The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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I live so far from reality that it’s hard for me to imagine how this Pandemic is going to alter the alignment of the earth on its axis. But I’m not so removed from the daily newsfeeds that I think we will ever return to the way we were. The virus may not beat us, may not kill most of us, may not even be as bad as our worst fears, but it will, like Osama bin Laden and his kamikaze jets crashing into the World Trade Towers, change everything. There will always be a pre-nine eleven. It will be years before we understand what constitutes post-coronavirus.

The President is slowly starting to ‘get it’ in regard to this epidemic. He got the part where the economy is going to tank, that much his inward looking brain could manage. He thinks this thing will be over by Easter, then by summer, certainly by the Republican Convention aka Trump Rally. It doesn’t take a visionary to realize the economy won’t just turn back ON. In this era of globalization the wrecked economies of countries who couldn’t pour a huge % of their GDP’s into saving themselves are going to take a brutal whipping and decades to recover. Vaya con Dios and see you at Easter, if the government’s response is any indication.

They’re on their own. Just like the states here in the Yew Ess Aye. National inventories of medical supplies? Not for the governors who didn’t show enough gratitude for the Presidential favors he’s bestowed. Not for the citizens of their states. Kommisar Kushner declares that the national supplies are national, not meant for individual states. You tell me what national means when most of these states are in lockdown. D.C.? Or maybe for the President and his family? The Republican Senators and Representatives? Maybe to offer to N. Korea and Iran as some sort of bargaining chip?

I’ve never really been a state’s rights kind of guy, but I might be leaning that way these days. If the yahoos in Florida and Kansas want to hold church services, okey dokey. If the congregation in Georgia wants to attend huge funerals, I’ll send flowers. But let’s blockade the South, Mason Dixon on down, toss in Texas. Build a Wall, I say, and put razor wire around Mar-a-Lago. And sure, charge it to the federal government, well worth the cost this time.

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Grab a broom, y’all. We’re going witch hunting. I know, doesn’t seem sporting, doesn’t seem fair, the prey are such easy targets. They’ve laid down a trail a blind turkey hunter could follow in the rain. Tax records, graft, payoffs, porn star affairs, lies and misdemeanors, felonies and blatant nepotism, election tampering, bullying, name-calling just follow the latest tweet, you pretty much got the witch treed. That howling you hear isn’t the coon hounds baying, it’s the witch his screaming self. ‘Who would have thought that some little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness.’

These are dark times in Trump Tower, its gold logo looking smoke damaged and tilted. The T is falling off, leaving rump Tower as ironic icon. The hunter has become the prey, his attorneys are lawyering up like madmen, and the greasy little Giuliani has finally weaseled himself into the inner sanctum where men are chewed up and spit out faster than an Oscar Mayer wiener. Even the True Sycophants become sausage in a matter of weeks, sometimes days. Loyalty is a bad joke, it’s All for One and One for One. The rest, they’ll have a snarky nickname shortly.

The center cannot hold, as Yeats wrote, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. The evangelicals may like this guy just for the reason that he may be the rough beast slouching toward Bethlehem to be born. There are plenty of folks who pray for Apocalypse, plenty who secretly want the pandemic or the Big One, lots of folks who see the End Times and rejoice. The Anti-Christ, they may be hoping in their dark hollow hearts, the One who brings Chaos to the world. Drain the Swamp! Pull down the Walls! A better day is Coming.

But there will be no Second Coming this go around. We will be having an exorcism, a witch trial, a great national cleansing, count on that. You want End Times, you’ll have to wait a little longer in your miserable sanctimony. This isn’t the One prophesied in Revelations, kids, this is the wicked witch of the west. The bucket of water is being readied, the monkey army of Republicans will cheer when it’s thrown and the witch is melted, we’ll all go back to the old partisan politics. History will sort this out later, plenty of new jobs there. But we will be rid of the Reign of Terror that will be Trump’s final legacy. Ding dong, the witch will be dead.

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