The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

 

Walter was up on his soapbox at the South End Senile Center where he was chowing down on the Thursday meatloaf special, mashed potatoes, gravy and gray peas on the side, his favorite, but today he’d barely touched his food. A little busy promoting his favorite lobbying group, the National Rifle Association. “When guns are outlawed,” he shouted to a table of us hungry pacifists, “only terrorists will have guns.”

A husband and wife had just killed 14 people down in Pasadena and Walter had heard, driving over, that they were Muslims. “Terrorists!” he shouted.

“Oh, stop, Walter,” Randy objected with a forkful of mashed potatoes held at the ready. “Where was the outrage when that Christian guy shot up the Planned Parenthood clinic last week? Murder’s murder, okay?”

“You lily livered liberals,” Walter alliterated sadly, sinking back into his seat as his meatloaf grew colder, “you think Muslims believe in peace and love? Gimme a break, Randy. It’s time to wake up and smell the Koran, buddy.”

Two Toke Tom started to respond until I put a jab in his side and shook my head. “Don’t get started, T.T. I want to be able to digest this lunch before dinner. Let him wind down.” Tom chuckled and grinned as he shoveled in a load of potatoes studded with peas.

Walter wolfed a mouthful of meatloaf. “We either fight em over there or we fight em here,” he muttered with a full face.

“Who we fighting, Walt?” Teddy asked, putting his tray across from Walter’s and parking himself.

“We’re fighting the Muslims, for chrissake,” Walter exploded, slapping mashed spuds across the DMZ. Teddy looked around at the rest of us who’d gone Silent Night, Holy Night, then he grinned. “Lot of Muslims, Walter. Billions. That’s a lot of enemies.” He hefted a slab of meatloaf. “Comfort food,” he fairly intoned. “Course, I don’t think there’s even one on the South End, not sure. You know any?”

Walter spluttered, Walter went red in the face. “Any?” Teddy asked again sweetly. Walter shook his head. Teddy went to work on the potatoes and gravy. “I say we declare victory,” he said cheerfully, “and get down to business. Lunch.” For a few minutes we all ate in silence, a blessed Christmas truce.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 29th, 2015 at 2:36 pm and is filed under rantings and ravings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.