Antonin Scaley's black-robed possee dealt terrorist-huggers everywhere a major setback.
Ruling 6 good to 3 not-invited-next-time, the Court ruled that if you give a terrorist group advice or training, you are just as bad as they are.
Scaley's nominal Chief Justice, John Roberts ("Jon-Bob" to friends of this blog), was assigned to write down Scaleys' thoughts on the matter.
Justice Stephen Breyer ("the Ice Man", for obvious reasons), was allowed to disagree in public. The Ice Man read his dissent aloud so FOX Spews would not lose the text completely.
TBO sent some minions to agree with Scaley's view, although it is not clear where he could find any. Through them, TBO claimed that "material support", under the Be Unkind To Terrorists statute, meant pretty much anything. TBO now has more power over Americans that Dick Cheney or The Alice of the Tea Party of Wonderland, Sarah Palin.
According to Jon-Bob, here's it works. TBO scans the globe (Mars starts next term. And ha ha). He then points a finger at a bunch of Sihks, say, singing acapella to their favorite candidate on a Charleston, SC street corner. That is enough to designate them as a terrorist group, even if TBO was just indicating that he liked the hue of the lead singer's raghe... turban.
Now that, the group is a designated terrorist group, they are off limits for any training or advice, because anything that helps the terrorists, ups their morale, makes them happy--or even less miserable--or better informed is now a waterboarding offence.
Examples Jo-Bob probably meant would be:
Showing a terrorist how to inflate his new Nike's on the subway;
Teaching a terrorist how to surrender;
Giving any New York cabbie directions to Yankee Stadium;
Paying any New York cabbie;
Adding terrorists to your nightly prayer list;
Putting a soaking wet towel on your head in 99 degree heat;
Suggesting, just in passing, that a terrorist consider making peace with infidels;
Broadcasting Sean Hannity (no, wait, it said "better informed");
Showing stills of any Megan Fox scene in which she wears a boostier in "Jonus Hex";
Showing stills of Megan and Brian Austin Green with BAG's face photoshopped out and replaced with that or your favorite blogger;
Explaining a Scaley Court decision;
Offering a terrorist five tiny pretzels on a three-hour USAirways flight that will connect through Philadelphia to anywhere useful;
Feel free to add ideas in comments below. Do not worry, though, no terrorists read this blog, because it seems to be a big damned secret.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Afghanistan Idiot: We Know What's Worth Fighting For
Face it. Do you or Green Day really care about Afghanistan or its combative tribes? Iraq, now that had oil worth fighting for. Afghanistan has what? Plants.
Of course, they should have democracy, burqas by Donna Karen, used voting machines from South Carolina and an American air base. They should be free to press, process and ship-by-super-tanker all the Poppy Juice Cocktail American can drink, too. They can make those nice throws and dogs, as well.
But, they are still pretty much Muslims who don't want infidels, largely and recently ambivalent about Muslims, shooting up their mountains, deserts and thorougfares. Not just Natoans, but Russians, as they indicated pretty well in the 1980's.
America and its willing allies really ventured into Afghanistan (damn it, not "invaded") to catch one guy, Osama bin Laden and break up his day camp network. The Taliban were simply so obsessed with Buddha shards and repurposing soccer stadiums that they missed the significance of one particular September in New York and, consequently, had to be shown both the boot and the door. Which door, unfortunately, led them back to Pakistan's mountains where they settled in next to Osama himself and where the Paki Intelligence Service just couldn't see them.
But really. Afghanistan?
Oh, my. How all that has changed.
Suddenly, under all the craggy hills, velcro-jamming sand, motley goats and prayer rugs Afghanistan is rich. Trillion dollars in minerals we need rich.
In a country where almost half the population lives on less per day than it cost to buy your Starbuck's latte on that day; where more than a third of $13 Billion in GDP comes from poppy juice and its derivatives. And that gaudy GDP is about 20% of what the US spends in shooting up the montains, deserts and both thoroughfares there.
The US Geological Survey, under contract with Harmid Karzai (but hopefully not his cleverer brother, Ahmid), found lots of gold, copper, iron ore and other mundane minerals. Like iron ore is worth an hour of drone fuel. True, but that's not the sexy stuff.
