How long your nose is, Bushocchio! And this was in September, before he said he'd rebuild New Orleans and that he didn't wiretap Americans without warrants. After his most recent round of speeches about how well things are going in Iraq, his nose must be very, very long indeed!
		If you're wondering which way Bush wants to go next, and why, this sign might make it clear.
		This woman is holding a sign with pictures of her 2 sons -- 1 was already in Iraq, and the other would be shipping out in a few months. They can't protest to stop the war, so they asked her to do it for them. I told her that I hope both of her sons make it back home alive, as well and as soon as they can.
		When I took this picture, I had last seen Casey's portrait only a few weeks before, hanging in the big tent at Camp Casey 2. Nice to see it again, but I didn't run into any of the other new friends I'd met in Texas. I'm sure a few of them made it to Washington, but in that crowd of a few hundred thousand I guess I missed them. Nothing to feel too sad about, though, when you get that kind of turnout for a rally against the war.
		For a day I had the chance to get back to Camp Casey, once again taking shelter from the rain inside the tent. This time I only had to go 300 miles, and instead of 3,000 people standing with Cindy, it was 300,000.
		Could you make a bad situation for American soldiers even worse? Rumsfeld can! Bad enough to send them back, over and over again, on an unnecessary fool's errand with no end in sight. Bad enough that their guns jam and they can't get body armor. Bad enough that they eat spoiled food and drink toilet water. But not bad enough for Rummy -- he has to add a little D.U. to the mix. Not only do our soldiers get to poison places in Iraq with radioactive dust that will hang around for a few hundred thousand years, but each of them gets to bring a little bit of that poison home inside them, to help shorten their lives and add some real physical pain to the emotional scars they carry inside from all the death and destruction.
		Who is that standing out in the middle of all those crosses, smiling and bouncing the world around as if it's his very own personal beach ball? He looks familiar, doesn't he? Who is that?
		Photos from Washington, D.C., September 2005 -- posted 4/13/06