If this is prehistory, what the hell was yesterday? And if the universe is infinite, where the hell does it end? And if God is both infallible and omnipotent, how come s/he can’t make mistakes?
Questions, questions, questions! Oh, how you vex me with your endless inquisitiveness! What was that? I was asking those questions? I? Hmmm… I do remember muttering something a few moments ago, and my utterances did end in an upward lilt. So perhaps you’re right – I guess I am the inquisitor, not the inquisitee. (Inquisitee?) My apologies. I’m a bit disoriented, I admit. Driven from my home by a titanic battle of extraterrestrials. Shot into space and dropped into an inhospitable ocean whose evil currents deposited us onto the shore of a strange and foreboding land. Lashed to an oar like a galley slave (hard work, few breaks, but you meet some very interesting people), then winning my freedom at enormous personal cost… only to face the wrath of a gorgon-like creature from the deep. What kind of a week have I had? Don’t ask!
Okay, okay… I didn’t face all this alone. Naturally, I was joined in my misadventures by fellow Big Green-ers, Matt Perry and John White, plus Marvin (my personal robot assistant), the man-sized tuber of our acquaintance, Big Zamboola, and the two Lincolns (posi- and anti-), who split up with us on the mysterious island of Manna-hat-a-hun. Last week, we were being pursued by a large, loch-dwelling denizen of the deep – in essence, the Creature of the Barge Canal – which had barged (so to speak) into the riverboat’s on-deck buffet and helped itself to a generous serving of shrimp salad with a side of officer of the day. Believing we were next on the menu, we opted for below-decks, from whence we had emerged, in hopes that our giant pursuer would be unable to follow.
The thing about Diplodocus-like critters is that they have kind of a long neck… a real long neck. And if they want to follow you through a bulkhead, down a long flight of stairs, and into several cabins, well, they can kind of do just that. What to do? We panicked, quite frankly. My eyes started rolling back in my head. Marvin’s gears started squeaking rather loudly, and smoke came out of his audio sensors. Before we all had the chance to fall over backwards, Matt came forth with a rendition of Big Green’s Dino song:
Dinos had a good time on the trolley!
Dinos had a good time at the fair!
Dinos had a holiday, ’til the sky turned mean and gray
Their underbellies went a-gushin’ jelly and they died in searing pain!
… and so on and so forth. Well… the giant sea creature – Diplodocus, I believe – started swaying back and forth in time with the music. It was a trance like state, brought on by the singing of this ludicrous little number Matt and I pulled out of our asses in about five minutes some years back. Damnedest thing.
What happened next? Matt kept singing. When he got tired, I took over. Then it was Marvin’s turn. Then John. Sheesh. It’s going to be a long trip back to the mill.
to get a lot of traction, what with spineless Democrats in charge of Congress, one eye focused (as always) on the next election. The Democratic leadership doesn’t like the sound of accountability for war crimes (so many having been complicit in those committed in Iraq and Afghanistan). Their solution is to elect one of their number president, so that they can take over the reins of the “unitary executive” Dubya has brought into being over the last seven years. The last thing they want to do is hobble the empire with accountability. So impeachment is “off the table,” as far as they’re concerned. Fine. As they say, impeachment is a political process, not a legal proceeding. If what we’re dealing with here is a duopoly with a strong commitment to maintaining imperial power, it would appear to be in the best interests of both parties to put a check on this growing public desire. 
This goes beyond any notion of justice. This is about deterrence. There is no way in hell we can rely upon the current American political culture to indict itself – it simply isn’t going to happen without massive pressure from below. By placing this case in the hands of a competent international body, there is a slim chance that some kind of prosecution might actually take place. Even if the effort ends up being merely symbolic, it would have the value of acknowledging the actions of our political leaders as crimes against humanity. If a guilty verdict were to be achieved, Bush and others would probably remain free, but I can’t think even so craven a leader as Dubya would relish the notion of being branded a war criminal before the entire world. Lord knows, in retirement he may end up with a kind of Pinochet/Kissinger problem – avoid certain foreign capitals for fear of being served (and I don’t mean by a dance troupe). That’s not a lot of satisfaction, but it might be the beginning of a means of discouraging presidents and congressional leaders from waltzing us off to war whenever the spirit moves them.
Settle down, now. That’s right. Keep calm. (Zamboola – grab the net!) That’s right, nobody’s gonna’ harm you. (Not that net, you idiot… the fishing net!) Nice monster….
elected to cast off our bonds (we were informal galley slaves, or “temps” as they’re sometimes called) and storm our way to the command deck to confront our captors. It was then that we were faced with… well, I can only describe it as a large, snake-like object. Oh, foul it was, with a… ahem… I mean, this fucker was easily fifty feet high, and it was all neck. And, unlike the rest of us, it probably never had to settle for the low-hanging fruit. In spite of that fact, it seemed jolly well interested in our little vessel… or something therein. So the monster loomed above us. And it looked very, very hungry.
money at the baccarat table)? Lord no! So what the hell, some bastard rings a bell and the folks start lining up. Then that sea creature, mannerless lout that he (or she) is, cuts ahead in line and starts scooping up all of the crab salad. This drew the attention of the ship’s executive officer, who inserted himself between the comestibles and the sea monster, demanding that the beast find another source of sustenance. To give credit where credit is due, that critter did alter its dining plan, helping itself to the hapless lieutenant. (You need to be careful what you ask for.)