Sexy? Afghanistan? The camel vacation spot where Mullah Monocle made the guys where scraggly beards and the women head-to-toe draperies?
Can you spell Lithium?
No, not as in the med you just refilled. For batteries. The bass-drum-beating bunny things we're just beginning to need. For Priuses and their electric cousins; for storing solar energy where the sun don't shine and wind power when your flag flags. For our army of iPads and Droids. For crystal meth manu... Well, lots of important stuff.
Trying to revolutionize energy without Lithium is like trying to have a beach party without BP.
Ironically, TBO, just tonight, after asking the very same BP for some cash, has called on all Americans--except Dick Cheney--to gear up, seriously this time, for the green energy revolution. Like it was a big-time war or something. Our Green Day is upon us (to complete a quasi theme). And guess what afterthought is suddenly front and center in that Green Day revolution, at least until solar cells can run on moonlight. That would be long after your Lithium-driven pacemaker quits one last time.
Not a question, this time: Afghanistan.
That's almost like a big-time war already.
Of course, they should have democracy, burqas by Donna Karen, used voting machines from South Carolina and an American air base. They should be free to press, process and ship-by-super-tanker all the Poppy Juice Cocktail American can drink, too. They can make those nice throws and dogs, as well.
But, they are still pretty much Muslims who don't want infidels, largely and recently ambivalent about Muslims, shooting up their mountains, deserts and thorougfares. Not just Natoans, but Russians, as they indicated pretty well in the 1980's.
America and its willing allies really ventured into Afghanistan (damn it, not "invaded") to catch one guy, Osama bin Laden and break up his day camp network. The Taliban were simply so obsessed with Buddha shards and repurposing soccer stadiums that they missed the significance of one particular September in New York and, consequently, had to be shown both the boot and the door. Which door, unfortunately, led them back to Pakistan's mountains where they settled in next to Osama himself and where the Paki Intelligence Service just couldn't see them.
But really. Afghanistan?
Oh, my. How all that has changed.
Suddenly, under all the craggy hills, velcro-jamming sand, motley goats and prayer rugs Afghanistan is rich. Trillion dollars in minerals we need rich.
In a country where almost half the population lives on less per day than it cost to buy your Starbuck's latte on that day; where more than a third of $13 Billion in GDP comes from poppy juice and its derivatives. And that gaudy GDP is about 20% of what the US spends in shooting up the montains, deserts and both thoroughfares there.
The US Geological Survey, under contract with Harmid Karzai (but hopefully not his cleverer brother, Ahmid), found lots of gold, copper, iron ore and other mundane minerals. Like iron ore is worth an hour of drone fuel. True, but that's not the sexy stuff.
Sexy? Afghanistan? The camel vacation spot where Mullah Monocle made the guys where scraggly beards and the women head-to-toe draperies?
Can you spell Lithium?
No, not as in the med you just refilled. For batteries. The bass-drum-beating bunny things we're just beginning to need. For Priuses and their electric cousins; for storing solar energy where the sun don't shine and wind power when your flag flags. For our army of iPads and Droids. For crystal meth manu... Well, lots of important stuff.
Trying to revolutionize energy without Lithium is like trying to have a beach party without BP.
Ironically, TBO, just tonight, after asking the very same BP for some cash, has called on all Americans--except Dick Cheney--to gear up, seriously this time, for the green energy revolution. Like it was a big-time war or something. Our Green Day is upon us (to complete a quasi theme). And guess what afterthought is suddenly front and center in that Green Day revolution, at least until solar cells can run on moonlight. That would be long after your Lithium-driven pacemaker quits one last time.
Not a question, this time: Afghanistan.
That's almost like a big-time war already.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Solo Teen Sailor Has Screenwriter Hooked
Abby Sunderland has been rescued from the Indian Ocean, five months after she set off from Marina del Ray, CA. The 16 year-old won't fulfill her ambition to become the youngest ever to solo the world in a really nice dingy, beating her brother's record of 17. But you know she will get a lot farther than her stinky brother in Hollywood.
Loyal types have suggested Megan Fox as Abby, but other think Megan too old or too yesterday. Taylor Momsen, Little J of "Gossip Girl" is a natural, assuming she can swim one-tenth as well as she can act or sing.
