Some say he was born of Hellel; some say he exists only in the mind of anxiety; the majority (of the minority, it must be said, for the little people remain remarkably ignorant) say nothing whatsoever, lest they awake one dank night to find him merrily lacerating their internal organs or sodomising their children. He appears whenever an owl is sacrificed; whenever innocence is irredeemably lost. And he appears whenever those in the seats of power are in a spot of bother. He ice-picked Trotsky, bewitched Kennedy’s bullets, and it is very likely that he spooned with Thatcher on occasion.

It’s the bloody underclass, said Blah, feverishly stalking the boardroom. The situation is becoming absolutely untenable. We’ve tried dragging them up, we’ve tried squashing them down. Maintaining them is becoming far too expensive. Turning to Broon occasionaly for facts and figures, he outlined the basic economic equation of having a sequestered, non-productive class. As his speech gathered pace he began gesticulating wildly, augmenting his performance with grand hand sweeps. The problem, of course, Doctor, as you will undoubtedly see, is that…

Thanatos broke in icily. Stop waving your hands about. You look like a fucking marionette, which of course you are, but there’s no need to push the point. I will undoubtedly see what I undoubtedly want to see. He paused, glaring intently into every face around the table. If it was a problem that you could sort out for yourselves, then I wouldn’t be here. He looked at Blah again. Do us all a favour and sit the fuck down.

There was an impenetrable silence of ten seconds or so, during which the ministers looked glumly into their laps and Thanatos bristled. Pushing small, wire framed spectacles up the bridge of his nose, he turned his attention to a petrified Hewt. What have you tried so far?

She glanced at Johansen (who looked like Roger Moore and made her knickers damp) for support. We’ve been spiking the buy-one-get-one-frees. You name it, it’s gone in there: coagulants, carcinogens, nerve toxins, thrush.

Interesting. I like your approach, though I’d have gone for something rather more virulent than thrush: syphilis perhaps…

That’s up 900% anyway, said Hewt, mumbling something about binge-drinkers by way of explanation.

The Doctor was unimpressed. So what’s the problem then? They should be dropping like flies.

The wrong people are buying, she gushed, with a little pang of frustration. It was okay when it was just the unemployed - the supermarkets couldn’t get rid of the stuff quick enough. But now everybody’s got the taste. It’s spiralling out of control: productivity is down, obesity is rising dramatically. We never thought it would sell so well. Sales are through the roof.

Especially the Chicken Tonite, said Broon, quickly sinking back with a flush of embarrassment.

Okay, said Thanatos. I get the picture: let me think about this.