Outside a storm rages, the howling winds and towering waves toss the ship about as though it were a toy in a tub. Mothers, their faces rigid in terror, clutch crying babes tighter to their breasts as the frigid seawater rises around them. With each pitch and roll of the foundering vessel, suitcases, bedrolls, and stuffed animals slosh back and forth across the flooding deck. Somewhere, hidden from view in the shadowed recesses of the compartment, a voice, high pitched and quavering on the edge of panic, repeats over and over a prayer for deliverance.
Suddenly, a shaft of light falls from above as the hatch separating the poorest passengers from the more refined sections of the ship opens - revealing First Officer Nancy.
“Don’t worry folks,” she calls down in her best imitation of a command voice, “Captain Obama, Executive Officer Harry, and I, have a plan to save us.”
At the mere mention of the captain’s name the frightened men below stand taller, as though a tingle of some sort had just run up their legs, and the women sigh, many unconsciously adjusting their hair.
Captain Obama! How handsome he is, how calm and charismatic. True, he has never commanded so much as a row boat, and a quick jaunt on Lake Michigan in Tony Rezko’s yacht is the total of his seagoing experience, but just to behold the man, standing trim in his uniform, his eyes twinkling and his smile bringing light to a dreary world is to have confidence in his abilities.
First Officer Nancy’s voice interrupts the reverie of the huddled masses in the dim bowels of the great ship, “The problem is, were taking on too much water and if we don’t find a way to get rid of it, we’re going to the bottom like a stone.”
At the mention of sinking, fear returns to the faces of the reeking mass of waterlogged humanity.
“Get a grip on yourselves,” continues the first officer, “Like I said, we have a plan. What we’re going to do is knock a huge hole in the bottom of the ship – back over there somewhere.” First Officer Nancy gestures vaguely toward the shadows beyond the reach of the few working lights in the steerage hold and continues, “That should let the water start to run out.”
“A plan, a plan, Captain Obama has a plan.” The grateful wretches began whispering among themselves.
“But wait,” replies the smiling first officer, “Ours is a long term plan, so there’s a next step - after we knock a big hole in the bottom of the ship, were going to steer for the big rocks off the coast which should provide a soft landing, so the Union Leaders, Environmentalists, and Movie Stars in first class can walk ashore without getting their feet wet. Isn’t that great!”
With that, First Officer Nancy slams and bolts the hatch sealing the steerage passengers in their iron tomb to await whatever fate has in store.
Walking away, she can hear their pathetic cries that the plan will leave them to die horribly.
“Maybe you didn’t understand,” she murmurs under her breath, “I said we had a plan to save us.”