Air Force One was flying smoothly at 35,000 feet on its way to Ghana, Western Africa and the President just finished his dry martini – shaken not stirred – and retired to his suite.

The kids were asleep in their room in their J. Crew trench coats – they liked them so much they wouldn’t take them off when they went to bed.

Michelle was sound asleep in her J. Crew negligee.  The first family was returning from the G-8 meeting in Italy with a stop over in Ghana, Africa.

Between the soft purr of Air Force One’s jets and the martini, Obama quickly fell into the rem zone of the sleep pattern.

A voice seemed to come through the clouds saying, “Speak it and they will believe . . . speak it and they will believe.”  Intermittently a soft voice kept repeating “Kinja, Kinja.”  Then the words, “Speak it and they will believe.”

Obama knew his teleprompter prowess and understood the ‘speak it believe it message,’ but what was ‘Kinja?’

The voice was too soft to be Rev. Jeremiah Wright . . . but perhaps it was God or Allah?  Or, could it be all three speaking in unison?

Hell, Obama thought, I haven’t even picked a Church yet, and all three are talking to me?

Then he remembered, after all he did go to Harvard and was well read . . .”It’s Herman Wouk’s book, “Don’t Stop The Carnival.”

It all began to come back in his dream, it was a fictional story about an island in the Caribbean called Amerigo, but the natives knew it as, ‘Kinja’ and continued to call it what it once was.  They pronounced it Keen-ja.

Yes, the story began to return to his memory bank.  There was this Jew boy from New York . . . a Broadway Press Agent, who had it with the rat race in Manhattan and went to Kinja to buy a hotel and live a life in Paradise.

His name was Norman Paperman and sure enough he bought his dream, a hotel called the Gulf Reef Club.

But on the Island of Amerigo there was Governor Sanders and he controlled everything and his relatives, who all reported into him, were in charge of any service a business or a hotel might need – even water.  Norman was stymied at every move he made – he was living in Governor Sanders ‘Kinja.’

Obama thought as the dream was playing out, sounds a little bit like my 30 Czars – but he quickly cast this analogy aside by rationalizing the clever move he made to sidestep the Constitution making these incestuous servants responsible to him, not to the Congress or the people.

He began to think of his first 100 days in office and what he had already accomplished, and it did remind him a bit of ‘Kinja.’

He thought of his achievements: passing a $787 Billion stimulus bill, that no one in Congress had read, in record time; took over the financial institutions and banks, and as a bonus, became the Czar of Czars by taking over General Motors, which became Government Motors, and in doing so by-passed all Constitutional bankruptcy laws, gave the people a 60 percent share of the company in return for a $50 Billion loan that the people will never recover.

It was a pleasant and pleasing dream at this point.  He went on to thinking about how he could level the playing field within his own ‘kinja’, redistributing wealth, taking care of the unions and his supporters by providing stimulus money on a quid pro quo basis.  The voice kept resounding in the background, “Speak it and they will believe it.”  He was dreaming of a second stimulus, even though the unemployment rate was reaching 10 percent.

Now he thought if I can get the Climate Bill passed, which no one has read, and rush through the Health Care Reform Bill, I will have put the nail in the coffin and transformed Amergo to where I think it should be and I will have Norman Paperman in a place where everyone else is.

He thought of the Bible at ths point and Mark.  He remembered something about Mark and a passage that said we will pay all men equally, if they work one hour, a half-day or a full day. They will all get the same pay.  And that seemed to be fair . . . after all it came from the Bible.

But then within his own dream he had a stream of consciousness.  “Oh, fathers I have sinned.”  He didn’t know for sure if he was talking to God, Allah or Rev Wright.  “Forgive me for looking at that young Brazillan girls’ butt at the G-8 photo-op.  I was on my way to picking up a dime to help in our stimulus package, and there it was.”

The trio of voices spoke through a sun-lit cloud and said in unison, “It’s all right you were in Berlusconi country and that’s the way it’s done there, after all it is Italy and that’s where the Pope resides . . . and, as you know, he is all forgiving”

Obama wanted to continue with this pleasant dream, but it was then that Michelle rubbed against him in her J. Crew negligee and said, “We are landing soon in your home, dear.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Michelle . . . I was dreaming.”

“Yes, I know . .  was it pleasant?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What was the outcome?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you woke me too soon!”