Archive for May, 2011


The renowned baritone, 100 years deceased, speaks to our own Charlotte Graham about his inability to find writing inspiration; over a decade before his operatic career begins.


BYGONE:  It’s November 5, 2007, and I am visiting Scott ____, in his home.  Mr. ____, you are aware of the possible consequences of your participation, correct?

____:  That it could alter my future and your past?  Yes.

BYGONE:  You’re not afraid?

____:  No.  If time is cyclical, then this is meant to be; if time is linear, I will be unaware of any consequences.

BYGONE:  Well said.

____:  Good.  Talking has always been easier than listening, for me.  And if I express myself most, using the fewest words, I’m making progress.

BYGONE:  Progress toward what?

____:  Anything!  Life is a journey, not a destination.

BYGONE:  Is that a mantra, for you?

____:  Sometimes.  I carry mantras wherever I go.  Earlier this evening, as I walked home, I used this Hindu passage as a mantra: “You have but the right to perform action; you have no hold on the results thereof.  May you not seek the rewards of action.  And may you never engage in wrong action.”

BYGONE:  And is that your mantra now?

____:  No.  Now it’s a passage from a Deepak Chopra book: “Relinquish your attachment to the outcome; everything is as it is meant to be, in this moment.”

BYGONE:  You let me sit on your recliner, while you sit on the sofa.  I appreciate this, but why?

____:  I have few visitors!

BYGONE:  I understand.  I also thank you for this coffee; but you serve it in a styrofoam cup.  Why?

____:  My dishwasher has been broken for years, and I’m too lazy to wash dishes by hand; so I use styrofoam cups, plates, and bowls,  and plastic spoons and forks!  By the way, I’m told these materials are not biodegradable.  What consequences will result from our using them?

BYGONE:  I remind you that the less you know of the future, the better.

____:  Oh yeah; sorry.

BYGONE:  Before this interview, you mentioned your difficulty finding inspiration for writing.  Can you expand on this, for our readers?

____:  I always try to write something, between Thursdays.

BYGONE:  Thursdays?

____:  Yes.  Each Thursday I meet with a writers’ group in Pace, to enjoy the writing of others, and to share my own.  I’ve only attended 4 sessions, but I love it.  It takes me back to my college years.

BYGONE:  What would happen if you attended a meeting with nothing of your own to share?

____:  I’d still enjoy it, though not as much.  In receiving, I give; in giving, I receive.

BYGONE:  Yes; so you need to write each week, between Thursdays.  Do you sit at the typewriter, and try?

____:  No!  That’s like lying in bed, trying to sleep!  It doesn’t work if I try.  I must live my daily life, hoping to be inspired sometime in the week.  It’s like courtship.  If I run from a woman, she follows; if I run toward her, she flees!

BYGONE:  Then let’s take a look at your sources of inspiration.  I can see why your recliner faces your living-room window; sunlight streams through live oaks.  You view this when listening to your stereo, don’t you?

____:  Yes; except during the most sublime musical moments, when I close my eyes.

BYGONE:  And I am literally surrounded by VHS tapes, books, CD’s, DVD’s, record albums, and audiocassettes; literature, music, and film.  These must be sources of inspiration for you!

____:  The music and film are, but I haven’t read any books in over a year.  These days, I work cryptograms instead.  Take a look.

BYGONE:  Challenging Cryptograms;  what will you do when you’ve solved all of these?

____:  If I cannot find any more cryptogram books, I will force myself to return to reading.  You see there, on the end table, A History of Pagan Europe; well that’s the last book I began, so it will be the first one I finish.

BYGONE:  And in the meantime?

____:  I can only hope that I’ll wake up with an idea, some morning during the week.

BYGONE:  What about your dreams; are they sources?

____:  Ah, my dreams are fantastic beyond description!  When sleeping, I live a totally different life.  In fact, I often wish I could sleep and dream forever.  Yet once I wake, I forget the details of my dreams; thus the inspiration fades.

BYGONE:  Your muse is fickle, isn’t she?

____:  Yes.

BYGONE:  Any final words for the readers of Bygone?

____:  No.  There are enough words already; there’ll be even more, in your time.  I will let your readers find their own words.


