Right now, at this very second, I am listening to Barack Obama telling me on live television that Osama bin Laden is dead. We took him out at last.

People are gathering in front of the White House now, where I was a year ago in April with my kids and the year before that. They are chanting and singing and waving American flags.

When I heard the news, from my son as he heard it break on Facebook, I first thought he was joking, and then I exclaimed, "YES!!" And I thought of 9/11, and the toll it took. All those lost, and the world changed for the worse, forever. My pleasure in the death of an old, ugly, vicious, hateful, evil son-of-a-bitch is tempered by the reality that we can't ever get back the things he took, and hatred is never in short supply.

I think of that Palestinian woman I saw on TV that September morning, dancing in joy at our misery. I think of the misery our country has caused others, why they hate us so.

It's good he's dead, and it doesn't bother me one bit that he was killed by U.S. forces. He was a cancer. But I don't really feel like celebrating. It's not like it's over.

But, hey. Fuck that guy. Rot in hell, bin Laden, rot in hell.