The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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Pastor Paul was visibly troubled at the monthly deacon meeting of the Little Church of the Ravine this past week. “That slaughter in God’s house down in Texas could happen here,” he was saying to the assembled deacons after his introductory prayer for the 26 deceased churchgoers in the town of 400. “We need to make sure it doesn’t.”

Tony Travers held his well-worn King James leatherbound Bible tightly in his lap and seemed to be swaying slightly. “I hear you, Paul,” he was saying quietly, almost inaudibly. “But the Lord’s will be done.”

“C’mon, now Tony, let’s not turn this into a crisis of faith,” Brandon Fallows said. “The Lord helps those who help themselves. What we need here is some security.” Pastor Paul nodded sagely. “I agree,” he intoned. “Security. What do you have in mind, Brandon?”

Brandon obviously had given this considerable thought because he spoke right up. “Someone stationed at the church door,” he replied. “Someone who can act if the occasion arises.”

Phil Crenshaw shook his head no. “I know where you’re going with this, Brandon, but guns aren’t the solution, they’re the problem. You can’t put an armed guard at the chapel entrance.”

“Can’t we?” Brandon retorted. “That maniac in Texas would’ve killed every person in the church that morning if a neighbor hadn’t gotten there with his own rifle. He saved countless lives, you better believe that.”

Phil shook his head. “Violence begets violence. Vengeance is ….”

“Oh stop the horseshit, Phil,” Brandon said, cutting him off, then caught the disapproval on Pastor Paul’s face. “Sorry, Pastor.”

The deacon meeting never came to a conclusion. Brandon offered to serve as armed guard, but the others were unsure of the rightness of that course and less sure what the congregation might think of one of the deacons packing heat before services. “Let’s pray on this awhile longer,” Tony suggested and the majority seemed to relax visibly. All except Brandon who left muttering about defending himself and his family. No doubt next Sunday he would probably come loaded for bear.

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I lived a fairly large chunk of my formative years in the dairy state of Wisconsin so naturally I follow their politics which is everything important to the Dairylanders outside of the Green Bay Packers, fishing and hunting. In recent years the good folks of Wisconsin have gerrymandered their districts to such an algorithmically fine degree that now the GOP has gained full control of the legislature, the governor’s office and the judiciary, the whole shitaree. The pigs are definitely at the trough, to use an agrarian phrase … which may be why some lawmakers are hoping to change the license plate logo that now reads AMERICA’S DAIRYLAND. I’m not sure what they have in mind for a replacement, maybe something along the lines of LET THE RICH RULE.

Every week or so I come across some article in the newspaper concerning my old homeland. This week a buddy who is also an ex-pat escapee sent me one concerning legislation to allow children of all ages to hunt deer. You know, if they had an adult monitor of course. Maybe you never hunted with a kid in tow, some feisty fellow with a .30-.30 he can barely lift up to his bony little shoulder, safety probably OFF and excited as hell for the first opportunity to kill something bigger than himself. I have. Trust me, it’s a horrifyingly frightening experience. So frightening, in fact, that I quit hunting in the woods of Northern Wisconsin right then and there. I’d rather hunt Siberian tigers with a Bowie knife than hunt near a kid with an itchy trigger finger and no sense of firearm safety, I don’t care if he has 15 adult monitors in the brush with him all sporting NRA logos tattooed on their asses. He’s going to shoot at anything that moves more than likely.

I’ve known people, adult people, who have inadvertently shot and killed their hunting partners. One shot his father. Another shot a brother. The NRA will tell you guns don’t kill people. And they’re half right. But totally wrong. What is true is how it changed some lives forever. The father killer went crazy. The one who shot his brother couldn’t live with the guilt and eventually killed himself. I’m not sure how many stupid deaths will result from grade school hunters. But if you think Wisconsin’s GOP legislators aren’t on top of this, consider the bill this weekend that seeks to ban abortions because abortions would reduce the future workforce of the state. You have to admire the problem-solving tenacity of these lawmakers.

Given that admirable ability, allow me to offer a new license plate option to my favorite Red State legislators: KILL A FEW SAVE A FEW. Compassionate conservatism still lives in Wisconsin.

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