In 1991, I took a rather uneventful beach trip, but kept a journal along the way.  Upon returning home, I turned the journal into a story, without adding anything but a soundtrack (one song per entry) and a few lines from a book toward the end.  I still have the book, The Last Man on Earth (1982, ISBN 0-449-20990-3).  It is an anthology of short stories by various writers–all using last-person-on-Earth scenarios.  And it is edited by Isaac Asimov, Martin H. Greenberg, and Charles G. Waugh.  I love every story in the book, though I used the last lines of just two for my story, The Most Sentimental Man, by Evelyn E. Smith, and Knock, by Frederic Brown.  And I employed the book’s title in my story title.  As for the soundtrack, these were all favorite songs of mine that seemed to accompany the entries best–I was probably thinking of them when I wrote the entries, in the first place.  You could say this was an early model for my music-impression poetry.  Without further explanation, let me present the journal-turned-story, for your enjoyment and/or curiosity (I took myself even more seriously back then, so I don’t mind if you’re amused at some of the drama–after all, I am)!    

Last Man on Earth Story

Scott ____

April 17, Wednesday

4:25 pm, Mobile, Alabama

Led Zeppelin, Rock and Roll

     Downtown, Government Street, fixing to head toward the coast.  Worried about having no companions, no shelter.  Must learn to live alone.  It’s hot as sweat in this car.  The world is open to me, not man’s but God’s.  Hasten to enter it.

4:52, Daphne

Zeppelin, Kashmir

     Called Chip, not home.  I’m completely alone.  I will maybe meet some friends, but prepare for that not occurring.  Some say if you can’t live alone, you can’t live with others.  I say how can you live at all–I’m the only reliable person in my life.  Have $19 cash.

5:46, Robertsdale

U2, A Sort of Homecoming

     Looking for a place, Catholic Social Services is closed.  Don’t want to spend all my beach time finding shelter.

6:25, Gulf Shores

Juice Newton, Break It to Me Gently

     Finally at the seaside.


B.J. Thomas, Don’t Worry Baby

     Beach isn’t as exhilarating as I thought.  But water’s not cold and the sunset looks steamy, glaring off the shoreline like spirits rising to Heaven.  Might need to go back if things get too monotonous, yet don’t want to leave.  Hope I can stay all night.


Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Rebels

     Laundry is $1, soap 50 cents.  Prices are one thing that keeps this from being a paradise.  Still searching for a bed.


The Eagles, Hotel California

     Clothes washed, planning to shower on the beach.  Took a nap, woke to find a salesguy trying out some all-purpose cleaner on my tire.  Didn’t hurt the tire, thank God!


Zeppelin, What Is and What Should Never Be

     Showered in the pavilion at the Hangout.  Now there’s a $2 parking fee!  Things sure change, usually not for the better.  Just switched shorts in Circle K.  Town’s loaded with nubile girls, wish I knew how to pick up one.  And the activity level is about three times as high as on February 23, so many wayward sounds in the condos.  Can’t relate to any of these people–all kids, prunes, and Yankees!  Summer’s coming, and I cannot hear the surf for the cars.

10:28, Perdido Key, Florida

Zeppelin, Achilles’ Last Stand

     Just called Grandma’s, in Pensacola.  Dad answered.  I asked if I could sleep there.  He said no, as if it were his house in the first place.  Still no shelter but my car.  Heading to the Florala Lounge.


Crosby Stills & Nash, Love the One You’re With

     Imagine this–you walk through a crowd that could occupy all the houses on a city block, and the only thing anyone says is, “S’cuse me”!  The Florala’s nice, but a bar’s a bar.  Of course any place is a bar , really–church, college, supermarket–“S’cuse me.”  One irony of contemporary America is that loneliness increases with population growth.  I’ll give this lounge one more try, after finding a clean restroom down the road.  Probably wasting time, but I’ve got plenty of time to waste.  This is beginning to sound like a Jimmy Buffet song, call it, “Got the Blues in Paradise”!


The Grassroots, Temptation Eyes

     Purchased sausage biscuits and breath mints at a convenience store, now down to $15.  Returning to the Florala.

April 18, Thursday

1:42 am

Ronnie Milsap, It Was Almost Like a Song

     Now leaving the bar.  Met pretty girls too drunk and snooty to give me phone numbers.  Hope to find one different from the rest, someday.  Well, the music was good.


Journey, Wheel in the Sky

      There’s a boardwalk here, I just went to the Gulf’s edge.  Water’s creepy at night, but the sky is beautiful.  Away from lights, the stars are glitter spilt upside-down on the ceiling.