For product placement purposes, the film will have Abby sail off from the Cheesecake Factory in Marina Del Ray. And because a screenwriter reports they have really good Kobe Burgers. The Japanese not the Laker.
The most important part, finding that screenwriter, has been taken care of. Part of the script is actually already written, especially for Morgan Freeman as the Captain of the Quantas Airbus A330 search plane. An excerpt was stolen minutes ago.
Ext. Plane flying low over the Indian Ocean. DAY
Int. Cockpit DAY
Three men cram the cockpit, desperately searching for the tiny sailboat...
SCATTY (off screen)
The fuel lines! They're ruptured! One more minute, Captain, and the engines will stop!
DR. BANES
Bad time of year to scuttle anything but an American-made Boeing in the damned Indian Ocean, Jim.
FIRST OFFICER SPACK
A330's are not designed well for such a rough Ocean, Captain.
SCATTY (off screen)
Did I say a minute? I meant ten seconds! Ago!
CAPTAIN (in God's voice, American-Australian Accent)
Restart engines.
Engines, ignoring their severed fuel lines roar into action.
CAPTAIN (same voice, More American Accent now)
Find me that little girl. Before the French do.
Now, Abby, aside from formatting, is a rewrite even necessary?
Loyal types have suggested Megan Fox as Abby, but other think Megan too old or too yesterday. Taylor Momsen, Little J of "Gossip Girl" is a natural, assuming she can swim one-tenth as well as she can act or sing.
For product placement purposes, the film will have Abby sail off from the Cheesecake Factory in Marina Del Ray. And because a screenwriter reports they have really good Kobe Burgers. The Japanese not the Laker.
The most important part, finding that screenwriter, has been taken care of. Part of the script is actually already written, especially for Morgan Freeman as the Captain of the Quantas Airbus A330 search plane. An excerpt was stolen minutes ago.
Ext. Plane flying low over the Indian Ocean. DAY
Int. Cockpit DAY
Three men cram the cockpit, desperately searching for the tiny sailboat...
SCATTY (off screen)
The fuel lines! They're ruptured! One more minute, Captain, and the engines will stop!
DR. BANES
Bad time of year to scuttle anything but an American-made Boeing in the damned Indian Ocean, Jim.
FIRST OFFICER SPACK
A330's are not designed well for such a rough Ocean, Captain.
SCATTY (off screen)
Did I say a minute? I meant ten seconds! Ago!
CAPTAIN (in God's voice, American-Australian Accent)
Restart engines.
Engines, ignoring their severed fuel lines roar into action.
CAPTAIN (same voice, More American Accent now)
Find me that little girl. Before the French do.
Now, Abby, aside from formatting, is a rewrite even necessary?
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Helen Thomas is Right About Moving
As usual there is much ado about anything that anyone says about anything. Helen Thomas, the premier White House Seat Filler for years, is just the latest.
All Helen said was that the Israelis (known here as "Firstians") should get out of [Proximania(tm)]. (Helen actually said Palestine, but this Blog no longer uses that term, having invented a new, improved and trademarked one, Proximania.) Helen opined, outloud, that the Firstians should go back where they came from, that being, as she recalled first-hand, Germany and Poland and, maybe, the US.
At first bright-red blush, this may sound incredibly stupid. This, even while taking into account that Helen is, like Miss USA, of Lebanese descent and breathtaking, if in an entirely different way. Helen thinks it only fair that the land of Proximania be returned to the people who were originally there.
Uh oh.
Helen is really old, but not old enough to remember when the Laterians (aka "Arabs") first took over Proximania. It was pretty recent, in Proximanian years, in 638. A couple thousand years before that the Firstians wandered into Proximania without the aid of a Garmin or iPhone app. Because the Firstians were in Proximania before any of the other current claimants, they get to be called that. Unfortunately, as is the case with most real estate, the Firstians couldn't hold onto the place and all manner of historical rivals took over the neighborhood.
(All of this you should know already, since you surely have read this Blog's background piece about the neighborhood.)
