When the pilot looks around and sees one engine on fire and his right wing about to fall off, if he has any salt at all, he thinks of his crew.  He then holds the plane level as best he can and orders his crew to bailout.  One by one they leap into the air with their golden silk parachutes blooming above them.

            Usually it is the navigator who is the first one out but in the Bush administration this was not the case. Carl Rove stayed in his seat long after it was determined that the plane was going down and going quickly. It was presumed that he stayed in order to keep whispering into the pilot’s ear, providing direction right up to the very end.

            Gonzales, the fiery little tail gunner kept on shooting even though he had run out of ammunition.  He was last seen sailing through the air shaking his tiny fist in the direction of his enemies. Way below, tangled in the branches of a fruit tree, Donald Rumsfeld was still kicking and swearing at the branches that clutched him. On the ground next to the tree “Scooter” Libby was smiling and neatly folding his parachute into a tight little square.

            Overhead the plane sputtered and wobbled off it’s course as the pilot could no longer tell up from down, conditions that in the past had always confused him, and  now, Carl Rove had left his seat and was on his way back to the opened hatch. 

            The pilot tried to calm himself by repeating  that after all he, and he alone, was the decider and if he decided the plane would not go down, well then that should take care of it.

            Unfortunately the decider, as usual, was wrong and a few moments later the plane dropped into total complete oblivion and today, even in Texas, if the subject ever comes up they only whisper about it.