In the early morning hours, when time seems to actually stand still as the distant dawn approaches, a huge multi-engine jet aircraft approaches the McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. Air traffic controllers clear all runway approaches of competing aircraft and guide Air Force One and it’s accompanying Combat Air Patrol F-16’s to an open landing strip.
As the huge craft touches down there is an eerie silence – the tires smoke but there is no accompanying screech of tortured rubber. Instead, there is the sudden mournful baying of wolves and coyotes. There is no howl of reverse thrust as the craft sharply reduces velocity – only a soft moaning as if the turbofans are being released from a hellish burden.
The white and blue craft moves in concert with the arm motions of the ground crew towards a protected gate, but the ground crew cannot see the pilot or any other crew member through the cockpit windows; it as if there is no human hand at the controls. Baggage handlers standing by the gate feel a cold chill race down their spines and their hands go numb as they see that the enormous tires of the jet plane are not touching the ground, the plane glides silently towards the mobile stairway where Harry Reid, Nancy Pelosi and their entourage await.
The stairs are moved to the fore entry port of Air Force One; sparks erupt and a powerful odor of sulphur fills the air as the aluminum frame of the mobile aircraft passenger stairway engages the cold, dead iron of the plane.
The passenger door suddenly opens and crashes into the side of the airplane followed immediately by a loathsome hiss; a foul mist of ravaged political ambition careens down the stairs and wafts through the small crowd. One of the female staffers screams and crumbles to the ground in a dead faint. The gofers and interns bolt for the parking lots like frightened pheasants fleeing Satan's Springer Spaniel. Harry Reid noisily soils himself. Nancy Pelosi sprinkles herself liberally with a combination of Holy Water, Botox and Jean Nate', then pours the rest down Reid's pants.
Now the Unholy Specter (not that one) emerges from the plane, the President of Teh Undead, NostroBamus, has arrived in Nevada to campaign, to apply his dark arts – perhaps to feed - just as he has in Copenhagen, New Jersey, Virginia and lastly, Massachusetts.
There is no choice for moderate Democrats or Independents, they must flee to a safe haven.
Wonder where that is.