The Farmer And The Plane Crash

I love being able to use humor and illustrate a point at the same time. I didn't write the original version of this, I just embellished it a bit. Enjoy. ~ Hunter

Air Force One had just lifted off the tarmac, flying out of Louisville, KY to return President Obama to Washington after another of his interminable fund-raising events, when it developed engine problems, heeled over onto its left wing, and crashed in a farm field in a small rural county.

The local sheriff department, as well as nearly every emergency team in the county mobilized and descended on the farm in force. By the time they reached the crash sight, however, all that was left of the aircraft was a smoldering hull, just outside the tree line bordering the farm field.

As the deputies and emergency medical teams entered the crater, searching the wreckage for bodies or possible survivors, the sheriff spotted the farmer plowing the next field as if nothing special was happening, and history wasn't being written not five hundred yards away.

The sheriff sprinted over and ordered the farmer to stop.

“Hank,” the sheriff yelled, panting from the run. “Didn't you see the plane crash in your field?!”

“Yep. Sure did,” the farmer mumbled as he shut off the tractor engine, unconcerned by all the commotion in the other field.

“Did you notice that it was Air Force One, with the President of the United States on board?”

“Yep,” Hank answered bluntly.

“Were there any survivors?” the sheriff asked, incredulous that Hank seemed so disinterested.

“Not a one. They was all kilt straight out,” Hank drawled. “I done buried 'em myself. Took all mornin' too.”

“The President, too?” the sheriff asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

“Well,” Hank grumbled as he restarted the tractor. “He kept sayin' he weren't dead....

But you know how bad that sumbitch lies.”