The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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Somewhere deep in the bowels of the White House a caged animal paces back and forth, channel changer in clenched hands, howling for attention, howling for his twitter, howling hour after long hour. Imagine a prisoner held without food or water. It’s nothing, NOTHING, like the torture of this miserable creature denied access to Twitter where his every keystroke is available to millions of his minions. Hell has no fury like a Trump without tweets, bet your sweet biddy on that, buddy.

I feel for the man, I really do. No Geneva Convention can help him, no First Amendment will give him access to those lost and locked platforms, no Human Rights Watch will intervene. If this isn’t an enhanced interrogation technique, I don’t know what is beyond 24/7 rap music piped into his cell, drowning out Fox and Friends no matter how loud he turns the volume up on his big screen TV. If this is not torture, what is?

Well, maybe what we endured for the past 4 years. But shouldn’t that give us an enhanced empathy for what he must be going through down in his personal dungeon. The man’s oxygen is attention. He lives for the headline, the latest outrage, the gasps of disbelief. When the time comes for an accounting at the Pearly Gates, all those lies, all those illegal activities, all those attempts to undermine the Constitution will come back to haunt him, but for now, are we to be his judge and jury, no sympathy, no quality of mercy? Couldn’t we maybe let him on some right wing app for a few minutes, something to give him balm in his darkest hour of need? Oh, I know what you’re thinking, he separated parents from their children down at the border, why not give him a taste of that kind of horrendous severance, the man from his social media?

And yet … aren’t we better than some Old Testament eye for an eye revenge, and yeah, I know, it’s one of his favorite passages in his favorite book, but c’mon, we shouldn’t let ourselves descend to that low a level. I know he thinks waterboarding was just fine and it would be easy to inflict the equivalent. But we’re evolved beings, not fighting dogs, not CIA rendition operatives. Although … I would wager a month’s salary he won’t make it to the Inauguration Day ceremony with anything like a semblance of sanity. Not that I’m proposing an office pool. Just sayng…

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Tough week for the forces of Good! The Great One, the anointed Leader who would bring the world back into the Light by leading his minions into the cavern of the Lizard People, the Capitol Building, instead drove home to watch the show on the television in his bunker. His troops scaled the battlements, broke down doors and penetrated the Halls of Darkness … only to find nobody had a plan. Not the capitol police and certainly not them. So much winning!

And worse! The twitter feed of their Anointed One was cut off at the neck. The President was banned from sending messages to his minions. What does this mean, the confused followers wondered. Some said the riots were the work of fake flag brearing Antifa soldiers, pretending to be the followers of the GodKing, but actually the footsoldiers of the Satanist pedophiles who feigned fear in the chambers of the evil, their goal to ultimately humiliate the President and delay the Storm, that day of reckoning when the deep state traitors are finally brought to their deserved desserts.

Trump had promised to reveal the Truth of the election frauds, not that his people needed proof. What they needed was the Plan. They needed him to mount his steed and ascend the steps in front of their angry legions. They needed a hero. They needed encouraging tweets. Once inside the bastions of iniquity, nobody knew what to do. Oh, sure, they stole a lectern and sat in Nancy I-eat-children- Pelosi’s desk. They scribbled some encouraging graffiti on the walls and busted up some furniture, strewed some file cabinet evidence of crimes against nature committed by the enemy pretending to cower in congressional chambers. But … what to do next? Did they miss the secret message? Did Donald give them a clue that they just didn’t decipher?

Or … whoa! Was this actually part of the Plan? Was this a ruse to make the evildoers rise up and try once more to impeach their Savior? Ho ho, wouldn’t that create a backlash out in the backwash?! The Lizard People might just have overplayed their hand! The Storm was coming after all! Inauguration Day might just be the promised reckoning. The imposter Biden would be revealed for the cannibal fraud he is, the socialist menace, the sick pederast who, once the Truth was known, would be the one who would be stepping down. Trump would ascend the podium, Trump would be President another term, possibly more. That must be the Plan! The Storm was coming and the Storm was coming soon! Bet your sweet tweet on that!

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I only had one serious New Year’s Resolution this year. No, not to improve myself by reading more. Not to exercise more. Not to be kinder to my fellow man. Not to quit swearing, not to watch less TV, not to quit drinking, not to work harder, none of that stuff. No, my one and only resolution was to put politics in the rearview, stop being a news junkie, let the country take a nap with Sleepy Joe at the wheel now that Donald J. Trump was tossed on the ash heap of history, a pathetic little loser who would spend the remainder of his pathetic little life in courtrooms and hopefully in a jail cell where he could write his three volume memoirs with all the time in the world.

Four years of this spoiled brat of a man was plenty. Every day seven days a week four weeks a month twelve months a year for four long years the billionaire king intruded on my serenity like a roof leak dripping on my favorite things until they turned soggy and mildewed, drip drip drip until I thought I would lose my mind. The man lived to be in the spotlight. It was all he wanted. Me me me, wah wah wah, as incessant as a rash of poison ivy, scratch me scratch me scratch me til it bleeds and spreads and spreads some more. No end to it, just one outrage after another, mindless infuriating idiocy, the bleating of a baby who wants food all day and all night. It was as if insanity was forever knocking on the door of my head wanting in, wanting to use the bathroom, wanting to borrow the phone, wanting to eat my dinner, wanting to watch TV, let me in, let me in, let me in!

