The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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A few days after the storming of the Bastille, King Donald has barricaded himself in the bunker of the White House, no doubt rabidly occupied with binge-watching his favorite news channels hoping to gauge the pulse of a nation that watched with incredulity the spectacle of a President encouraging his minions to march to the Capitol and stop the certification of Biden. Some dare call it treason, some merely sedition, and most call it criminal. Even his pandering former Attorney General, picked to be his personal lawyer in the Justice Department, called it outrageous and said it was time to Go.

Social media has banned his tweets and rantings. Members of his own party are considering invoking the 25th amendment, the one that removes an incapacitated president from office, Congress is eyeing impeachment once more, Cabinet loyalists are resigning while major corporations are withdrawing funding and support for the legislators who backed the move to block counting the electoral college votes. The worm has turned. With less than two weeks remaining in his term the Donald is a cornered animal, dangerous to everyone and to himself. What he might do, nobody knows including the Donald. Nasty business, politics.

Let’s be honest here and quit sugarcoating this. Trump is batshit crazy. His narcissistic balloon that’s the size of the Hindenburg dirigible is about to go up in flames. The man is a menace. The folks who toadied up to him are abandoning ship now. Apparently, even for the most loyal, a line has been crossed. Up ahead, even they can see the signpost that reads Welcome to the Twilight Zone. For the rest of us, well, we can sit smugly watching the unraveling of this Administration, say I told ya so, but we all know those yahoos that rallied behind the Trumpster and scaled the Capitol battlements are a sizeable percentage of our neighbors and friends.

They want to smash government. They don’t care how. If they can’t do it at the ballot box, by god, they’ll do it with clubs. Trump may be hauled away in a strait jacket, jabbering like an amphetamine monkey, but these folks will still be here to warn each other of the Lizard People and the phony Covid. They could care less about facts or logic, those are worthless to them. The fall of Trump will just be another warning sign. The Apocalypse is nigh, the End is near. Insanity is contagious.

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Michael Steele, former Republican National Committee Chairman, when asked why no one wanted to work in the White House, said he didn’t expect Trump to finish his first term in office and that his ‘clients’ should look forward to Vice President Pence’s ascension to the throne. Why? Because, he said, no one wants to work for ‘crazy’. This is harsh news for the Prez. More faux news, maybe, or just another Republican calling the kettle black, hard to tell.

But the buzzards are circling, Donald, and not just the FBI. Who knows, maybe they’ll drag you out in a strait jacket, not handcuffs. You can plead insanity. If I were on that jury, and please, God, put me on that jury, I’d find it a plausible defense. I might be inclined toward leniency, something like 20 years of public service. Real public service, Mr. President, not Self Service. But I wouldn’t bet on my fellow jurors feeling so compassionate. Treason, after all, even if it’s only for profit, not politics, is a vile crime and when you’re hauled in for those Russian payoffs, you and your son-in-law and a few accomplices, don’t count on me to step in front of the lynch mob arguing that they should pity you because you’re batshit crazy.

No, high crimes and treason do not engender compassion or forgiveness. You fooled a lot of us a lot of the time, but those times are over soon. I don’t really know how federal prison works things, but maybe they’ll let you Tweet once a day. You can profess ignorance, you can cry foul, you can howl that justice was not served. You can hire the best attorneys money can buy. You can hope to get your case taken to the Supreme Court where you got a Justice or two on the bench. But it won’t help. Crazy, isn’t it?

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