3:54, Orange Beach, Alabama

Zeppelin, Thank You

     Went to a bar called the Keg.  Good conversation, but I’ll never see those people again.

4:51, Gulf Shores

Genesis, In the Glow of the Night

     Just bought food and plastic bags.  Cash is down to $12, and I’ve spent $4 food stamps.  I’ve prepared a bottle, with a message I typed at home–going to throw it to sea after eating.


Juice, Angel of the Morning

     Here at a dead end, I tossed the bottle into the water.  The note inside read that I was wondering where it would arrive, and listed my address.  Prayed it would reach an exotic woman, as I stood in the sand.  One of the most surreal places I’ve ever been–miles of road, silent beach houses.  Raining now, but the sunrise is a splash of pink paint like a teenage girl’s bedroom, a Leslie Gore dream.  This moment, I could be the last man on Earth.

7:15, Orange Beach

Genesis, Home by the Sea

     Found the wooded campgrounds of Gulf State Park, but was told I’d need money and a tent.  Crossed the highway into a parking lot.  Cash is down to $11, bought milk and chocolate at the Tom Thumb store.  Still raining, can hardly roll down the windows.  Too tired to drive home.  Crows pick at garbage before flying away.  A man jogs along the beach, the only other person around.  Waves slam the shore, proving the inevitability of this constant universe.  Too sleepy to write anymore.

12:14 pm

ZZ Top, Thug

     Dreamed of a beautiful shark.  Had windows down as far as possible without letting in too much rain.  Through smoky clouds, the Sun is a lighthouse.  Picked up more biscuits at Tom Thumb, $10 left.


Aerosmith, Janie Got a Gun

     Trying to get back to sleep, but don’t really want to.  Heading toward Ono Island, where it’s rumored that Tom Selleck and Barbara Walters have beach houses.


Rush, Closer to the Heart

     Weather’s like a bowl of soggy corn flakes.  Crossed bridge to Ono, the guard wouldn’t let me in.  He said he’d never seen Tom Selleck, and that Barbara Walters is not the Barbara Walters.  He also suggested I not believe everything I hear–but what if what I hear is something he says?

2:29, Gulf Shores

Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, Little Red Riding Hood

     Right on the beach, but couldn’t park at the Hangout because of $2 fee.  Threw bread to seagulls in flight, scavenged shells and the largest sand dollar I’d ever seen.  Then walked back to my car, as the water (not warm enough for swimming) smashed and swirled around my ankles.  Sun is brighter now, and the seagulls cry out from rain pools on asphalt.  I envy them–they’ve nothing to do but hunt and fish, fuck and fly.


Zeppelin, Ramble On

     For a while I can feel like a god, at the price of bread.  Seagulls followed me to the Hangout, and past the Pink Pony Pub.  Laughed as they caught bread balls in mid-air.  Grabbed crackers at the Pub, popcorn from a restaurant, and a postcard in a drugstore.  Birds followed me back, diving for the crackers and popcorn.  People smiled when I gave bread to a little girl, and asked her to help with the feeding.  Others jeered, while most didn’t seem to care either way.  To the gulls, however, I was the hub of the world–pausing to climb atop lifeguard stands.  Even after running out of chow, sat above the people, resting my arms like a king.  But the sea brought me down to earth again.  It draws me to itself, perhaps because it could take me to Europe.


England Dan & John Ford Coley, I’d Really Love to See You Tonight

     Learned local history at Souvenir City.


Zeppelin, Dancing Days

     Got cheese and crackers at BP, $9 remaining.  On a whim, I’m going to find the Adult Activities Center, where I missed a dance.


Tom Petty, A One Story Town

     Found it.  Going home now.

5:50, Foley

Tom Petty, Don’t Come Around Here No More

     Cash down to $8, after a couple McDonald’s burgers.  I’m tired of this whole trip.  Even the most beautiful place can be the loneliest.

6:35, Loxley

Zeppelin, Trampled Under Foot

     $3 gas, $5 left.  Going to look for a Cajun girl I met at the pumps.


Benjamin Orr, Stay the Night

     Never found her–too many houses in such a small town.  What if she’s destined for me?  Then I guess I’ll see her again.


The Who, I Can See for Miles

     Been gone only twenty-four hours, seems like months.  Time passes slowly in this state.

