Impeach For America

I was a little kid when Watergate was going on, 9 or 10 years old.  Mom and Dad both worked so during the summer my brother and I got sent to a dude ranch sort of day camp that was out in the boonies.  Well it seemed out in the boonies to me at the time, anyway, but in actuality it was about a 30 minute drive out in the unincorporated part of the county.  Every day the camp van would pick us and a handful of other kids up in the morning and deliver us safely back home in the evening.  Our bus driver, Mr. Whitlow, was in his mid-20s, frumpy, had a mop of crazy blond curls, and loved to put peanut butter on everything .  The kids used to grill him: would you put peanut butter on a hamburger?  On tuna fish?  Even in chili?  Every time Mr. Whitlow would emphatically insist that yes he would.  And so it was Mr. Whitlow would attempt to entertain us on the interminable ride to and from camp every day; sometimes we'd sing...