The next morning Marion was tired and very out of sorts. He wished he knew how to stop having these damn nightmares. His sister had advised him to get therapy. As if that was ever going to happen. Real men didn’t go in for that sort of crap, and he had told her so in no uncertain terms. He was still grumpy about having the phone slammed in his ear, but that was women for you.
At the thought of women he smiled as he remembered that Sarah Palin’s autobiography was due out soon. Now there was a great mind! She would make a fine president, of that he was certain. And that new one coming up through the ranks, what was her name? Oh yes, Michele Bachmann. Now there was a contender for the vice-presidential ticket. She was a fine upstanding American. A true voice of conservatism. She had just recently declared that she was a ‘fool for Jesus’, and wasn’t afraid to point out that carbon dioxide was not a harmful gas, it was a harmless gas. Why couldn’t the damn dummycrats get it through their tiny little heads?
He shook his head and decided to go get one of Ronald Reagan’s biographies and read for a while. That would inspire him and put him in a better mood. He settled in with the book and stifled a yawn. He was so tired…
He heard the drone of the helicopter and felt his blood pressure go up. He went to the window and drew back the curtain. There it was again. He wished he had some binoculars to get a better look. The ‘copter must have spotted him, for it moved off at a steep angle rapidly and disappeared. It was time for the news. He stared in disbelief…
Marion jumped in his seat, sending Reagan flying across the room. Damn! He had fallen asleep reading and had the nightmare again. He waited till he had calmed down and then fetched the book, dusting off the cover. What a disgrace, the greatest president the United States had ever known lying face down on the floor. It was that damn Commie bastard in the White House that was responsible for all this. Something had to be done. There had to be a way to impeach him. Why wouldn’t people listen to the fact that he wasn’t an American? He was born in Nigeria. Real Americans knew this for a fact, but somehow he had managed to fake a Hawaiian birth certificate that would fool even the experts.
Or had he? What if every single person who had been allowed to examine it was in on the conspiracy? That was it! But how to prove it? He would call his favourite talkback station and put the word out. Perhaps some of the giant intellects out there in radio land could think of a way to expose the fraud, and then they could get rid of the monster occupying 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue once and for all.
He thought about the nightmare again and remembered the part about the binoculars. He needed a powerful pair for the next time one of those demonic New World Order helicopters came around when he was awake as they sometimes did. That then was his mission for the rest of the afternoon. The radio station would have to wait. He was off to the sporting goods store.