In any case, after all the Babylonians, Greeks, Romans and a few others tromped all over Proximania, the Laterians arrived, however late, conquered and held it for a few hundred years, after which the Turks took over. The Turks are not Laterians, in case Helen forgot.
After World War I, the Turks were essentially replaced by the British, who, as usual, screwed up an entire region to make themselves feel important.
But Helen doesn't really care about that, nor should she.
Pretty much everybody in Proximania claims to be biblically descended from Abraham. The Laterians claim descent from Abraham's first born, Ishmael, Firstians from number two son, Isaac. Sounds pretty equal until one recalls that Abraham sent Ishmael packing so he could give everything in and around his tent to Isaac. This was probably unfair, but Ishmael was smart enough to go where the oil was, while Isaac got stuck with sheep, goats and the as-of-then unbuilt Jerusalem.
Take a minute to calculate who got the better deal. Use a computer.
Ishmael's descendants, the Laterians now seem to want the oil and the sheep, goats and since-built Jerusalem. But Helen doesn't see that as a problem since the Laterians were there when she was born, so she was an eye-witness to their rights.
However, astonishingly dumb that may sound, Helen is still right. Everyone should go back where they came from. To show evenhandedness, start with Americans. It is well known that no one was in America to begin with. Dinosaurs, ferns and cockroaches, maybe, but people? Nope. So, every American must go back to...
Before you leave, Helen, help your fellow Americans out, here. Where did Americans come from? Really. Or Europeans? Nigerians? The Hawaiians? Not to mention the Firstians and the Laterians Proximates.
The answer has been established in this Blog (see link above) and, admittedly, elsewhere.
It all started with the Big E, Mitochondrial Eve. So, starting tomorrow, everyone--repeat, everyone--everywhere, including Helen, pack one carry-on and report to the nearest train station. Next stop: Kenya.
All Helen said was that the Israelis (known here as "Firstians") should get out of [Proximania(tm)]. (Helen actually said Palestine, but this Blog no longer uses that term, having invented a new, improved and trademarked one, Proximania.) Helen opined, outloud, that the Firstians should go back where they came from, that being, as she recalled first-hand, Germany and Poland and, maybe, the US.
At first bright-red blush, this may sound incredibly stupid. This, even while taking into account that Helen is, like Miss USA, of Lebanese descent and breathtaking, if in an entirely different way. Helen thinks it only fair that the land of Proximania be returned to the people who were originally there.
Uh oh.
Helen is really old, but not old enough to remember when the Laterians (aka "Arabs") first took over Proximania. It was pretty recent, in Proximanian years, in 638. A couple thousand years before that the Firstians wandered into Proximania without the aid of a Garmin or iPhone app. Because the Firstians were in Proximania before any of the other current claimants, they get to be called that. Unfortunately, as is the case with most real estate, the Firstians couldn't hold onto the place and all manner of historical rivals took over the neighborhood.
(All of this you should know already, since you surely have read this Blog's background piece about the neighborhood.)
In any case, after all the Babylonians, Greeks, Romans and a few others tromped all over Proximania, the Laterians arrived, however late, conquered and held it for a few hundred years, after which the Turks took over. The Turks are not Laterians, in case Helen forgot.
After World War I, the Turks were essentially replaced by the British, who, as usual, screwed up an entire region to make themselves feel important.
But Helen doesn't really care about that, nor should she.
Pretty much everybody in Proximania claims to be biblically descended from Abraham. The Laterians claim descent from Abraham's first born, Ishmael, Firstians from number two son, Isaac. Sounds pretty equal until one recalls that Abraham sent Ishmael packing so he could give everything in and around his tent to Isaac. This was probably unfair, but Ishmael was smart enough to go where the oil was, while Isaac got stuck with sheep, goats and the as-of-then unbuilt Jerusalem.
Take a minute to calculate who got the better deal. Use a computer.
Ishmael's descendants, the Laterians now seem to want the oil and the sheep, goats and since-built Jerusalem. But Helen doesn't see that as a problem since the Laterians were there when she was born, so she was an eye-witness to their rights.
However, astonishingly dumb that may sound, Helen is still right. Everyone should go back where they came from. To show evenhandedness, start with Americans. It is well known that no one was in America to begin with. Dinosaurs, ferns and cockroaches, maybe, but people? Nope. So, every American must go back to...
