Press Conference!!

 

The news hit the media houses in our little town like a thunder bolt. Reporters' notebooks tattled and computers rattled convulsively, as if possessed of some demon. His Oxigency the Poxident, famous for his disdain for the press, had called a press conference, the first in twenty years of riding at the crest of our national wave. The release, when it hit the desks of editors in our little town, sent shivers of disbelief running down their spines, and caused a great hue and cry, general pandemonium within the corridors of our newsrooms. It was as if all the editors had partaken of some magic wine, which tickled their senses and made them quake in their boots and rattle convulsively about.

 

At the plush offices of one of our most prestigious papers, the Nightly Screensaver, editor-in-chief Keeptight Senakat was besides himself with joy. He dashed upstairs and down, indoors and out quaking to all who would listen "He's done it!! His Oxigency has done it! We have a press conference! I told you he would do it!!" For Keeptight Senakat, this was going to be the day of his life. The day he would ask all the right questions, all the questions that would make His Oxigency the Poxident raise him high up on a silver platform, high high above the common fray. All through the morning and afternoon, an excited Keeptight Senakat sucked his teeth and trembled as if exposed to a mighty snowstorm.

 

The atmosphere at the Weekly Groaner was equally charged. Editor Half-half Fullyup could just not believe his eyes. For 20 long years, he had sought an audience with His Oxigency, to no avail. And now, right out of the deepest blue, an invitation to a press conference had landed right at his desk. He thoughtfully munched his cheeks and blew out the volumes of hot air filling his lungs. Huff, huff he puffed, walking thoughtfully around his office. To those who asked him what was wrong, Half-half Fullyup merely waved the press release from the Executive Palace. He was besides himself with a curious mixture of joy, awe and wonder. Was this a real invitation? Or was it just a ploy to get him into a trap. Sinking into his chair, he picked up his phone to make some enquiries. It just did not sound right that His Oxigency, of all people, should suddenly convene a press conference.

 

At the offices of the Monthly Scrutiny, Managing Editor Erudite Neverbook had actually swooned at the sight of His Oxigency's invitation letter. It took vigorous shaking at the splash of a cup of cold water on the face to bring him back to consciousness. As far as he knew, His Oxigency could not possibly have invited the Monthly Scrutiny, his most severe critic, to  a press conference. After coming to, Erudite Neverbook just sat in his chair, holding his head in his arms, and groaning over and over again.

 

The editors of the respectable newspapers of our little town had every reason to be skeptical of His Oxigency's invitation to a press conference. For twenty years, the great leader had refused to utter a single word or answer a single question from the press. For him to suddenly convene a press conference  was just too good to be true. They individually knew that something very, very big must have been up and in their anxiety to guess what it was, some of them wept and others nearly went out of their minds.

 

A true revolutionary, His Greatest Oxigency the Poxident was extremely critical of the press, often calling them the greatest liars time ever knew. He had no doubt that all the press houses in our little town were agents of the West, enemies of the state who were always looking for ways to drag his honourable name to the dust. At every possible opportunity, His Oxigency went at the press hard and fast, calling them liars, fools, crooks, thieves, donkeys, pagans, cowards, even goats and horses who were always looking for greener pastures and who would not hesitate to sneak into his farm, under cover of darkness, and nibble greedily away at his precious crops. It was his hatred of the press that made His Oxigency, 10 years before, to set up the State Protective Institute with special powers to arrest and incarcerate any journalist who dared write anything negative about the Great Leader. Of late, he had grown so mad at the many lies being peddled by the stubborn papers that he had decided to call a general press conference at which he knew what to do.

 

The following day, His Oxigency's calling a press conference made headline news in our little town. The lead headline in the pro-government Nightly Screensaver screamed: NATIONAL INTEREST, HIS OXIGENCY INVITES THE PRESS!! The story went on to report that as a demonstration of his great love for our nation, His Oxigency the Great Poxident had magnanimously invited all the press, even those critical of his golden rule, to a giant press conference at no other place than the Executive Palace itself! It all showed how His Gallant Oxigency the Poxident loved the nation and would protect the national interest, the Nightly Screensaver said in an editorial.

 

On the Weekly Groaner, a cautious lead story asked: FIRST PRESS CONFERENCE IN 20 YEARS, WHAT'S UP? The report went on to wonder what was happening at the Executive Palace to warrant a press conference after 20 long years.

 

The Monthly Scrutiny, ever the sceptic, ran the headline: BOMBSHELL AT EXECUTIVE PALACE, POXIDENT SUMMONS THE PRESS!  The story went on to point out the irony in the fact that His Oxigency, who had called the press his sweet darling when he came to power, but whose hatred of the press was now so glaring, should call a press conference. There must be, it went on, a bombshell at the Executive Palace.

 

Back at the multi-billion dollar Executive Palace, His Oxigency the Poxident was getting extremely jittery. He felt extremely miffed that rather than just come and hear what he had to say, the big mouthed press had decided to come out with the story of his invitation. In a mad fit of red fury, he ordered his famous press secretary, the ever faithful Smoothface Jumpabout, to issue a notice immediately canceling the whole thing.