In most states, first-degree murder is defined as an unlawful killing that is both willful and premeditated, meaning that it was committed after planning or "lying in wait" for the victim. Second-degree murder is ordinarily defined as 1) an intentional killing that is not premeditated or planned, nor committed in a reasonable "heat of passion" or 2) a killing caused by dangerous conduct and the offender's obvious lack of concern for human life. Second-degree murder may best be viewed as the middle ground between first-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter. Voluntary manslaughter is commonly defined as an intentional killing in which the offender had no prior intent to kill, such as a killing that occurs in the "heat of passion."
Well, now that Endeavour has safely returned to Earth with all souls aboard, the story of the Space Shuttle program is almost at an end. The Endeavour was built entirely from spare parts by the way, coddled together after the Challenger explosion in 1986. Who knows if they have any spare parts after Columbia disintegrated during re-entry after losing some of its thermal tiles. And if Endeavour's three fuel pumps were used to pump water instead of fuel, each could drain a typical swimming pool in 75 seconds. The orbiter is named after the British HMS Endeavour, the ship which took Captain James Cook on his first voyage. This is why the name is spelled in the British English manner (endeavo-u-r), rather than the American English version (endeavor). Later next month, somewhere in the neighborhood of July 8th of this year, the Atlantis will be making its final journey into space and closing the Shuttle program's final chapter along with it. At first I was pretty pissed off at the realization that NASA had no follow up replacement for the current orbiters. You know, I wanted the top secret X-71's Freedom and Independence from Armageddon to come rolling out onto the tarmac for all the world to see. But I suppose my positioned weakened a little bit when I watched SpaceShipTwo's first feathered flight, so I dunno, maybe we're on the right track. But for now, we depend on the Ruskies -- this set of pictures of an abandoned Russian space shuttle project facility were taken by a photographer who was given a private tour of the Baikonur cosmodrome that was home to the project named: Energia-Buran – the Soviet response to our shuttle program.
With gas prices finally starting to creep back from their recent peak, now seems like a pretty good time for me share my opinion on Bubba Trucks. What are Bubba trucks? This is a Bubba Truck. And listen, you can bubba up your Bubba truck all you want; I don't give a damn. Want to jack your shit up two feet, slap on some awesome 52" tractor tires, and slather everything in camouflage? Hey man, go for it. Just so long as you can afford to maintain your shit. I don't want to pull up along side the same truck after a year and see this or this. If you can't afford to buy new tires when yours have become unsafe, because you're pouring all your hard earned money into your gas tank, then maybe you shouldn't have bubba'd you shit up in the first place. Maybe instead of Realtree seat covers, and Realtree vent visors, and Realtree tool box, and Realtree bug shield, and Realtree fender flares, and Realtree shifter boots, and Realtree tailgate wraps, you can pick up a new set of fucking Michelins. Because I'm the guy you're almost hydryplaned into when that last thunderstorm cames rolling in. So if you can't afford to maintain your vehicle, then perhaps you might want to consider stepping down to something smaller and more affordable. I know, you're worried about your pride, right? Listen, tell people whatever you have to, in order to save face. The bank reposessed it. It was too tall for your garage. You slipped a disc in your back and can't climb into it anymore. Whatever. Just get your shit squared away. It's called priorities, you dumbasses.
Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force! You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world. Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely. But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory! I have full confidence in your courage and devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory! Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking. SIGNED: Dwight D. Eisenhower
Does anyone else remember the time when some politician fucked up and when confronted about it, they didn't lie or try to bullshit their way out of it, but instead just came clean and admitted their mistake? Yeah, me neither. Because yes, it was your cock and yes you really did fuck up about Paul Revere. So please, let's cut the bullshit, shall we? And don't stand up there and let loose your fucking crocodile tears, either. There was a time and place for a grown man crying like a little bitch, and this ain't it. Imagine you're an early Cro-Magnon man and you're compromised in some way. Maybe you've impaled yourself on a mammoth tusk or got a really bad foot cramp. You need help, but you want to keep your impairment on the down low, so your enemies don't pounce. You need a signal that tells your allies that something is wrong that doesn't involve shrieking like a little bitch, which is Neanderthal for "finish me." You could stay silent and bear it like a man, at which point no one will hear you and you're still impaled on the tusk of the mammoth that guy was riding when you killed him. But tears -- dramatic, glistening tears quietly streaming down your ashen, pain-wrought visage -- will tell the people close enough to see the shininess of your cheeks that something is wrong and you need a hand. In other words, early man's ability to survive actually depended on his ability to cry like a baby. But Twittering your cock to some 40 year old blackjack dealer looking to cash in on your downfall? Not so much.
