stumbling block.

The assembly was now discussing a nubile starlet who was rumoured to be having an affair with their glorious leader. She was a pin up survivalist who had become the face of Vigilantism, (which had incidentally since been dubbed the country’s favourite pastime by Don Fac Hoc). She had apparently attended the State dinner, much to the chagrin of Don Fac Hoc’s sixth wife, and her figure hugging dress had been made entirely of latex.

“I heard she couldn’t eat or sit in the dress, never mind going to the bathroom.”

“I heard she almost suffocated when it got stuck as they were peeling it off her.”

“I heard she went back home that night used it to strangle a moose she was so hungry.”

The Treasurer imagined the naked buxom girl wrestling a moose to the ground. He made a mental note to suggest it to Don Fac Hoc as rebuttal to his detractors who pointed to strength of the Canadian economy as evidence that his Leadership wasn’t working or that his views were sexist. There was sure to be footage somewhere now privacy laws were largely defunct. It was well known that Don Fac Hoc liked pictures of strong women. Fortune’s Wheel ended and live coverage of the riots resumed. Police beat back an advancing line of protestors who were clashing over the updated Patriot Act. The Treasurer made a note to follow up the digital recordings of last week’s Riot Round Up which hadn’t yet arrived for their glorious leader’s consideration.

Recently The Patriot Act had been simplified so that terrorists could be even more quickly identified. Due to his superior qualities in judgement, the new act made provision for pictures or footage of suspected terrorists to be shown to Don Fac Hoc personally and for him to give the thumbs up or thumbs down. Analysts had predicted that some older members of the public who weren’t familiar with social media and those who were in fact terrorist sympathizers would protest the reform so the police force and army had been sent to liberal hotbeds to agitate. The accepted view was that the news footage of any retaliation would help with the gathering of information leading to the arrests of communist sympathisers. All in all, the process had proved very cost-effective. The eventual plan was to move Don Fac Hoc’s judgements to a stadium and live broadcast his decisions as a way of providing some entertainment value now that elections had been done away with. A grey haired university terrorist type fell to the ground and the camera zoomed in to where his hands had formed a cradle protecting his head.

“Don Fac Hoc says this has been his best year in business ever,” the Secretary was saying as police batons pummelled the man. “His repatriation of all waterways and subsequent deal as the sole contractor for water treatment has pushed his personal wealth beyond $100 Billion.”

“It’s no surprise. The man controls the weather!” another delegate added clearly exasperated. “I can tell you, the drought is taking its toll. I hear you can’t even holiday in St Barts anymore due to soaring temperatures!”

Don Fac Hoc re-entered the room, buckling his trousers, he smiled at the sight of the police line advancing on the elderly.

“This is what I like to see. I said I’d be tougher on organised crime didn’t I? These people they are very sly, very organised. They are however, encumbered by their educations. I have vowed to fight this namby-pamby need to rationalise every action and fight it I will. I am creating a new republic, a new Rome.” He beckoned for the serving staff that had followed him in, pushing trolleys laden with desserts and cakes, to come forward. “No one will go hungry while they dine at my table. I provide the very best food, from the very best chefs. It will not do for a great Leader such as me to be seen to have anything but the best. I believe that it has been said that as long as there is cake, no one will starve.”

He helped himself to a large slice of chocolate torte decorated with slithers of gold leaf, then licked each of his fingers greedily. The servers stepped forward to pile cakes upon each of the delegate’s plates.

“Eat!” Don Fac Hoc commanded as a boot trapped someone’s fingers.

The Secretary opened his mouth as wide as he could to accommodate an overfull powdered doughnut. The bun oozed jam as he bit down and clouds of sugar rained onto his forearms. A small child waved a flag proudly amongst the looters.

“What we need is a War” Don Fac Hoc stated, “and not a rhetorical one like we’ve had in the past like “The War on Drugs” or “The War on Poverty” or “The War on Equality” but a real one. If I’m to be considered the greatest leader of all-time then I need to be victorious in battle.”

“Like Napoleon,” offered The Secretary.

“Yeah, like him,” replied Don Fac Hoc. “Or one of the Caesars: Julius or Nero, or the guy with all the Elephants. Those guys, they all clearly understood branding, what it takes to be memorable.” He shovelled some more chocolate cake into his mouth and then reached for an empty champagne flute. “Champagne for everyone!” he bellowed and the attendants moved forward to supply glasses for the assembly.

The Treasurer looked at his agenda. Theoretically a war would make good economic sense. Rioting was largely non-productive; they currently had patriotism but lacked direction. What they did have was gun owners and their guns; there was just one small problem…He pushed his half eaten éclair to one side and attempting to retain a suitably respectful tone cleared his throat. The matter was delicate as he had only recently discovered that more than half of their missiles were leased and the leasing company had recently come under foreign ownership.

Don Fac Hoc held a finger to his lips then raised his glass.

“It is decided,” he said. “To War!”

The men around the table lifted their glasses.

“To Your Excellency’s good health!” the men replied in unison.