Dave and Henry Kissinger

Ok guys first of all, big shout-out to my brothers and sisters working tirelessly in every city you can name in the contiguous 48 plus Alaska. From Seattle to Washington .D.C., Miami to El Paso, they never give up hope, their energies never flag. Whether it's town hall meetings in Olympia, rallies in Chicago, or just organizing internet campaigns out of small-town USA, these patriots fight, struggle, and yes sometimes die, all the way across this vast, eternal, God-given Tea-party Nation. And if by chance we should give up the fight and say it's all too hard, or if the enemies of the light should triumph? Well let's just see what life would be like under ObamaCare.

The strange hum of the CAT scan machine shut off abruptly, and Dave was plunged into darkness. Startled out of his reverie, he sat up, just before realizing where he was, and bumped his head on the low, curved ceiling. The curse words were barely out of his mouth when the red emergency lights sputtered to life. Somehow the hellish, dusky gloom accentuated the CAT machine's coffin-like appearance, and Dave fought back a rising tide of claustrophobia. Firmly, and contemptuously, he suppressed the moment of irrational weakness, but resolved to get out anyway, clearly the scan was over.

Dave had no sooner completed the thought when two things happened at the same time. The whole lead-lined concrete room shook from a sound like a thunderclap, and the emergency lights winked out. "What the hell is going on?" wondered Dave. Groping toward his jacket, he felt for his Zippo lighter, nestled snugly in a pocket. He was getting out out of here, something was very wrong. The room was heating up now, and Dave scrambled for the only door, but found the electronic access panel dead. Snarling, he reached for a steel chair and began using it as a club to break the lock. It was strong, but made in China - and to keep people out rather than in, ultimately no match for an old cagefighter. With a snap, the
lock broke. Dave pushed the door open - and stared at the vision of hell which confronted him.

What had been a peaceful doctor's surgery waiting room just minutes ago was now a burning wreck, ghastly corpses strewn everywhere. Everything was on fire, and of the cadavers not completely burned to a crisp, Dave could see by the contortions on their face that death had not been pleasant. The building was utterly destroyed. Through gaping holes in the walls, he could see buildings aflame half a mile away, burning so fiercely they shone through the atomic cloud. Judging from the scene of devastation before him, and the long lag between the initial EMP burst and his "thunderclap," this had to be a big one, a hydrogen bomb. He had to get out of here, the radiation would kill him. Automatic fire suppression sprinklers had kicked in, cooling the air somewhat, but the toxic fumes were choking. Wrapping a cloth over his mouth, Dave crawled toward the fire escape.