Those occupying, and working in the lofty towers of Washington, D.C. enjoyed a picnic for too long. It's been a grand picnic, with all they could eat, fun games, days without worry, and what they perceived as a never ending source for their enjoyment. After all, with just a few words written on paper, they could demand more, and the picnic continued.
There's no more potato salad. It's gone, and all the written demands won't produce any more potatoes. They're limited in supply, and the unwashed masses they robbed to continue their picnic not only are almost out of the potatoes they need, they're angry because they know their dire straits, and know those that always had free potatoes will want more, without doing anything, except demanding. They're preparing for what they know will not be pleasant.
So, the picnic continues, but the sun is low in the West, the food is running out, and the night is approaching.