Air Force One crashed in the middle of a large farm property in rural America.
Panic-stricken the Secret Service mobilized and descended on the farm in force. When they got there, the wreckage was clear.
The aircraft was totally destroyed with only a burned hulk left smoldering in a tree line that bordered the farm. Secret Service descended upon the smoking hulk but could find no remains of the crew or the President’s staff.
To their amazement, a wizened lone farmer was plowing a field not too far away as if nothing at all had happened. They hurried over to surround the man’s tractor.
“Sir,” the senior Secret Service agent asked, panting and out of breath.
“Did you see this terrible accident happen?”
“Yep. Sure did.” The old gent muttered unconcernedly.
“Do you realize that is the airplane of the President of the United States?”
“Yep.”
“Were there any survivors?” the agent gasped.
“Nope. They’s all kilt straight out.” The farmer sighed, cutting off his tractor motor.
“I done buried them all myself. Took most of the morning.”
“The President of the United States is dead?”, gulped the agent in disbelief.
“Well,” the farmer sighed, obviously wanting to get back to his work. “He kept a-saying he wasn’t… but you know what a liar he is.”
