Once upon a time, in a kingdom not so far away, there dwelt a mighty dragon.  The dragon had no legal standing in the kingdom, which, like other kingdoms, had a king and an unwieldy bureaucracy.  However, the dragon was so powerful that everyone, including the king, paid homage to it, kowtowed to it, and in general did everything they could to make the dragon's stay on the planet pleasant and, they hoped, nonfatal to themselves.
    Unfortunately, the dragon was a rapacious sort.  His appetite knew no bounds.  He would eat anything that moved and a good many things that didn't.  The king and his underlings tried to make deals with the dragon.  They figured that, if they delivered up most of the wealth of the country without a fight, the dragon would leave them to enjoy the remainder in peace.  This worked fairly well for the king and his cronies, for the wealth they delivered was always someone else's.  As sweet as this deal may sound, however, it had a couple of weaknesses, which the king's men called "opportunities."  For one thing, the dragon was never satisfied.  For another, the people whose wealth got delivered had an uncooperative tendency to complain.  Fortunately, the nature of opportunities is that they can be seized and exploited.
    The first opportunity, satisfying the dragon, was a challenging, ongoing process.  The king had dedicated Dragon Satisfaction Specialists working on this opportunity at all times.  Here's what they had to do:

        1.  Find new sources of wealth for the dragon, or more efficiently exploit existing sources.
        2.  Make sure that none of the new sources of wealth were the king or his cronies.

The central idea was very simple; the devil was in the details.  And this actually leads into the second opportunity.
    So, what was this opportunity?  People complained because their wealth was being sucked away to feed a greedy pig.  Again, pretty simple.  First, the king's men considered this proposition:  Was the people's complaint true?  If not, no problem!  It was a simple matter of education.  Unfortunately, it was true.  In that case, no problem!  It was a slightly less simple matter of education.  They settled on a two-pronged approach:

        1.  Misdirection.  The people blamed the government, the dragon, or both for taking their stuff.  So, blame someone else.  But whom?  The king's men decided to blame the poor.  The virtue of this solution was that poor people were ... wait for it ... too poor to fight back!  But, you may object, no rational person would believe that it was the poor who were draining the national wealth.  Not with such a visible, greedy dragon around.  All I can say is that this is just a story, and it couldn't happen in real life, could it?
        2.  Disinformation/re-education.  The dragon is good!  Adopt this premise and teach it to every child from the time they start wearing diapers.  The dragon may appear greedy, but that's just enlightened self-interest.  Where the dragon feeds, his leavings amply support the life of the community.  Where would we be without the dragon?  Think of all those other kingdoms that don't have dragons.  Heck, they're way worse off.  Why, when you come right down to it, there's simply no other reasonable way to live!  Ok, ok.  This is preposterous, too.  No one would really buy this, but I need it for the story, ok?