Glare happens when the flash from the camera hits a reflective and shiny surface. Mirrors, windows, and automobiles -- basically any glass and metal -- are present just about everywhere photographers take snapshots. Even in a natural environment, a pond or lake can produce glare in pictures. Light is a fundamental element in an image, but too little or too much can detract from the quality of the photo. If you have Windows, this article teaches you how to use a native photo-editing application to fix just the lighting elements in pictures with glaring imperfections, so that you can avoid ruining photos like this.
You know, at first I was going to take a day off, but I remembered that I can't be out of the office the same day as Ferris Bueller. And since he called out first, here I am.
So there's been a military related story running around the internet for the last few days, and I wanted to hold off on commenting about it until all of the details have finally come out. And since they have, I will. Two days ago on June 7th, a bunch of soldiers -- fresh back from Afghanistan and still in uniform -- were flying on Delta Airlines to travel from Baltimore to Atlanta. Fourteen of these soldiers had four bags, which is the specified number they are allowed as per their orders. Well much to their surprise, Delta Airlines had different rules: military personnel were allowed four carry bags if they were in first class, but only THREE if they were flying coach, as these soldiers were. Ergo, Delta Airlines charged each of these fourteen soldiers a $200 extra-bag fee, totaling $2,800 for the entire unit. Two of the soldiers uploaded a video to Youtube, and it's been going viral ever since.
Just a quite note on Debbie the crazy cat girl. Much like the girl who praised God after the Japanese tsunami, this Debbie video was indeed a spoof. In fact if you look at her Youtube Profile, you'll see her name is really Cara Hartmann, and she's a fucking genius. Why a genius, you might ask? Well, since she owns the video, she gets to draw Google/Youtube ad revenue from it. Let's assume a rather modest pay rate of $0.35 CPM (cost per 1,000 displays) -- since her video is about online dating, she's probably getting a better rate than that, but let's stay conservative in our estimates. As of this morning she was up to 5,300,000 views, so 5,300 x $0.35 = she's just shy of $2,000 in ad revenue. And it took her two and a half minutes to earn. So like it or not, you've got to give the girl a hand. Keep that in mind as you're facing just the start of a very long work week.
In the United States, Flag Day is celebrated on June 14. It commemorates the adoption of the flag of the United States, which happened that day by resolution of the Second Continental Congress in 1777. The June 14 date is also when Congress adopted "the American continental army" after reaching a consensus position in The Committee of the Whole. In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson issued a proclamation that officially established June 14 as Flag Day; in August 1949, National Flag Day was established by an Act of Congress.
Ha! Ha! Ha! I couldn't even finish that sentence. No seriously, I tried and snorted so hard I spent the next ten minutes cleaning snot out of my mustache. But in all honesty I did watch it when it first came out because right along with Aaron Sorkin, I'm normally a fan of David E Kelley's stuff. It started off with Peter MacNichol playing The Eel on Chicago Hope, graduated on to my crush on Lindsey Dole from The Practice, to Portia De Rossi's beautiful head of hair on Ally McBeal, to Jeri Ryan's more than ample Boston Public bosum, and finally Denny Crane from Boston Legal. They were all wonderfully written shows with very talented actors and dare I say some nice eye candy. So what in the fuck he was thinking with Wonder Woman, I'll never know. Sure, Adrianne Palicki has a nice body and looks good in her costume, but you can't base en eentire show on that, can you? Well, not since Baywatch anyway. What makes for a great body? Truthfully, that question could be answered many ways. Some prefer thin, some thick; some like tall, others short; some emphasize certain parts of the body, and others disagree. It isn't an exact science, that is for sure. But in sports, when stiff competition dictates an athlete's body be trained, toned, and strengthened, the ideal body is both sexy and muscular, appealing and chiseled. What do Miesha Tate, Laure Manaudou, Allison Stokke, and Gina Carano have in common? They all get my vote for The Best Female Bodies in Sports.
