The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

I love Republicans.  Seriously, who else would run candidates based solely on their complete allegiance to Trump, a con-man, a crook, a liar, a sexual predator and, famously in the words of his then Secretary of State, a f…@$%…g! moron?  Take Dr. Oz.  Please.  What better GOP MAGA candidate but a quack snake oil salesman, literally.  But better yet, take a gander at Herschel Walker running for the Senate in Georgia.  Football star, MAGA man, a poster child for Complete Idiot.  On climate change he speculated how the Chinese had moved their dirty air over here and now we would have to move it somewhere else … or something like that, who knows?  He certainly didn’t.  Addressing the Inflation Reduction Act’s provision to combat climate change by planting more trees, he asked why we would need more, got plenty already.  Why stock fish, I want to ask.  Why worry about reservoirs evaporating or aquifers going dry, got plenty of water already.  Floods in plenty of places, move it to the lowering aquifers.  Along with that dirty Chinese air.  The point is, do we need an IQ test for these candidates?  Some minimal acquaintance with reality, at least.  Sure, Trump lowered the bar pretty close to the ground, but do we have to dig trenches now?

A dumb football star for Senator, why not?  We had a reality TV star as President, a know nothing who wouldn’t bother to read briefing reports, ignorance being bliss, I guess.  Just watch his fawning Fox phony news guys and see what works for them, that’s plenty for his highness.  We’re talking grown men here, a lifetime that might have been spent looking for answers to the questions that might arise if they held the public office they seek.  But no, too much trouble, too many facts … and we know what they think of those.

We’ve grown pretty accustomed to neo-fascist candidates offered up as worthy office seekers, Qanon acolytes, conspiracy theorists, anti-vaxxers and science deniers, and yeah, it might be worth testing for neural activity, but lately the pool of political aspirants seems to be a drying puddle of flopping tadpoles hoping to evolve legs and lungs after a primary race to determine who is the whackiest of the whacky.  Alert the executives of Netflix, this is reality TV at its most entertaining. Except, of course, the joke is on us.  Plenty of trees?  Sure, but hey fellas, where’s the forest?

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