Before you leave, Helen, help your fellow Americans out, here. Where did Americans come from? Really. Or Europeans? Nigerians? The Hawaiians? Not to mention the Firstians and the Laterians Proximates.
The answer has been established in this Blog (see link above) and, admittedly, elsewhere.
It all started with the Big E, Mitochondrial Eve. So, starting tomorrow, everyone--repeat, everyone--everywhere, including Helen, pack one carry-on and report to the nearest train station. Next stop: Kenya.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Ragheads (and Hatters) Unite!
It only took a deep South minor league Republican to do it.
Jakie "Not-Really-Webster" Knotts jested about his fear of having a "raghead" in both the White House and the South Carolina Governor's Plantation. This side-splitter was Jakie's highlight on a June 3rd internet radio show.
It seems that his opponent, Nikki Haley, was born a Sikh and, like TBO, converted to Christianity. Sikhs are not Muslims, by the way, and their Dastaar brand turban-style hats are no more rags than Jakie's own midnight-white head covering.
As a religious convert and, herself, a name-changer, Nikki should be a soul mate (sorry, Nikki) of Jakie, who converted from Webster to Knotts, as soon as he was old enough to know he was not unusually short, black and a TV star.
Ragheads, anyway, are a large faction of American culture. If one is old enough, one will remember Catholic women wearing everything from bonnets to doilies to half a spare Kleenex as head coverings before they were allowed to enter a church. Head rags in places like Pittsburgh and Milwaukee are sometimes called babushkas and there are usually yummy pierogies involved. The Crips and the Bloods Social Clubs popularized certain colors of head-wrappers, called do-rags, to tell each other apart when under stress.
And, Jakie, you probably still ride by night with a bunch of dedicated headcoverers.
So, Jakie, there are lots of ragheads out there, many converted to nonragheadedness, but still feeling (and probably dying) their roots. You've pissed off a whole lot of voters and some who don't bother with ballots in favor of spraying bullets, swinging baseball bats and knotting ropes.
Worse, Jakie, you've gone up against one Nikki-endorser who should scare you plain sh_tless: The all-powerful, ubiquitous (that means all over the fraking place, Jakie) The Alice herself, Sarah Palin. Coincidently, she and a dozen really mad Hatters are coming to your neck of the backwoods, accent on neck, just hoping you'll keep on jesting.
Don't think (please), Jakie, don't talk (double please), just hide the hell under the sheets tonight.
Oh. Like that would be any different.
Jakie "Not-Really-Webster" Knotts jested about his fear of having a "raghead" in both the White House and the South Carolina Governor's Plantation. This side-splitter was Jakie's highlight on a June 3rd internet radio show.
It seems that his opponent, Nikki Haley, was born a Sikh and, like TBO, converted to Christianity. Sikhs are not Muslims, by the way, and their Dastaar brand turban-style hats are no more rags than Jakie's own midnight-white head covering.
As a religious convert and, herself, a name-changer, Nikki should be a soul mate (sorry, Nikki) of Jakie, who converted from Webster to Knotts, as soon as he was old enough to know he was not unusually short, black and a TV star.
Ragheads, anyway, are a large faction of American culture. If one is old enough, one will remember Catholic women wearing everything from bonnets to doilies to half a spare Kleenex as head coverings before they were allowed to enter a church. Head rags in places like Pittsburgh and Milwaukee are sometimes called babushkas and there are usually yummy pierogies involved. The Crips and the Bloods Social Clubs popularized certain colors of head-wrappers, called do-rags, to tell each other apart when under stress.
And, Jakie, you probably still ride by night with a bunch of dedicated headcoverers.
So, Jakie, there are lots of ragheads out there, many converted to nonragheadedness, but still feeling (and probably dying) their roots. You've pissed off a whole lot of voters and some who don't bother with ballots in favor of spraying bullets, swinging baseball bats and knotting ropes.
Worse, Jakie, you've gone up against one Nikki-endorser who should scare you plain sh_tless: The all-powerful, ubiquitous (that means all over the fraking place, Jakie) The Alice herself, Sarah Palin. Coincidently, she and a dozen really mad Hatters are coming to your neck of the backwoods, accent on neck, just hoping you'll keep on jesting.
