The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

“Here we go again!” Jihad Jack shouted at the big screen over the bar at the Pilot Lounge the other night, Ladies Night as it were, a new gimmick by John the new owner to attract more business — or maybe to dilute the testosterone of the usual rowdy crowd. Near as I could see, it wasn’t working, not a lady in sight, just a table of the South End Slammers, our women’s roller derby queens and if anyone called them ladies, god help them. They wee mean mamas, leave it at that.

Jack was on his hind legs at the bar, beer glass clenched in a meaty fist, obviously more angry than usual. “Now it’s a new epidemic. Mpox my monkey ass! It never ends! Covid, measles, AIDS, bird flu, what’s the new one, the fever?” Brenda at the Slammer table said, “Dengue. Dengue Fever. Makes your bones feel like they’re breaking.” She seemed to know this, maybe from the rinks, what that would feel like I was betting. Couple of body blows at the cantilevered turns, she probably knew firsthand.

Jack turned his attention from the TV news report and considered her and her information. “All I know,” he said, maybe to Brenda, maybe to the rest of us swillers, “the government wants you to put on masks again, get more of those weird vaccines, make us damn slaves.” No news to us regulars — we’d had more than a few earfuls of Jihad’s Covid conspiracy theories.

But Brenda apparently hadn’t. “You think this stuff is all made up, fella?” she asked with a slight smirk on her face. “Yer damned right they make it up. All just a master plan to scare the stupid sheep into doing whatever they’re told.”

Brenda took a long slow swig of her beer, burped loudly and said, “That’s the most ignorant BS I’ve seen all week. And I work cleaning stables at the equestrian place north of Stanwood. Bullshit, horse pucks, all the same.”

Jihad could hardly believe his ears. “If you weren’t a woman …” he started. But Brenda was out of her chair and up in his face before he could finish the sentence. Jack’s a big blowhard but he’s not a big man. Brenda had him by four inches and twenty pounds. Every breath in that bar was on hold for the thirty seconds it took Jack to see there was no winning hand here.

“Just stating an opinion,” he finally squeaked out. “Free country, ya know.”

Brenda just grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Yes it is,” she said, “but sometimes it pays to keep those to yourself. If you don’t mind ….” Jack said he didn’t. Brenda said thank you … and that, I suspect, was the last Ladies Night we’ll see at the Pilot House Lounge. Probably a government plot, but for what nefarious purpose, who knows? Other than Jack, certainly none of the rest of us boyz.

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51 % of my fellow citizens who are declining the immunization for Covid believe the vaccine contains microchip tracking devices. I can only presume that you cautious neighbors avoid cellphones, credit and debit cards, Google, Facebook, grocery stores that require ID cards and probably you have refused to pay the IRS and will not, no way, accept Social Security payments lest the government or child eaters will follow that money to your lair. Tracking devices in the vaccine? Hey, buddy, it’s a little late to worry about anonymity now. The government and the corporations got everything they need, courtesy of yourself, to hunt you down like a rabid dog. Better to take your chances on the Covid killing you.

Satellites are whizzing overhead 24/7 with cameras so powerful they could read the number on your mailbox. Hopefully, you’ve moved and left no forwarding address and certainly haven’t stuck a mailbox at the end of your dead end driveway. If not … well, hopefully you’ve stockpiled a virtual armory of weapons for when the Bad Guys come for you and your family. And I’m sure you know, or at least are convinced, they are coming for you.

So yeah, refuse to take a vaccination, pardner, I get it. Why give them one more tool in their surveillance arsenal when they only have a dozen others to monitor you night and day, week after week, cradle to the grave? Your new TV can do the same thing. I bet that gizmo you bought awhile back, the one you can talk to and ask questions of or play music for you, it’s not only tracking you, it’s listening and it’s sending data back to … you guessed it … Big Brother. You haven’t noticed every time you ask Google a question, a nano second later you get a pop-up ad for some related product? C’mon, you’ve noticed. Did you quit searching with Google? Did you disable Alexa? No?

Buddy, you mean to tell me you won’t take a Covid shot but you’ve got the tracking device on you right now? That smart phone, the one you carry with you at all times, I guess you can see what I’m driving at, it’s a helluva lot smarter than you, pal. That camera built into your computer, did you realize it can be turned on by … well, you know who.

Take your chances with Covid, that’s my best advice for you now. You get it, hey, maybe that’s the easy way out of this brave new world. Course, if you live past the respirator days, then they got your medical records. It just doesn’t seem like there’s any winning, does it? Wish I could help but helping you might lead them to me. Can’t be too careful these days.

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