But he lost the election and for awhile that knocking on my door grew more distant. He seemed to have retreated to his rat cage in the back of the White House to nurse his grudge, refused to talk to reporters, maybe left the spotlight for awhile. My resolution seemed safe. No more Trump. No more stupid politics. The adults were back in charge. Sure, not nearly as exciting but hey, exactly what I needed for awhile. He could start his own TV talk show, okay by me, I wouldn’t be tuning in. Tweet your heart out, loser, I don’t have an account. Move down to Mar-a-Lago, it’s as far from the South End as anyplace in America, far far away, not even close to my radar.

No telling what the next few weeks bring. A call for the military to overturn the election? Make Jared ambassador to Mars? Call a few more governors or Secretary of States where he lost to Biden? Pack the Supreme Court with his Medal of Freedom recipients, folks like Rush Limbaugh and Jim Jordan? Buy Greenland? Attack Iran and nuke North Korea? Mandate no mask wearing? Arrest Sleepy Joe? Who knows? What I do know is my New Year’s Resolution is in shreds. It looks like a long year again. Maybe next New Year I’ll keep my vow….

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Yesterday I got one of those calls I really hate to get, the ones where the caller asks if I have my TV on. Last times I got one of those the Trade Towers had been hit by commercial jetliners and the Challenger had blown up after launch with all on board. Nervously I turned on the television. Had Trump bombed Iran?

Or maybe it was just the earth shattering news that Georgia had elected two Democratic senators in the runoffs. Good news for me, maybe not for Moscow Mitch. But I didn’t really expect to get good news and for once I was right. The screenshot of the first channel to pop up was like the movie World War Z where the zombies are crawling on each other’s backs to scale the barrier walls protecting the humans on the other side. Mobs of folks were storming the nation’s capitol building where, I knew, Congress was in the process of certifying the electoral college votes. Giant Trump banners and American flags and Confederate too were dragging the ground as the mob pushed up the stairs, clambered over the walls, climbed the scaffolding, a seething angry wave of people surrounding the Capitol, breaking windows, breaching barriers, busting down doors. The news moderators were incredulous. So was I.

Cut to a few scenes inside. Legislators on the floor, huddling with their cellphones, fearing for their lives, gunfire in the background. Protestors dropping into the chambers from above, sitting in the office chairs of Senators and Representatives, smashing glass while the Capitol police aimed revolvers in their faces.

When the first Tower collapsed, I still remember the feeling that this couldn’t be happening, all those people inside descending to streetlevel, all those people dead. Could a skyscraper collapse like that? Watching the chaos inside the Capitol Building, I thought the same thing, can this be happening? Where were the National Guardsmen, the DC cops, the Secret Service? Could rioters just walk right in while every Senator and Representative were inside, trapped and at their mercy? Could this happen in America?

Well … yes it can. The President, the same fellow who’d spoken to these folks earlier and asked them to take their grievances to the Capitol, watched it, just like you and me, on TV. His attorney, the former hero mayor of the city of the Twin Towers, had urged them to resort to ‘trial by combat’ if the phony elections giving Biden the win weren’t overturned. Whatever we thought America was yesterday, it isn’t the same today.

What it will be tomorrow is in the hands of the people who enabled the Man in the High Tower, knowing all along he was unfit to be the leader of a democratic country. Courage may be in short supply, but the fear they felt yesterday might be the greater catalyst.

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I don’t know about you, but I was looking forward to a brand new year with partisan politics in the rearview for awhile. Sleepy Joe could run the government with eyes closed, you know, while he was taking his afternoon nap, and maybe everybody would calm down for awhile, take a breather, focus on getting past this plague. But no, one hundred and forty GOP Representatives and a dozen Republican Senators intend to refuse to ratify the electoral college votes this week. They claim the election was fraudulent, the voting booths were removed, zombies voted, the ballots were counted multiple times, aliens manipulated the results and blacks and latinx votes should be thrown out. Vice President Pence mumbled that yes, Congress should look into these irregularities, discrepancies we all know exist.

I’m apparently living in CrazyTown. The President took an hour yesterday from his intense Covid management to call the Sec. of State in Georgia to implore, to whine, to wheedle and finally to threaten him to find about 12,000 votes to put him over the top. Last time I looked, even if he won the Peach State, he comes up short. He already tried to twist the arms of the Michigan folks. He’s lost about 100 times in state and federal courts to show the least amount of irregularities, some tossing out his lawsuits with disdain and contempt. This would all be, as one justice characterized the suit brought before him, laughable … if this were a sitcom.

But it’s not a sitcom, it’s potentially a national crisis. And we already have one of those in the coronavirus plague that’s killed over a third of a million of us, much of it due to negligence on the part of this Administration, one of the many reasons Trump lost by 7 million votes. That’s a lot of Venezuelan zombies to account for. Even adding in the Lizard People who may have voted too.

CrazyTown will be a Netflix original, unless I’ve missed my guess, but the last thing I need — and you either — is a bingewatch of further outrages by this sore loser and his gutless sycophants. Threatening the Sec. of State unless he alters the election results is a federal crime. It’s impeachable if we had the time or the courage, but of course, the vocal defenders of the Constitution won’t lift a finger. Not even the second time. Is this a great country or what?

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