There were about a half dozen or so of us aboard our hole-in-the-water-into-which-we-pour-money last Sunday when news of the bombings in New York and New Jersey began coming in.

Our immediate reaction was one of relief that there had been no fatalities or life-threatening injuries. It goes without saying that bombings – and injuries and loss of life – are frightening and tragic.

However …

There wasn’t even a whiff of a breeze, which means we were having more of a float than a sail. In order to avoid dehydration, we reluctantly resorted to quaffing some adult beverages that happened to be on board, and which, by pure happenstance, were nicely chilled.

(Note to younger readers: Never operate anything under the influence of anything. It can be argued, however, that floating aimlessly in the middle of a lake does not rise to the level of “operating.”)

Well, one thing led to another, when someone came up with the idea of starting a conspiracy theory.

Specifically, that the bomber was really a Radical Trump Terrorist.

If you think about it, such a conspiracy theory is at least as plausible as many of the theories that have been floating around this election season, and, in fact, was more plausible than some.

After all, The Donald has been twittering doomsday prognostications about our nation’s security for over a year. Be it murdering, thieving rapists crossing our southern border, or swarthy Syrian refugees and their devil-spawn children, or the odd moose wandering across the border from Canada, whatever, we got problems.

What better way to validate the fear-mongering predictions than to have a gen-u-wine terrorist bombing during the latter stages of the campaign? Since you can’t trust the real terrorists to act at the most opportune time, why not have it staged by one of your more enthusiastic fans?

If you knew beforehand when the dirty deed was to be done, you could have your twitter pronouncement all ready to go out contemporaneously with the actual event: “Boy, did I call that one, and you know what I mean. Seriously. It’s huge!”

Of course, there isn’t one scintilla of fact to back up such an allegation, but that’s the beauty of a conspiracy theory. There doesn’t have to be. It is the repetition of the charge that lends credence to the charge itself.

You know the drill. First the plausible deniability, then the possibility of truth: “I don’t know if it’s true, but some people are saying …”

Well, heck, there were six or so of us aboard that hole-in-the-water-into-which-we-pour-money; certainly that’s enough to constitute “some people.”

And if we repeated our conspiracy theory to our friends – “I don’t know if it’s true, but some people are saying …” – and they repeated the conspiracy theory to their friends, and their friends to their friends, why, as Arlo Guthrie suggests in “Alice’s Restaurant,” we could have a movement!

Some enterprising journalist could pick up on the story. In the rush to get the scandal into print or on the air, fact checking would consist solely of determining that the conspiracy theory was being repeated. If people are talking, go with it. That’s the story, lack of supporting facts notwithstanding.

Before you know it, legions of reporters and on-air talent could be camped outside of Trump Tower, screaming over each other, demanding to know if Mr. Trump has stopped staging terrorist bombings – yes or no.

The Donald would have a choice: (a) He could say nothing at all, on the theory that all publicity is good publicity, and only serves to strengthen his position with the faithful, or (b) Blame Hillary Clinton. Hey, it didn’t work with the birther issue, but folks believe Hillary is capable of anything, so it might be worth going back to that well one more time.

As the years pass, scholars might write learned tomes about how this incident greased The Donald’s skids into the White House, or doomed his campaign to defeat.

And none of their theories would involve six or so slightly buzzed individuals floating in the middle of a lake in the middle of Indiana.

At some date in the future, maybe the group could reassemble and call a press conference at the marina to set the record straight.

“Yes, we made it all up.”