9:15, Mobile

Paul Simon, Born at the Right Time

     Home.  Trying to stay awake long enough to eat…

     For, whoever before in history had had his dreams–and what was wrong with dreams, after all–so completely gratified?  What child, envisioning a desert island all his own, could imagine that his island could be the whole world?  —Evelyn E. Smith, The Most Sentimental Man

     And after a while he heard her hesitant footsteps coming back. He smiled a little.  See?  It wasn’t horrible, really.  The last man on Earth sat alone in a room.  There was a knock at the door… –Frederic Brown, Knock

     …to stay asleep long enough to dream.



From a non-Christian perspective, the prediction that the “Rapture” shall occur today is hilarious.  But from a Christian perspective, it is serious–not because it’s believable, but  because it’s blasphemous.  According to the Gospels, only God knows when the Rapture will take place.  Jesus states this most clearly in Mark 13 : 32.  He says, “But of that day and that hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father.” 

Christians have been predicting the Rapture since Christianity began.  And they’ve always been mistaken.  But worse,  they’ve been in contempt of Christianity itself.  Because when a Christian claims to know the hour of the Rapture, he/she is claiming to know what even Christ does not know.  He/she is second-guessing God (the “Father”), and to second-guess God is blasphemous.  According to Christian teachings, blasphemy is the worst sin one can commit.  So whoever started this rumor that the Rapture would occur today is guilty of the worst sin, according to Christian teachings.

If this were the day of the Rapture, however, and one felt the urge to commit one of the lesser sins, one last time–he/she might as well choose from one of the Seven Deadly Sins.  For those of you who haven’t seen the film, Seven, the Seven Deadly Sins are envy, gluttony, greed, lust, pride, sloth, and wrath.  I took one of those online quizzes once to see which of these I was most guilty of–and the answer surprised me.  According to the quiz results, I’m most guilty of sloth!

But I think I’m most guilty of lust today, particularly after seeing Vera Miles in an episode of The Alfred Hitchock Hour–and feel it most appropriate to celebrate this “sin” by posting a few photos of the superb actress and exquisitely beautiful woman, for my lustful pleasure (yours too, if applicable)!

Vera Miles



I’ve found a website,, with some of the most amazing photographs I’ve ever seen.  Just as the subjects the photographer chooses say alot about the photographer, the photographs the viewer chooses say alot about the viewer.  The picture I’m sharing below is shockingly beautiful, to me–more because of the colors than the subject, I think.  And it is definitely my favorite.  I highly recommend a visit to this website–your favorite may be totally different, which is good.  We should celebrate our differences.


Forget what you’ve learned about genies from television– it’s nonsense.  I know, because I encountered one.  As I lay on my bed this afternoon, listening to English on my shortwave, the language suddenly changed to Arabic–and I understood it!  Then a man’s voice said, in that same language, “Yes, I am a genie, and I have already granted your first wish: to be bilingual.  For the rest of your life, you will speak and write Arabic as easily as English.

Surely enough, I replied in Arabic.  “Why me?”

“You are not meant to know yet,” he said.  “Now do you want two more wishes granted?”

I considered asking the genie to appear, in the flesh, but realized that would be a wish.  “Yes, thank you!” I replied.

I had always wanted to be invincible, to have ultimate power–so I could fix this broken world, and bullets, even viruses, poisons, and nuclear bombs could not harm me.  But I remembered the saying, ‘Absolute power corrupteth, absolutely,’ and knew I’d lose my soul if that desire were granted.

So I went to the second idea, and said, “I want to be a shape-shifter– I want to be able to change into any other living thing I choose, then change back, at will.”

“Why?” asked the genie.

“I want to fly, for one thing.  I could become a massive hawk, and soar over Mobile Bay.  And I want to see what it’s like to be a woman.  In short, I want to have fantastic experiences I couldn’t have, as myself.”

“But you could steal, with impunity.  You could take the forms of married men and have sex with their wives.  I know your fear–that of losing your soul.  Are you willing to risk it?”

“No,” I sighed, after a moment’s reflection.

“Then how about this,” the genie said, “You’ve always been totally deaf in your left ear…”

“Yes, of course!  Okay, my second wish is to hear out of both ears!”  Suddenly, a universe of sound opened!  I was somewhat overwhelmed, of course, but I knew I’d become accustomed to it.

“You have one more wish,” said the genie.

“Oh yeah,” I chuckled, “I forgot!  But I don’t know what to wish for.”

The genie took a breath.  “Choose the first thing that comes to mind.”