For the past four months in Libya, rebel forces made up of civilians and army defectors have been waging battles against Muammar Qaddafi's armed forces, holding their own and sometimes advancing with the assistance of NATO air strikes. Scrambling to arm themselves against mercenaries and a professional army, rebels have been making use of everything they can -- from using captured weapons and munitions to rigging anti-aircraft guns and aircraft rocket launchers to the backs of civilian pickup trucks. My personal favorite is the tank turret mounted on in the bed of a Toyota Hilux, although you can read other first hand accounts here. Collected here are recent images of some of this weaponry used by the Libyan rebels.
Wow, you fucking Canucks sure do take your hockey seriously, don't you? But warranted or not, whatchagonnado? Whatchagonnadowhentheycomeforyou?
You know May 3rd of last month was to be Teacher's Day. I had meant to sit down and see if I could remember what teachers played a significant impact in my life but it was of course overshadowed by the death of OBL. My kindergarden teacher was Mrs Crest; she would give a piece of candy to anyone who could read the clock and tell her what time it was. At the beginning of the school year, I was the only one who could do it, and maintained my monopoly over the candy jar until some cunt named Heather learned to tell time too. Bitch. First grade was Ms. Galafaro, and it was in her class that I weaved my awesome killer whale story. I learned how to alphabetize in her class. At the second grade I left #21 school and transferred to #19 school, joining Mrs Hill's class. One time Alex Haley came and spoke to us, although at the time I didn't much give a shit who he was. My third grade teacher was Ms Rinaldo and that big bitch was 6'2". I learned my times tables (up to 12x12) in her class. For fourth grade I transferred over to #43 school and had Mr Gorman. He would later become principal of a school my niece attended. Fifth grade was Mrs Mahar; she started her class by going around the room and having each student share one thing they learned over the previous summer's vacation. Everyone went on about monotonous stuff and me wanting to be king shit, remembered something I picked up when I caught some science show on TV. "The sun isn't burning," I said to my new classmates. The awkward silence equaled only by their blank vacant stares. "What are you talking about?" Mrs Mahar angrily queried -- she didn't take any shit from anyone -- and for the life of me I could not explain that the surface of the sun isn't burning in the sense that we know it, but a constant array of explosions. Anyway, I started out fifth grade looking like a dumb fuck. Mrs Mahar was the teacher I ran into when I was doing community service for my little, ahem, transgression of the law. Sixth grade, Mr. Gerber. He was one of the few people in my life whom I've let address me as Ernest. The mother of one of my classmates worked for a medical research facility and actually brought in big glass jar with a human brain floating in formaldehyde. Mr Gerber reached in, picked it up, and carried it all around the room so we could all see. It was cool. Meanwhile in Belgium.
Operation Mend is a unique new partnership between UCLA Medical Center and Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas, has been established to help treat several U.S. military personnel wounded during service in Iraq and Afghanistan. The pilot project was launched with the help of philanthropist Ronald A. Katz, a well-known inventor and UCLA Medical Center board member, who recognized that providing excellent care to injured soldiers need not be limited to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs and the Armed Services. The project aims to serve as a model for other medical institutions interested in helping additional wounded service members. Here is a portrait of Marine Corporal Aaron P. Mankin, injured in Iraq, from a story on Operation Mend.
And I don't mean your sci-fi nerd hat, although that will inadvertently be our topic for today. I mean to get your computer-geek nerd hat (or shirt) on. I've mentioned before that I'm really not a super extreme sci-fi guy. Have I seen all the Star Trek movies? Sure, who hasn't. And I recently got into Firefly and Farscape because their complete series were on Netflix, as was the remade Battlestar Galactica. I can even tell an X-Wing fighter from a TIE fighter. But if I were to go down this list I'd have twenty nope's for every one yup. I especially can't stand spinoff shows of spinoff shows: Star Trek, then Star Trek Next Generation, then Star Trek DS9, then Star Trek Voyager, then Star Trek Enterprise. To me, it's beating a dead horse.
NBC affiliate WHEC-TV in my hometown of Rochester, N.Y., reported Tuesday on an incident in which police arrested a woman who filmed a traffic stop from her front yard and refused an officer’s order to go into her house. The woman, 28-year-old Emily Good, was later charged with a misdemeanor: obstructing governmental administration. As WHEC reports in this follow-up story, “The fundamental question being debated here is this -- should she have been forced to follow a police officer's order or was she lawfully within her rights to remain on her front lawn?" Watch the video of the incident and see what you think.