The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

It’s No Worse Than the Bubonic Plague

Fresh off his victory over Covid the Terrible in last week’s Virus Prime Time Smackdown sponsored by major pharmaceutical companies, the President declared there was nothing to fear but Democrat’s fear itself. He himself was healthier than he had been 20 years ago. Not many 70 year olds can say that and certainly none of those who have fought the coronavirus from an ICU ward in Walter Reed hospital. The man is invulnerable as Superman, immune to everything but kryptonite and subpoenas for his tax returns.

Lest his loyal followers thought he was in serious trouble, pinned to the mat for a day or two with a respirator offering him additional oxygen, he returned to his heavy workload at the West Wing, but not before a victory lap in his black SUV armored against gunfire and sealed against gas attack. Sealed too against Covid virus escaping the vehicle, a small detail the Secret Service agents escorting him on his triumphant drive probably tried not to think too long on. They would take a bullet for their boss, no doubt, but the job description may have neglected details like inhalation of his disease. Loyalty may come at a high price, but that’s the job, fellas.

The man emerged from his isolation ward with renewed vigor, frisky as a teenager, tweeting with enhanced intellect. Dr. Trump declared the Covid was a piece of cake, less risky than the flu, nothing to be afraid of and certainly nothing those around him, contagious as he still is, should fear. An aura of invincibility, an invisible shield, will protect them, such is the impenetrability of his Cone of Immunity. Add to that his surging bloodstream loaded with steroids, you have a nearly unstoppable human being.

The Covid, he said, was a gift from God, maybe the best thing that ever happened to him. Between you and me, I think he loves that steroid high. Welcome to the ‘60’s, Donny. Turn on, tune in.

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