The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Wandering cluelessly into the swamps of sexual harassment should make any of us men more than slightly wary. In fact it should scare the bejeebers out of any but the most hardened of my brethren who suffer from toxic masculinity, a malady most likely not treatable with pharmacological remedies or conversion therapy. For the rest of us feminine scientists, a wise man might just avoid the subject altogether and keep his hands in his pockets.

But … I am obviously not a wise man nor do I have deep pockets. So with some trepidation, let me opine about Uncle Joe. I happen to like Joe Biden. I would even vote for the guy under the right circumstances, although honestly, I think the country needs new ideas, not Joe’s call for comity and a genial hug all around. Joe is an old white guy who says he learns his lessons, but geez, c’mon Joe, you let those creeps tear up Anita Hill without much protest. Apologize all you want, you let her dangle in the wind while that committee gave her a hundred lashes. And for that and a few other latter day come-to-jesuses, I really have some qualms about your judgement. Nobody is going to heal the divisions in this country so let’s stop thinking you’re the one. I just want someone decent and intelligent and mostly ready to fight for a new vision for this backass country we’ve become. Not too much to ask, is it?

And yeah, I get it too, Joe. Some folks don’t like to be touched, hugged, kissed or otherwise have their personal space violated. Don’t care how touchy-feely, good natured you are, there are boundaries. Personally I don’t see you as a groper. At least not like our President who even boasts about groping women, then mocks you for harmless hair kissing. And for all those GOP who suddenly find their partisan sanctimoniousness, I have nothing but the utmost contempt.

But here’s the thing. I’m still pissed off about Al Franken being forced out of his Senate seat. Uncle Joe, well, this may cost him a serious run at the Presidency, something he should have taken a shot at four years ago. Al Franken, give me a break. The man was horsing around for the cameras, pretty juvenile comedy, but hey, the guy was a comedian. He didn’t harass. He didn’t grope. He didn’t even kiss hair. And yet, in the frenzy of the MeToo moment, Gillibrand and her colleagues demanded he step off the gangplank, as if his malfeasance rose to the level of a Weinstein or a Kavanaugh or a Trump … and the man, decent beyond the bounds, stepped off.

Gillibrand will not get my vote, trust me on that. Al Franken was a good and honorable senator. And funny as a boatload of monkeys. Go back and read his books, if you haven’t. You’ll laugh out loud. If there were justice in this world, and you know lately there is none, Al would be running for President in 2020, not banished as a scapegoat to political correctness run amok. At some point we have to more narrowly define the boundaries of what is acceptable behavior and what is not. Uncle Joe, from my vantage point, is not a monster and not a harasser, but he’s probably not going to be President either, okay by me. And Al, if you’re reading this instead of working on your next book, throw your hat in the ring. You got my vote and I didn’t need an apology.

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