    If you have willingly suspended your disbelief, we will get on with the story.  The king's cronies' strategy worked brilliantly.  People were even blaming the government for unduly restraining the dragon from performing its natural social and economic functions.
    But it's time to introduce the hero of this story, for the story does have a hero, or a protagonist, at least.  Our hero's name is Gomer, and Gomer passed for a middle-class professional in the days of the dragon.  Gomer was an engineer.  Sort of.  He was a sanitation engineer, which meant that he cleaned up some of the dragon's greater excesses.  At first, Gomer worked for the government.  Seeing the damage that the dragon had done made Gomer an anti-dragon advocate.  He was proud of the work he did, even though government workers didn't get paid very well and were constantly being criticized for being lazy and for confounding the dragon's good deeds.  But Gomer felt that he and his agency existed to help people who had been injured by the dragon.
    Alas, poor Gomer!  The times were hard on him.  It wasn't just the low pay and the lack of respect.  He could deal with those.  Kind of.  What really broke his spirit was ...  Well, one day his boss called him in to discuss an important matter.
    "Gomer," said the boss affably, "I've been getting complaints about you.  But I don't believe them!  That can't be good ol' loyal Gomer, I say."
    "Complaints?"  Gomer was stunned.  He hadn't a clue what he could have done wrong or whom he could have offended.  "What complaints?  From whom?"
    "A customer, Gomer, a customer.  Come now.  What are your job duties?  Tell me in your own words."
    "Why, to help people protect themselves from the dragon's predations and clean up after when best efforts fail."
    "Hmm.  That's good, Gomer.  Inexact, but good.  Let me make this clear for you.  The mission of this agency is to help people out, as long as it doesn't inconvenience the dragon."
    "But doesn't that put the horse before the cart, or the dragon before the people?" Gomer protested.
    "No, no.  Not really," said the boss.  "I know it sounds that way, but you know we've got to have a healthy dragon climate for the people to thrive.  Where would we be without the dragon?  Think of all those other kingdoms ..."
    "Only sensible way to live," mumbled Gomer.
    "Exactly!" said the boss.  "Very insightful!"
    "So, the, uh, client complained that I'm damaging the healthy dragon climate?"
    "Correct!  Something about building defenses and arming people.  But I said that couldn't be the Gomer I know.  Or, at least, he deserves another chance."  The boss said the last sentence slowly and with emphasis.
    "I see," said Gomer.
    He did.  He started looking for another job that very day.
    And what do you know?  Right in the midst of all the resume updating and want ad reading and employment agency contacting, the telephone rang.
    "Hey, Gome, ol' boy!" said the telephone voice cheerily.  "This is George.  Remember me?  I used to be two cubes down from you.  On the left."
    Sure, Gomer remembered.  "Good to hear from you, George.  Where are you working these days?"
    "Ah, just the reason I'm calling," said George.  "I'm at Dragon Enterprises, Ltd.  Great place to work, Gomer.  We can always use good engineers."
    Gomer's heart skipped a beat.  Dragon Enterprises was the hottest place to work these days.  Great pay and benefits, they said.  And prestige!  Not like working for the government.  Still, there were disquieting aspects about the company, rumors of long, grueling hours and stressful working conditions.  And there was that dragon thing.
    "I don't know, George," Gomer hemmed.  "I've heard some negative things about DE."
    "Exaggerations," George scoffed.  "All the talk about overwork and stress and all that?  Just talk.  Once in a blue moon, you might have to work a little overtime."
    "I don't know, George," Gomer hawed.  "I don't know about working for the dragon."
    "This is the most respected company in the kingdom," George rebutted.  "Anyway, would you rather run with the hounds for your supper, or with the hares for your life?  I've done both.  Believe me, I'll take the hounds any day.  Come on, shoot me a copy of your resume.  You know they don't appreciate you over there."
    Despite his scruples, Gomer was flattered.  Forget twice.  He had never thought that DE would look at him once.  He sent the resume.

    And so Gomer reported for his interview with Dragon Enterprises.  When he walked into the interviewer's office, he was in for a surprise.  There was the dragon himself, comfortably ensconced in an overstuffed chair and holding Gomer's resume.  The dragon belched a small plume of flame, which burned the resume to a cinder.
    "Great," said the Scaled One.  "You're hired."
    And with that, he popped Gomer in his mouth and swallowed him whole.

