The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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“Start the hearings, alert Fox News, file the subpoenas, investigate the cover-up!!! Niger Niger Niger! Where was the Sec. of State and what did he know and when did he know it??? Why couldn’t the President remember that dead soldier’s name? What’s he hiding? Who is he shielding? Look at the evidence, it speaks for itself. Niger! Niger! Niger! Lock em up, these people who are responsible, LOCK EM UP !!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Clyde is on a tear down at the Pilot Lounge in the Yacht Club. He just ordered his 3rd pint of microbrew and half the bar is telling him to shut up. The Pilot Lounge is not known as a bastion of liberal radicalism since most of the time, if there’s no local sports game on the 3 TV’s, Fox News offers us patrons their fair and balanced opinions. Clyde tries some days to get the televisions turned to CNN, but he’s spitting into a serious gale. Best we can hope for is Al, the usual bartender, turns them all off so we can drink in peace. Al is off tonight and his replacement is Benny, a taciturn old friend of the owner’s who subs in emergencies.

“Benghazi Benghazi Benghazi!” Clyde hollers, not once but three times in a voice that drips sarcasm. “They couldn’t get enough of that, but Niger, where’s the outrage, where’s the investigation, where’s their justice for those dead soldiers?”

Benny drags a bar rag across some spillage, grabs the TV channel changer and finds a sports station, then turns the volume up past Clyde’s. The assembled drinkers cheer and clink glasses. None of us know much about hockey, but hockey it is tonight.

Politics has ruined too many of my evenings down here. If we had another watering hole within driving distance, I’d switch taverns. But I suspect it’s the same up north and the drive back through the sheriff’s prowl cars isn’t worth the gamble. So hockey it is tonight. At least until I finish this half a pint and head for the sanctuary of home and hearth. “Niger Niger Niger!!” Benny is singing softly to himself when I drop my glass on the bar he’s still wiping up. I know I’ll be humming it too all the way home. Where the hell is Niger?

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