As he begins talking about the road systems, a loud sneeze can be heard from the audience. Stalin looks from his papers to the crowd, scanning the rows of heads before he yells “who was that? Who sneezed?”

The audience is stunned silent, each recoiling into their chairs and too afraid to say a word. Stalin turns to his guards and gives the order. “Execute everyone in the front row.” The guards nod and a hail of gunfire hits the people sitting in the front row, killing them all dead. The people behind panic, but guards yell for them to remain seated.

“Now, I ask again. Who sneezed?”

Silence, perhaps a few quiet whimpers of fear. Stalin looks at the guards, and a second hail of gunfire hits the second row, killing every one of them in turn. The blood splatters across the seats, the aisles, and the faces of the people in the third row.

“Once more. Who sneezed?”

A man in the sixth row stands up, hunched over and quivering with fear, tears pouring from his eyes. “It was me, Comrade Stalin. I sneezed.”

“Bless you. Now, about these roads…”