Don't think (please), Jakie, don't talk (double please), just hide the hell under the sheets tonight.
Oh. Like that would be any different.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Scaley Deals Miranda Out. Defendants to get Deck of Rights Cards
It has taken him a long time, but Scaley has finally and forever finessed Miranda.
Once upon a time, criminal defendants in America were guaranteed certain Constitutional rights by the Founding Fathers. The best one--and, admittedly, the hardest one to use--was the Right to Remain Silent. If you're a criminal, you are probably so damned proud of how smart you are, you'll want to taunt David Caruso to his sideways, half-cocked, sun-glassed face. If you're an innocent, you want to provide all the details of your not-guilt. Stay silent? Very hard. Talk a blue streak? You bet.
The 1966 Miranda case, along with some others Scaley didn't like, required the police to tell a suspect that he or she had Constitutional rights and to summarize what they were. After a few fraked up cases, police started carrying cards with lawyer-approved sentences printed on them. The whole card was shorter than your last tweet, but really helped those who dozed through Constitutional Law in their first year of law school.
The police would spank their suspect against their cruiser, read the card to their suspect and invite him or her to flush all those Founding Father assured rights down a nearby port-a-potty. This was not called a "flushing", which would have made sense, but the better known, lawyer-word "waiver." This "waiver" became the most sought after thing in all of law enforcement. Next to health insurance.
Generally, when you waived your rights, the police could understand that. Your suspect might say, "Waive my rights? Sure. Them Founding Fathers didn't know shinola about crime, so phooey on them and their wigs." Or something very close to that. After that it was, "Hey, call Dick Cheney!" and off to jail.
Not always, however, were suspects so clear about waivers. Some got into the habit of looking skyward, scratching their chins and saying, "Hmm. I think I maybe want a lawyer." Or, "Perhaps not talking to you fellas would be more advisable than not." How is a cop to know if that's serious waiver talk?
So, Scaley directed his usual mouthpiece, Tony Kennedy, clear all that up. As of Tuesday, June 1, 2010 (mark it down and don't whine about it from behind bars if you forget), suspects are the beneficiaries of the Supreme Scaley Court's clarification of Miranda, called Berghuis v. Thompkins, which shall be referred to forever, here, as Thompkins v. Miranda.
Scaley, generous as ever, has actually enlarged upon Constitutional rights. From now on, a suspect gets a terrific new right: You have the right to waive the right to remain silent by neglecting to remain absolutely silent for however long you can be interrogated.
You are surely pondering this. Does Scaley mean that if you say, "yes" to the wrong question in day two of UN-approved waterboarding, you will have to no longer remain silent? Is that fair to the cops, who will now be getting the endless ear-beatings, not Scaley?
Damn, Scaley, are you sure about this? Isn't everything even more confusing?
Well, this blog is here mostly to help Scaley out of predicaments like this one. As of tomorrow, this blog may very well mail out to every potential criminal suspect a deck of cards that state "I choose to invoke" such-and-such sacred Constitutional right. The cards will likely have colorful graphics; maybe a caricature of Scaley in a wig indicating, with one finger, the right being invoked; and, by the way, a fast acting poison that robs one of the power of speech upon a single touch. For at least three hours.
Thes cards might be written in English and whatever other languages Google Translate can handle, except Spanish, since this blog supports Arizona so much.
Once upon a time, criminal defendants in America were guaranteed certain Constitutional rights by the Founding Fathers. The best one--and, admittedly, the hardest one to use--was the Right to Remain Silent. If you're a criminal, you are probably so damned proud of how smart you are, you'll want to taunt David Caruso to his sideways, half-cocked, sun-glassed face. If you're an innocent, you want to provide all the details of your not-guilt. Stay silent? Very hard. Talk a blue streak? You bet.
The 1966 Miranda case, along with some others Scaley didn't like, required the police to tell a suspect that he or she had Constitutional rights and to summarize what they were. After a few fraked up cases, police started carrying cards with lawyer-approved sentences printed on them. The whole card was shorter than your last tweet, but really helped those who dozed through Constitutional Law in their first year of law school.
