Returning from giving the keynote address at the annual Mensa International Symposium in Reykjavik, Iceland, I woke up on the third bounce of the Icelandair Boeing 757 on the main gravel runway at LaGuardia.

I nudged my personal sommelier and bodyguard, Vino Diesel, who had consumed 36 liters of Reyka, Iceland’s premier vodka, during our four-day stay, rendering him somewhat less effective as a bodyguard.

Vino had passed out shortly after takeoff and breathed through his open mouth the entire six-hour flight. Midflight, the accumulation of Vino’s putrescent respiration caused the 757’s pollution sensors to activate and release the overhead oxygen masks, knocking out several thin-skulled passengers.

Deplaning was delayed because of the untimely death of one of the oxen towing our jet to the tarmac, but we were eventually allowed to climb out of the main exit door of the plane on an extension ladder. As I descended the ladder, I noticed the flight crew tossing baggage from the belly of our 757 onto a tarpaulin stretched tight by a motley crew dressed like rock musicians.

Boarding a mule-drawn Conestoga wagon, its top down to take in the lovely weather, we passed friendly ethnic vendors offering exotic meats grilled over campfires fueled with furniture salvaged from the ancient terminal. Inside, Vino and I used a couple of the many portalets lined up on the concourse in front of LaGuardia’s inoperable 19th-century plumbing facilities.

As Vino and I waited in line for the next customs agent, we saw a crush of people led by MA Senator Elizabeth “Dances With Wolf Blitzer” Warren, her eagle feather headdress trailing gracefully to the floor behind her.

“Big D. is a Nazi,” she barked through her bullhorn. “His suspension of immigration to the US from seven failed states that harbor terrorists is a violation of the constitutional rights of Islamic terrorists to come here and kill us.”

“Non-citizens do not have a constitutional right to enter our country,” I screamed at her. “Our constitution only applies to citizens.”

“Scalp that paleface,” Dances With Wolf Blitzer yelled through her bullhorn.

Vino knocked out a couple of keffiyeh-wearing SEIU toughs, and we high-tailed it through customs, a dozen open-minded progressives in hot pursuit.

We had not made it very far when we encountered NY Senator Chuck “Corn Rows” Schumer in a Statue of Liberty costume, weeping as he decried the “extreme vetting” imposed on six remaining asylum-seekers detained in wooden corrals in the grassy runway median outside the terminal, played with incredible panache by Meryl Strept Throat, Lily “Tom” Lin, SC Senator Linseed Graham Cracker, Ashbrain Crutcher, AZ Senator and Civil Rights POW Nikon, John Lewis McCain, and the entire cast of Hamilton, none of whom had ever voted.

“Come up here, Abdul,” Corn Rows blubbered, tears streaking the green copper-tinted makeup on his wobbly jowls. “This is Abdul, a 10-year-old child, seeking asylum in our great country with his disabled mother.”

Abdul, sporting a thick black beard down to the handle of the scimitar stuck in his belt, and wearing a “Blow America Up Again” baseball cap, walked to the podium, followed by a short, moving mass of black fabric reminiscent of Cousin Itt from the Addams Family.

“They are violating my constitutional rights,” Abdul bellowed to the crowd. “They have refused to honor my baggage claim for my RPG launcher until I answer their unconstitutional questions.”

“What did the customs agent ask you?” I yelled.

“My name and country of origin,” Abdul replied angrily.

Corn Rows Schumer’s crowd exploded in rage.

“See what I mean!” Corn Rows hollered. “Trump is invading the privacy of the huddled masses of non-citizens yearning to live in America, where they will be free of Big Brother prying into their personal lives as they construct their bombs to blow up Trump voters from sea to shining sea.”

Corn Rows’ tirade mesmerized the violent liberals chasing us, allowing Vino and I to escape unnoticed. We picked up our luggage and waited curbside for our Gruber Limo driven by the primary propagandist of Obamacare, MIT shop class professor, Jonathan Goebbels Gruber. Two uniformed policemen approached us.

“Have you seen a bomber?” one of them asked. “We’re looking for a bomber.”

“What’s the bomber look like?” I asked. “Is it a man or woman? What race or nationality is he or she? Is he or she dark or light, tall or short, slim or fat?”

“We can’t answer those questions,” the other cop said. “That’s illegal profiling, color, height, and weight shaming.”

“How will we recognize the bomber?” I pleaded. “Do you have a picture?”

“If I showed you a picture of the bomber, it would be an illegal photo lineup,” the first officer said. “We would have to show you a photo array of at least six bombers for your identification to stand up in court.”

“Any questions?” the second policeman asked.

“Yes, sir,” Vino said, his mouth parched. “Where’s the closest place we could buy some Reyka vodka?”

“He’s joking,” I said, dragging Vino to our Gruber Limo. “If we see your bomber, we’ll let you know where he or she is.”

“Thanks for your help,” the first officer said. “It’s citizens like you who are helping make America great again.”

Michael Henry, Copyright © 2017