“A dog!” I replied, “One I can wrestle with– a cross between an Irish wolfhound and a Saint Bernard!”

When the dog appeared beside me, I sat up.  I wrestled with him, laughing the whole time.  Then I finally calmed down, and scratched him behind the ears.  “This dog is house-trained?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” the genie replied, “And he is immune to all disease, and will live as long as you do.  Furthermore, he is the most intelligent dog on Earth, and can be trained to do almost anything, short of speaking.”

“I don’t suppose he can use a litterbox?” I said.

“No!” he laughed, “But he already knows to relieve himself in the same remote part of your lawn, every time.”

“How can I thank you?” I asked.

“By granting the three wishes of another.”

“But I’m no genie,” I said, “How could I have the wisdom to grant the right wishes?”

“You already do–why do you think I contacted you, in the first place?”

The Arabic changed back to English–the genie was gone.  I turned off my shortwave, and ponderously petted my dog.  I decided to apply at the University of West Florida or Pensacola State College, as an Arabic instructor.  If neither of them would hire me, I’d apply elsewhere, as a translator.  But first I must thank the genie, by keeping my commitment to him.

So, Dear Reader, what would you wish for first?


While attending the University of South Alabama, I met and befriended alot of foreign students.  Many of them were from Bangladesh, and I visited them often.  Sometimes another American student would stop by, and we’d play a mild gag on him.  It was my idea–I’d always had a strange talent for making up languages, as well as using different dialects of English with ease.  So they’d say something in Bengali, and I’d pretend to converse with them.  And it worked every time–no visiting fellow-American student could ever tell I didn’t know Bengali!

Long after I’d graduated, I attended a writers’ workshop of my writers’ group–and the term, glossolalia, came up one day in our discussion.  Inspired by this, I used knowledge I’d gained in high-school speech class, as well as my strange talent for making up  languages, to write the following tongue-in-cheek poem:


Scott ____

There are over four hundred possible human vocalizations

(English uses only forty).

As babbling babies, we actually make all four hundred sounds

Our minds slowly narrowing them down to those

Of the languages to which we are regularly exposed.

As adults, we sometimes regress

Particularly when in states of extreme emotional transcendence.

We use these four hundred sounds repeatedly el azmet.

Troisun kang dimonion alat franchasn

Shyn pur’lout fra tojestantin veradoiteg.

Mi frun toben chyn welbet t’pran foven

Yarlet pogoi ai vo rintwix.

Kiso lugryp herval foculaze

Cotelac wung gryt vebow seloi te nack.

U p’likota ny

Tu flagorm sech pychang wotib mwa qelyd glossolalia.


I had my DVR set to record an episode of Night Gallery tonight.  But when I started to play the recording, I was at first disappointed.  The DVR had been set on the right channel, at the right time.  But it had recorded the last thirty minutes of the Mrs. America Pageant for 2011.  It was hosted by Florence Henderson, and the winner was Mrs. Florida.  This had been just broadcast, because Florence wished everyone a happy Mothers’ Day.  And the contestants were beautiful–having much better figures than most Miss America contestants these days. 

I wasn’t surprised.  The most beautiful women I’ve ever known personally are/were married.  Some might say it’s because they’re married that I’m so attracted to them–that it’s my natural male desire for a forbidden woman.  And that may be true.  But I think there’s more.  All my female friends have been married women–in fact unmarried women avoid friendship with me.  Married women are much kinder toward me, even flirtatious with me.  The reason is obvious–they don’t feel threatened

It saddens me that women feel threatened so much anyway.  There’s so much child molestation and rape in our society that the paranoia of it has actually exceeded its incidence.  This is the case with most crimes–and one reason I’m so supportive of executing the cowards who commit them.  Opponents of capital punishment say it doesn’t work.  They’re mistaken.  Execution doesn’t seem to work in the United States, because it’s not carried out often enough.  Hardened criminals like child molesters and rapists are not afraid of prison–but all criminals are afraid of death.

Still, I digress.  There is no reason for women to feel threatened by most men in the United States.  Most of us are simply healthy men, attracted to women as we are designed to be, through evolution.  True, some of us may seem overbearing in our approach–but this is simply because we are so lonely.  And no matter how much we try to hide this desperation, we cannot.  For women truly are more intuitive than men.