The police would spank their suspect against their cruiser, read the card to their suspect and invite him or her to flush all those Founding Father assured rights down a nearby port-a-potty. This was not called a "flushing", which would have made sense, but the better known, lawyer-word "waiver." This "waiver" became the most sought after thing in all of law enforcement. Next to health insurance.
Generally, when you waived your rights, the police could understand that. Your suspect might say, "Waive my rights? Sure. Them Founding Fathers didn't know shinola about crime, so phooey on them and their wigs." Or something very close to that. After that it was, "Hey, call Dick Cheney!" and off to jail.
Not always, however, were suspects so clear about waivers. Some got into the habit of looking skyward, scratching their chins and saying, "Hmm. I think I maybe want a lawyer." Or, "Perhaps not talking to you fellas would be more advisable than not." How is a cop to know if that's serious waiver talk?
So, Scaley directed his usual mouthpiece, Tony Kennedy, clear all that up. As of Tuesday, June 1, 2010 (mark it down and don't whine about it from behind bars if you forget), suspects are the beneficiaries of the Supreme Scaley Court's clarification of Miranda, called Berghuis v. Thompkins, which shall be referred to forever, here, as Thompkins v. Miranda.
Scaley, generous as ever, has actually enlarged upon Constitutional rights. From now on, a suspect gets a terrific new right: You have the right to waive the right to remain silent by neglecting to remain absolutely silent for however long you can be interrogated.
You are surely pondering this. Does Scaley mean that if you say, "yes" to the wrong question in day two of UN-approved waterboarding, you will have to no longer remain silent? Is that fair to the cops, who will now be getting the endless ear-beatings, not Scaley?
In the case of the soon-to-be-convicted Mr. Thompkins, he had a really good chance to waive his rights, by saying, "Of course, sirs, I waive all of my sacred rights", but he did not take that chance. He also had a good chance to speak up, proudly and say, "I invoke my right to remain silent..."
The Thompkins v. Miranda case, simply stated for any non-lawyers out there, stands for this proposition: If you do not remain silent, you waive your right to remain silent. Easy?
In a way, Thompkins, the perp, didn't miss out on much. Under Scaley's Thompkins v. Miranda Rule, Mr. Thompkins would have waived his right to remain silent by uttering the single word "I".
What if the bewildered suspect says, "I invoke my right to counsel, mister officer"? There goes the right to remain silent. And what good's a counsel then?
What if the bewildered suspect says, "I invoke my right to counsel, mister officer"? There goes the right to remain silent. And what good's a counsel then?
Damn, Scaley, are you sure about this? Isn't everything even more confusing?
Well, this blog is here mostly to help Scaley out of predicaments like this one. As of tomorrow, this blog may very well mail out to every potential criminal suspect a deck of cards that state "I choose to invoke" such-and-such sacred Constitutional right. The cards will likely have colorful graphics; maybe a caricature of Scaley in a wig indicating, with one finger, the right being invoked; and, by the way, a fast acting poison that robs one of the power of speech upon a single touch. For at least three hours.
Thes cards might be written in English and whatever other languages Google Translate can handle, except Spanish, since this blog supports Arizona so much.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Firstian Proximates(tm) Subdue Armada Sissormen
Things have been quiet over in Proximania for weeks. Or, maybe, you have been too busy watching oil and water mix, badly, in the Gulf of Mexico and Mexicans and Golfers mix, badly, in Arizona.
Well, the Firstians (as in "We Were Here First Before We Weren't-ians") of Proximania saw trouble coming while everyone else was cheering R& Paul and his repeal-Amendments-13-through-14 speechifying and BP's... well, whatever it is BP has been doing.
If you missed it, too, there was huge Armada of six ships teaming with foreigners and steaming for Proximanian waters. It must have been pretty clear that this Armada might shatter the Firstian blockade and boost the morale and diet of the Strippers faction of the Laterian (as in "We Came Later But Still...") Proximates, led by the dreaded Head-Scarfing Strippers, by landing munitions like falafels and Chinese dry wall. The lead ship may have had as many as 600 active sissor-wielding blockade-busters.
