She just knew she had it this time. He had made the wrong move – the big error. He had dared to tell the truth, and now, all of the bitter elitists in the DNC crowd would be free to spew Rush Limbaugh talking points about him and her rightful coronation as the leader of the free world would be completed. After all, she had been born married into the royal name.
Yes, she would assume her rightful place as head of the most expensive table in the nicest restaurant in town. Victory was near. All that she had planned for was within her grasp. She downed a shot, pulled out a six shooter and blasted an unsuspecting mallard into oblivion, all the while assuming a position that looked very much like she might be praying.
Then, something very, very odd began to happen. He hit back. How could he be so uppity? Worse yet, the common people seemed to understand what he was saying and to know it was truthful. They were demanding to eat more than cake.
What? How could he be so elitist as to deny the rightful place of the truly elite? Why could they not see that his place was rightfully hers?
The Maitre d’ approached. "I am sorry Madame, but the people, they do not seem to want him to leave. The polling we did says they want him to stay at the head of the table you are requesting," he said.
Still, she would hold out. Surely, her elite friends would come to her rescue. Certainly, Lord McCain had already joined her call. She would simply last it out and keep accusing him of talking down to the little people from whence he had come. They would put him in his place.
She pulled out her rifle and shot a dear that had been feeding in the huge green park that was adjacent to the restaurant. "Bring me a Coors," she growled at the Maitre D’ in her best folksy voice. Maybe she would cry. That had worked once before.
She glanced around to locate her husband and discovered him discussing her adventures in Bosnia with a crowd of reporters who seemed bored. She threw her now empty beer bottle, which struck him squarely on the head but failed to halt his flow of words.
So it went on for awhile, until all at once, she saw a great crowd assemble outside, preparing a large feast in the adjacent park. They began to chant his name and all of her friends from the better class left their tables at the exclusive eatery and went outside to join them.
"Bill, Chelsea," she cried, "Where are they all going. This was supposed to be my party!"
Her husband just shrugged and then scurried to hide behind a table. Her daughter commented "Well, he really, is pretty cute, mom. Maybe that’s why everybody likes him". Then, her daughter gave an "if you can’t beat’em, join’em shrug" and exited.
"No!" she screamed, as the Maitre d’ approached.
"Bitter, party of one, your table is ready," he said, and then left to join the crowd in the park.