I so often wish my married female friends and acquaintances were not married–yet realize if they weren’t, they’d probably have nothing to do with me.  Married women trust me, and it feels so good to be trusted!  When I approach an unmarried woman for a date, I am not looking for a one-night-stand–I truly desire a lasting, intimate relationship with a woman to whom I’m attracted, physically, intellectually, and spiritually.  But I cannot convince her of this, no matter how much I try.  Thus I ask women out less often now than ever in my life, I’m sick of trying.  And I realize that women are not attracted to nice guys or mean guys–but indifferent guys.  Yet indifference is impossible for me. 

I didn’t mean for this post to become so personal and melancholic–I may decide not to publish it.  But just in case, here is April Lufriu, Mrs. America 2011.


I regularly watch episodes of The Twilight Zone, and The Alfred Hitchock Hour–in fact these are the only television shows I watch that are not documentaries.  I love both, not just because I love science fiction/fantasy and mystery, but also because I love plot twists!  And both shows usually have them!

The other night I watched an episode of The Twilight Zone, entitled, A Piano in the House (1961).  It’s one of the best episodes I’ve ever seen.  And this episode featured an actress name Joan Hackett.  I found her ravishing (not to mention talented)–and I did a photo search to see more of her. 

While searching, I came across a photograph of her gravestone.  This had happened before, and I would have ignored it–except that it had quite a unique and delightful epitaph. 

An epitaph can say alot about the person buried beneath it.  The motivational speaker, Zig Ziglar, once said he’d like his epitaph to read: He Wouldn’t Quit.  This could be amusingly misinterpreted, of course–but he explained that it referred to his positive-thinking ideals, specifically his practice of continuing to get up after being knocked down.  Still, his epitaph would be quite serious, as most of them are. 

My burial plot is amidst those of my parents and brother.  It is next to that of my brother, Mike, who died in 1989.  Because Mike was a musical genius (he was attending Yale, studying to get his masters in music when he died), his epitaph reads: Music Is Eternal.  Quite appropriate for him (had he lived, he would probably be very well known in the realm of classical, particularly sacred music today).  I plan for mine to read: God Is Unlimited.  I think that would be quite appropriate, not for me as a person but for my spiritual beliefs.  Mike’s epitaph and my hypothetical one are both serious too.

Still, some epitaphs are not serious, but hilarious!  And these say more about the person perhaps, than the serious ones.  There is an old joke-epitaph: Here lies the body of Mike O’Day, who died maintaining his right of way; his right was sound, his will was strong, but he’s just as dead as if he’d been wrong!  To my knowledge, this was never used for a real person–but some are.  And such is the case for Joan Hackett.

Her epitaph reads: Go Away–I’m Asleep.  And though I’m not completely certain it was her idea, or even that it wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, I’m reasonably certain of both.  And if I’m correct, this woman must have been an admirable person, to say the least!  She maintained a sense of humor, even in the face of death–thus was more courageous than most of us could ever be!



I understand Osama Bin Laden’s been killed.  I’m pleased, of course.  But I’m also angry, because he could have been killed almost a decade ago. 

I’m by no means a pacifist, though I am an isolationist.  This means, in part, that I believe no country should get involved in any military action unless its borders are directly attacked.  So the only two times I feel America’s military involvement outside its borders was not only justified, but necessary, in the last century were those immediately after December 7, 1941, and September 11, 2001.  Regarding the latter, Bush decided to take a little detour into Iraq–and countless soldiers and civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan have died, who would not have died otherwise.  As mentioned here, I am opposed to both the Democratic and Republican Parties as they are today.  Thus I favor no Democratic president over any Republican one.  When Clinton was impeached, I felt it justified (and I still do).  But in fairness, there was a bumper sticker that read, When Clinton lied, no one died, and though this may be a little simplistic, it’s generally accurate.  Why wasn’t George W. Bush impeached, as well?  He betrayed our confidence, and lied to us with much deadlier results than Clinton had.  We voted for him, trusting him in saying that America was not the world’s policeman, and that we were not into nation-building.

I know it’s too late to impeach Bush.  But it’s not too late to try him for war crimes.  Taking advantage of our feelings about the atrocity committed on September 11, 2001, George W. Bush committed another atrocity, deceiving both our Republican and Democratic representatives in Congress to approve an invasion of Iraq while we were already involved in Afghanistan.  This was a crime against civilians (in both countries), against our soldiers, and against us.

In doing what he did, Bush became Bin Laden’s best ally.