Perhaps, only the Firstians understand that even air from a Turkish boat is better than Stripper air and, thus, as indirectly toxic to freedom and democracy as a Hatter's Tea Party. The Armada stubbornly refused to turn tail when confronted by the long-established Firstian blockade. Thus challenged, Firstian commandos to board the Armada, armed to the teeth with annoying paintball weaponry, just as soon as the Armada crossed Proximania's 300 mile limit.
Sissors versus automatic paintball fire? Ugly enough, but you wouldn't expect anyone would get killed.
In Proximania, anything can happen. Again.
Fight your reflex against everything paintball, though, before you condemn the Firstians. Remember, these ships were not exactly the Disney Cruise Liners peopled with charming six-foot mice and sexy Tinkerbells. These ships had more foreigners on them than a pickup in Tuscon and they were out to break the Firstians favorite blockade come hell or... in this case, just the hell part.
The Firstians had no choice. Strippers might get ideas or, worse, supper, for once.
Many of these Armadian foreigners were from Turkey and were with the Free Gaza humanitarian and gaming movement, hoping to spur tourism for the Strippers by comping all hotels and meals for those gambling their wallets and lives to visit Stripper venues.
Ironically, Turkey was, until this Armada thing, the Firstian Proximates closest friend in the Middle East, which may not be saying much. Needless-to-say, planed joint exercises, such as yoga, paintball war games and a late lunch at Chucky Cheese between the Turks and Firstians are pretty much off.
A lot like The Big O's upcoming tea with Bibi Netanyahu (like either one cares).
And, as usual, when the Firstians defend themselves, foreign protesters hit their foreign streets and vie for TV time with a multimillion dollar plume of crude under the sea, the Greek budget and Shrek.
With the usual success.
Well, the Firstians (as in "We Were Here First Before We Weren't-ians") of Proximania saw trouble coming while everyone else was cheering R& Paul and his repeal-Amendments-13-through-14 speechifying and BP's... well, whatever it is BP has been doing.
If you missed it, too, there was huge Armada of six ships teaming with foreigners and steaming for Proximanian waters. It must have been pretty clear that this Armada might shatter the Firstian blockade and boost the morale and diet of the Strippers faction of the Laterian (as in "We Came Later But Still...") Proximates, led by the dreaded Head-Scarfing Strippers, by landing munitions like falafels and Chinese dry wall. The lead ship may have had as many as 600 active sissor-wielding blockade-busters.
Perhaps, only the Firstians understand that even air from a Turkish boat is better than Stripper air and, thus, as indirectly toxic to freedom and democracy as a Hatter's Tea Party. The Armada stubbornly refused to turn tail when confronted by the long-established Firstian blockade. Thus challenged, Firstian commandos to board the Armada, armed to the teeth with annoying paintball weaponry, just as soon as the Armada crossed Proximania's 300 mile limit.
Sissors versus automatic paintball fire? Ugly enough, but you wouldn't expect anyone would get killed.
In Proximania, anything can happen. Again.
Fight your reflex against everything paintball, though, before you condemn the Firstians. Remember, these ships were not exactly the Disney Cruise Liners peopled with charming six-foot mice and sexy Tinkerbells. These ships had more foreigners on them than a pickup in Tuscon and they were out to break the Firstians favorite blockade come hell or... in this case, just the hell part.
The Firstians had no choice. Strippers might get ideas or, worse, supper, for once.
Many of these Armadian foreigners were from Turkey and were with the Free Gaza humanitarian and gaming movement, hoping to spur tourism for the Strippers by comping all hotels and meals for those gambling their wallets and lives to visit Stripper venues.
Ironically, Turkey was, until this Armada thing, the Firstian Proximates closest friend in the Middle East, which may not be saying much. Needless-to-say, planed joint exercises, such as yoga, paintball war games and a late lunch at Chucky Cheese between the Turks and Firstians are pretty much off.
A lot like The Big O's upcoming tea with Bibi Netanyahu (like either one cares).
And, as usual, when the Firstians defend themselves, foreign protesters hit their foreign streets and vie for TV time with a multimillion dollar plume of crude under the sea, the Greek budget and Shrek.
With the usual success.
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