Gonzales: There Is No Constitutional Right To Habeas Corpus (VIDEO)

Sen. Arlen Specter (R-PA) and Attorney General Alberto Gonzales had a sharp debate over whether habeas corpus right is granted in the Constitution. It is — link has the text from the Constitution.

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TV “psychic” Sylvia Browne told parents of Shawn Hornbeck he was dead.

More proof that there is no such thing as psychics…

Montel Williams’ psychic pal Sylvia Browne told the family of missing Shawn Hornbeck he was dead shortly after the Missouri boy vanished - and later allegedly offered to help locate his body for $700 per half hour.

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The Colbert Report: Colbert Interviews O’Reilly

Colbert has achieved his ultimate goal of Interviewing Papa Bear, Bill O’Reilly.

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FrankWit with RationalResponders.com

I’ve decided not to put this show in the podcast feed for a couple of reasons.

Yeah I put it on the feed…

1. The sound quality is pretty terrible not to mention everyone talking over everyone else… which I think is just a product of too many people on at once.

2. This isn’t a frankwit show… frankwit is all about dick jokes and humor and making fun of everyone including ourselves. There is none of that here. If you laugh it’ll only be at the irony.

This show got pretty heated at times and I think that it came through pretty clear that even people who hate dogma can be pretty goddamn dogmatic… listen to this if you dare… it’s around 3 and a half hours long… good luck and godspeed. We’ll be back with dick jokes soon I PROMISE!!!

Link to MP3 of the live show

MyTightLittleSpace - Stories

DISCLAIMER: Wow, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I nearly forgot how to do this; it took me ten minutes just to recall how to get to this damn blog dashboard. Age has its drawbacks. Now, if I remember correctly, I have to mind spelling, structure, story-arc, punctuation, there is apparently something called a semi-colon, but I think it’s all just dirty whoey. Hope the following will shut you all up.

Don’t you hate it when you are telling a story and halfway through you realise that this is a total ‘you had to be there’ story?

“Yeah, so Jim and I were at this bar right? And, God, it was so funny, this guy walks up to us, totally off his face and sort of slurs ‘Hey man, you know where the bathrooms are?’ And Jim was totally like, ‘No.’ And the guy pulled this really funny face and sort of stumbled off and . . . and . . . it was really funny.”

And that was the story. Not great, but when you’ve had eleven Bacardi Breezers and a White Wine Spritzer then that is Oscar Wilde. But everyone you’re telling it to does not seem to appreciate it as much as you did. So you keep going. You need their approval. So you embellish just a little. And they totally buy it.

“But then the guy came back right, and he like totally asked us the same question again, right? So funny!”

Ok, the story is getting back on track, people are interested, so you go a little further.

“And then he like totally, can you believe this, threw up on Jim’s shoes!”

YES! There it is. You’ve done the pledge, you’ve worked the turn and that was your prestige. It’s a beautiful thing; it arcs, it flows, it’ll make ‘em laugh, it’ll make ‘em cry. It’s everything you want from a drunken vomit story. Thunderous applause. General adulation. But you’ve gotten cock-sure. You have them in the palm of your hand and you just push that line of believability one inch too far.

“So Jim just . . . just . . . fucking stabbed the guy, man!”

And everyone’s like, ‘Oh, yeah, that’s pretty funn- what? . . . Jim stabbed someone? You’re kidding!’ You, my friend, are now fucked. But you can’t back down, they loved you before, you have to run with it.

“Oh . . . yeah, man. That guys an animal! . . . don’t go drinking with him!”

Awkward.

Then it’s the Christmas party, general frivolity and good times, everyone’s happy, everyone’s laughing. Your boss and the cleaner (male, named Jesus) are making out under the mistletoe, an act which you are capturing on your phone’s camera because you’re going for a raise next month. Then Jim turns up. A hush falls over the room Everyone is steering clear of him, looking at each other, all thinking the same thing; ‘It’s that rudderless vagabond! Is he packing? Does he have a butter knife strapped to his goodies?’

Poor Jim. And he just wanted some punch.

Something along these lines happened to me at work a few months ago, and the absolute web of lies that I had to spin for the next few days was the most intricate thing I have ever seen, and I’ve seen hand-painted Ming vases from the Meong Dynasty. And those who know me know I can spin some crap, so this was a George Costanza level of betrayal. There were aliens, civil war muskets, tap-dancing dolphins and the return of Our Lord Almighty. It spanned three continents, seven countries and two boroughs. It had eleven spoken languages, three signed and a series of interpretive cave-wall paintings. There were guest stars, celebrity singers, fundraisers and a telethon. The rights have been sold for a film, BBC wants to make a mini-series and I’ve been asked to write a twelve-part article for Rolling Stone. I’m going to be honest, it was a fucking work of art.

So the moral to this story is, if the head of a studio asks you if you have delivered those master tapes to Disney because he has more to edit in and hopes “you didn’t send them you brown-loving queer”, and you say you haven’t when you actually have, so he asks you to add these tapes to them and bring along the ones you just sent but said you haven’t for re-dubbing and you have to start making up stories about rouge postal workers and mail room boys with a vendetta against you stealing from your desk, something about the cast of Seasme Street coming into the studio looking for a fag (which is actually the British for cigarette, which led to five minutes of rather innuendo-stuffed conversation with hand-puppets) and a rather charming scenario involving a hamster, a bottle of chocolate sauce and Gary from Legal, the best thing to do is to be honest and own up in the first place.

Otherwise you might just have to . . . umm . . . well, I guess just fucking stab the guy and run.

I Am Nich. Welcome Back To MyTightLittleSpace

Amazing Pencil Artwork.

Very Creative, Indeed.

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