The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Two Toke and I were taking the sun at the picnic tables outside the Pilot Lounge the other day, one of the only warm days of the so-called summer, a fine opportunity to thumb our noses at melanoma and global warming.  There was a warm breeze , the squabbling of seagulls and the gentle lullaby of Port Susan lapping at the dock.  Two beers in, we decided life was good, the world could manage without us and gee, why not order another elixir.

About that time we were joined by a small group of rowdies, evidently fresh off the back 9 up at the Camaloch links, who parked a table away and proceeded to whittle away at our heretofore sunny mood with commentary on the Jan. 6^th congressional hearings, mostly to the effect that they were a scam.  Two Toke and I are old politicos, addicts to the news, veterans of Watergate and more than a bit cynical in our old age.  Me, I try to avoid confrontation of a political sort, figuring, I guess, that debate is a complete waste of time.  T.T., well, let’s just say Tom is a live-and-let live sort of hombre … until his space is violated.  And these golfing yahoos, loud as a megaphone in the hands of the Proud Boys, definitely intruded on his personal boundaries.

“You two locals?”, one of the group asked and his compatriot chimed in, “or just Locos?”  which caused the group to erupt in belligerent laughter.  Before the bile could rise to our throats, another asked what we thought of that bullshit kangaroo court the Democrats were holding on the January 6^th protests.  “You’ve heard of them, right?”

“Gentlemen,” I said, “we’re just doing our part to keep the economy of the island humming, having a quiet beer, not really looking for a debate with you Proud Boys.”

“Who you calling a Proud …?” one of the militia asked but Two Toke interrupted him with a firm, “You. We’re calling you one, you hard of hearing?”  Holy insurrection, I thought, Tom’s looking for a skirmish if not an outright assault here at the Pilot Lounge, one look in his direction and I could see things were going to go south asap.  One of the golfers was up out of his deck chair and another was gripping his Budweiser like a potential club.

“Gentlemen,” I practically shouted, “let’s not ruin a perfectly good day with a political debate.  My friend here is a bit volatile on the subject and I’m sure you meant no disrespect calling us locos, just a friendly icebreaker but a serious faux pas, nevertheless.  Why don’t we all settle down, make a little toast to the gods of summer and drink our drinks in peace?”

Well, the South End is not known for its barroom brawls.  Arguments, sure, disagreements, you bet, but fistfights, not so much.  Two Toke is a Viet Nam Vet, no stranger to sudden violence, I knew, but I had never seen this side of him.  It was like seeing a Zen Buddhist priest swerve into a white knuckled rampage over some perceived slight, maybe taking umbrage over someone clapping with one hand while he was meditating.  The golf boys must have noticed, even slightly inebriated, that things had gone from clubhouse jeers to full blown Danger.  The locals, obviously, might actually be loco.

Reluctantly they removed themselves back to the safety of the Lounge’s interior, tossing a few snide obscenities as they retreated.  “Well, that was ….” I said, not quite coming up with the what it was part.  T.T. shrugged.  “I fought in Nam, not my fight, not my war, just a drafted guy too young to know better, but dammit, I won’t have morons in my face who think the country I fought for is a joke.  Kangaroo my ass.  You still want that beer,” he muttered, “I’ll buy.”  When he got up and started for the bar, I motioned for him to sit back down.  “I’ll buy, not you, maybe save a life or two.  You already served your duty, guess it’s my turn.”

Hits: 26

Hits: 22

Will Rogers famously said back in the days when democracy was still in vogue: “I belong to no organized party; I am a Democrat.”

For some reason unclear to me, I got invited to emcee the Island Democratic fundraiser. Nobody asked me what my political affiliations were, maybe just assumed I wasn’t a card carrying Proud Boy or an Antifa member.  Coulda been a closet Maggot, pledging allegiance to the President in Exile.  Maybe they didn’t care, just a Big Tent for any of us fed up with the past few years of the Titanic starting to go down.  The S.S. America is taking on water now, listing to the right and looking for an iceberg chunking off in the fake climate change conspiracy.

Maybe some of us were hoping the highest court in the land would help to right this ship.  Well, they righted it all right.  Got rid of Roe v Wade after promising to abide by precedent, gave gun owners the freedom to carry concealed weapons about anywhere except maybe their own courtroom, finished off the separation of church and state, at least for Christian churches, not sure if other religions will fare so well, gutted the EPA’s ability to regulate greenhouse gases.  The black robed high priests finished off more than that.  They finished off their own credibility as neutral arbiters.  They claim to be Constitutionalists, meaning if the Founding Fathers didn’t mention it in the original text, there’s no basis for new interpretations.  You know, a couple centuries later.  Kind of hard to figure what they might have meant in regard to, oh, digital privacy, automatic weapons, birth control, cloning, artificial intelligence, global warming, all that new fangled stuff they didn’t quite anticipate back in the 1700’s.  No point trying to adjudicate anything that didn’t exist back then, I guess, just assume the Founders were clairvoyant.

When McConnell refused to consider Merrick Garland for Supreme Court Justice, saying it was too close to an election to let a sitting president nominate anyone, the Democrats howled, but … and this is typical … they rolled over for it.  They could have shut down Congress, they could have pushed the nomination over objections, they could have made a damn federal case of this completely bogus attempt by McConnell and his minions to subvert the Constitutional right of Obama to nominate the next Justice.  Steve Bannon once said that Democrats think these disputes are solved by a pillow fight.  Republicans bring a knife or a gun.