    The trip down the esophagus was dark, slick, and uncomfortable.  But not long.  Gomer splashed into the dragon's stomach with more force than style.  When he sputtered back to the surface, he saw dozens of other people frantically trying to stay afloat.  Several of them shouted greetings -- "Welcome aboard!" or "Welcome overboard!" -- but most of them were too consumed with their own worries to take notice.  And all around were the semi-digested remains of the dragon's feasting.  But there was one person in particular that he wanted to see.  Finally, between a mutton chop and a cow's liver, there was George.
    "George!" screamed Gomer.  "What's this all about?"
    "Isn't it great?" George replied.
    "Great?  Great?!" Gomer squealed in disbelief.  He gestured at the frothing, churning stomach as best he could, consistent with not drowning in hydrochloric acid.  "You call this great?"
    "Certainly!" George gushed with enthusiasm. "A veritable cornucopia, wouldn't you say?  Outside, you could barely scrape three square meals together.  In here, it's all you can eat, 24/7!  In fact, that's our job.  We're here to keep the dragon from getting indigestion.  He's a pig, you know."
    "24 what?" squeaked Gomer.
    "24/7.  Oh, you haven't heard that expression?  It means 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  But that's too many syllables for something we say so often.  By the way, 24/7 is how long you're on duty here."  George smiled.
    "Don't we get any time off?"
    "Sure, sure," said George comfortingly.  "We get lots of time off.  We get everything that isn't in the 24/7 schedule."
    "That's nothing," said Gomer.
    "Exactly," said George.
    "Ow!  This stuff stings," Gomer whimpered, thrashing about uncomfortably in the stomach acid.
    "Oh, don't be such a wimp!"  George chided.  "It's only because you come from the outside, where they molly-coddle you with that sissy stuff... what do you call it?"
    "Air?"
    "Yeah, that's the stuff.  You'll get used to this."
    "It's digesting me," Gomer complained.
    "But slowly!" George pointed out.  "Think of all you get!  You'll never have to worry about food again!  Think of the prestige!  All those pathetic losers out there would give their eyeteeth to be where you are!"
    "Maybe.  But don't people ... get sick in here?"
    "Well, of course!  But when you lose a significant body part, you get a pat on the back, assuming there's anything left to pat, and a certificate saying you're a team player.  And one more thing.  Did I tell you about our guaranteed -- that's guaranteed -- Major Medical Leave?"
    Gomer knew he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help it.  "What's that?"
    "Glad you asked!" beamed George.  "When you get too sick to work, ..."
    "That wouldn't be 'if,' would it?" Gomer interrupted.
    George looked puzzled.  "You are duly excreted," he continued, "and you get as long as you need to recover."
    "If you recover," Gomer suggested.
    "Then the dragon gulps you down again, and you start all over!"
    "What if I have a complaint?" Gomer sniffed.
    "Nobody likes a whiner," said George disapprovingly.  "Come now!  What do you have to complain about?  Look how much you're getting!"
    "Well, the dragon sure expects a lot!"
    "And he has every right to," said George.  "After all, he bought us.  Think of all we're getting!  We can't complain when we get fed so well."

    "Incoming!"
    The warning came just in time for the experienced George to dive smoothly out of harm's way.  Gomer was showered with semimasticated cows, pigs, chickens, and the unrecognizable detritus of the dragon's gorging.
    "Crunch time!" someone shouted.  "Get busy!"  And the staff of Dragon Enterprises, Ltd. attacked the motley lot like a pack of hyenas.
    "Whoa!  Stop!  Get away from me!  How dare you!"  It seemed that part of the dragon's dinner was not only still alive and kicking, but also exceedingly vocal.
    "Why, it's the king!" shouted George, recognizing the dinner member.  "Sire, how did you get in here?"
    "In the usual way!" fumed the king.  "I pay other people's good money not to have this happen!  I'm going to have a word with that overgrown earthworm!"
    Just at that moment, there was a major perturbation in the gastric juices.  Great waves tossed the officemates from wall to wall.  Before they could wonder what was happening, a final gigantic surge carried everyone and everything -- king, office drone, half-digested carcasses, and fax machines -- up the esophagus, over the tongue, and out onto the green earth in an undifferentiated pile of glop.
    The king was the first to recover his wits.
    "How dare you!" he roared, gross in a head-to-toe sheen of stomach fluid.  "We had a deal!"
    "Ee-yuck!" retched the dragon.  "You are the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted!  How was I supposed to know it was you?  You all look alike!  But rest assured, I won't make the same mistake again!"
    "Take us back!  Take us back!" pleaded the DE staff.  And, as the king slunk off, not really mollified, but anxious not to press his luck, the dragon indeed began to pop his staff back in his mouth.  Gomer, befouled as he was, began sneaking off.
    "Gomer!  What are you doing?"  It was George, of course.  Gomer looked back.  George was poised between the dragons jaws, just about to return to work.  Gomer didn't look back again.  He ran as fast as his flat, bureaucrat's feet would allow.  George's last importunate cry was smothered by the dragon's gulp.  But Gomer knew what he had said.
    "Think of all you're getting!"