The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

For awhile in this year of Trump 2.0 I thought I’d lost my sense of humor. Again. Turns out, my funny bone had left me, gone in search maybe for a better host. Or, worst case, been deported to some third world prison without cause, without a hearing, without even a phone call to let me know what was going on. Who knows?

I know this — I spent too much time looking for that bone, mostly because the times are grim and every damn day brings another outrage, another corruption, more craziness and a few more steps down the rabbit hole where up is down, lies are ignored, greed is worshipped and everything is some kind of ‘deal’.

If you can’t find humor in this … well, you’re left with a slow rolling nightmare. C’mon, in another year, another reality, this would be darkly comical. Elon and his DOGE boyz searching for ‘woke’ references in order to cut those departments’ funding. A billion here, a billion there, no problem balancing the budget to make room for tax cuts for the rich. Fire all the folks at the Kennedy Center for the Arts and make Trump the Czar of Culture? You can’t see the hilarity in that? How about RFK for head of the Health Department? Or a flat earth believer for NASA? Donald on Mt. Rushmore or better yet, bigger than Chief Sitting Bull on the mountain nearby, carve a new mountain big enough for that colossal Ego?

This is all laughable stuff. You know, if my funny bone hadn’t taken an early exit. Not that I blame it, the dark humor had maybe gotten a bit too dark. Still, we should’ve stuck together, worked things out, kept the light on — or at least flickering.

I suppose I’ll have to look for a replacement. Ebay or Craigslist. Wanted: Used Funny Bone, not too brittle, must have loyalty. Room and Board provided. Drinkers okay.

Hopefully my old sense of humor will see this and take pity. Not that I want pity. I need laughs.