I don’t plan to go to the fundraiser with a knife or a gun.  But … I think it’s time for Democrats to fight back with more than a pillow.

Hits: 31

Hits: 29

Suppose for a minute or three that our President-in-Exile had managed to let those tourists with weapons through the metal detectors at the January 6^th ‘rally’ and suppose the Secret Service had obeyed his instructions to take him to the Capitol to lead his troops to the halls of Congress to stop the certification of Joe Biden to replace him.  Seems okay, right?  Like he said, those folks with assault rifles, Glock pistols and body armor weren’t there to hurt him.  Not sure who they were planning to hurt, but not him.  Let his people through!

And imagine that Mr. T had reached the Capitol to be with his people, maybe even picked up a flagstaff and helped break through the barricades and windows, might even have used a few wrestling tricks from the days of World Wrestling Smackdowns and taken out a few of those pesky Capitol police.  Good video.  Might turn it into some reality TV programming.  Ads, residuals, spinoffs, if nothing else, great viewing late night between presidential tweets.  Dramatic shots of the President leading his troops up the stairs, backing up those guards, demanding to be allowed into the room where the electoral votes would be certified.  “Hell, no,” you can hear him shouting, “not on my watch!”  Half the hall might erupt into cheers, half the others protesting demurely.

And suppose, somewhere down the corridors leading to Mike Pence’s offices, the Proud Boys —don’t you love the name! — find the Vice President exiting his office for a more secure location.  Hang him, the crowd cries, hang him high!  Hopefully somewhere there’s a security camera or two, capturing the melee of curious tourists overwhelming the Secret Service, capturing the glee of those same tourists hurrying Mike out to the gallows outside where the noose had been erected and maybe even the last words of the soon-to-be-disgraced second in command before being hoisted up, the rope placed around his neck and then the kicking legs, the gargling in his throat, the screams from his family who had followed the mob outside.

Imagine this had actually happened.  Imagine they had hanged Mike Pence with television cameras eagerly documenting the event, transmitting the lynching to millions of viewers witnessing the assault on the Capitol.  Is it hard?  Is it imaginable?  And if the President, now self-declared as winner of the 2020 election, had stepped outside to marvel at the sight of a swinging Mike Pence dangling above his happy MAGA followers, gave an impromptu acceptance speech and in passing mentioned that Mike had gotten exactly what was coming to him, would the country, would the red hat folks and the ‘tourists’, would the Oath Keepers and the Stop the Steal believers, would they have cheered?

Who thinks we need to make America great again?  We’ve already done it….

Hits: 21

Hits: 80

Some of us layabouts at the Poker Parlor were trying to think up something special for an upcoming 4^th of July celebration.  We figured we got so many Vets down this way the Diner might as well declare itself a VFW South End Auxilliary.  And since most of them are vintage car guyz too, they could hold their own annual Independence Day Parade from Camano Head to the Elger Bay Store.  I, of course, wanted to just use these militiamen as an excuse to secede from the Island, but cooler heads prevailed.  As usual.

Two Toke Tom served in Viet Nam and now is pretty much anti- every war.  Jimmy Z, who’s old enough to be Tom’s old man, fought the Japanese in WW2.  Tom thinks Jimmy’s still fighting em and maybe so, but I notice Jimmy driving a Toyota pickup now even though he swore for 60 years he’d never buy a ‘Jap Car’.  Baghdad Bill fought in the second Iraq War and Big Larry just got back two years ago from Afghanistan.  Jerry spent a year in Korea and frostbit a couple of fingers he wishes he had back, but he still can play a mean guitar.  We even got Crazy Eddie who ‘liberated’ Grenada.  We’re missing Somalia and Panama and Bosnia, but with all the newcomers rolling in, we may cover those too eventually.

Sometimes the boyz argue among themselves about those wars and sacrifice and what patriotism really means at the Friday night poker game we’ve been running since 1986 down at the Marina and Bait Shop.  Two dollar limit on bets, no limit on alcohol.  The pots don’t do much damage, but single nettle Daddle Distillery moonshine sometimes does.  I sit in with these war-hardened patriots most Fridays and serve as their patsy and their sometime referee, the one who never served even in peacetime.  Or what Two Toke calls a draft dodging, student deferred, flag burning, Summer of Love hippie protester.  He takes great joy in telling me I would’ve loved the smell of napalm in the morning over there on the Delta.  Jimmy Z chimes in how his platoon could’ve won Viet Nam single-handed although Jimmy never once has told us one iota the hell that must have been Iwo Jima.  But he’s the one who puts a liver spotted hand on Bill’s arm whenever Bill gets overwhelmed by memories of buddies lost in the HumVee he was driving when it was blown off the road to the airport in Baghdad.

We’ve fought too many wars, I think, before realizing I’ve said it out loud.  I see by their pinched lips and averted eyes I won’t get an argument tonight.  Patriotism comes in all uniforms, even no uniform at all.  Big Larry finally breaks the swelling silence, pushes a handful of quarters into the pot and says, real quiet, “I’m willing to spend a couple bucks, Skeeter, to see if you got more than bluff in this hand.”  Grateful to change the subject, I say, “Name of the game, Big.  Read em and weep.”

Hits: 69

Hits: 28