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The bald eagle's the national bird in the US. Here's a good 4th of July eagle story. From nbc4i.com:

RUSH CITY, MN (WCMH) -- A sharp shooting Army veteran saved the life a juvenile bald eagle by shooting it down from a tree. Jason Galvin said he saw the bird dangling upside down at the end of a tree branch about 75 feet in the air. The bird's foot was caught in a rope. Jason and his wife Jackie initially called multiple agencies for help, but say they were told that no one could help the eagle, and that it was most likely dead. Jackie knew that just wasn't true.

"I told them they were wrong and it was very much alive and somebody needed to help it immediately! They all said sorry but there was nothing they could do. I told Jason he had to shoot it free! He was nervous as he didn't want to get in trouble for shooting at an eagle but I know with his sharp shooter skills that if anyone would save this eagle it was him!"

Jason borrowed a .22 rifle from a neighbor, and began shooting at the rope which was only a few inches long. After about an hour and a half and 150 shots the bird was free, fell into the woods. Jason and Jackie retrieved the eagle, and placed it in a dog carrier. A state conservation officer took the bird to The Raptor Center for treatment. Jackie said amazingly no bullets hit the eagle, and it is expected to make a full recovery.

So, I went into the bathroom for something. I look into a corner, where a bath towel has been dropped. Peeking out from under the towel, I can see three pairs of sandals, two pairs of sneakers, and a lonely leather flat shoe without a mate. I peer around the corner into the walk-in closet, and there are piles of shoes. Shoes on the shelf, shoes on the floor, shoes peering out from under other items dropped on the floor. The wife comes in, I ask her, "Are you related to Imelda Marcos?" She laughs, "NO! Why?" I ask, "How many shoes do you own? More than a thousand?" "NO! I don't know how many shoes I have."

I just shake my head, close my mouth, and wonder about women.

Guys like me have two or three pairs of shoes. I actually own a pair of slippers. Seldom wear them, but someone bought them for me for Christmas, and they lay around the house collecting dust. There is a pair of sneakers laying somewhere around the house. I have a pair of dress shoes - nice, shiny brown leather shoes, with laces. They are here for weddings, funerals, or whatever. I have one pair of Wolverine half-Wellingtons, with composite toes, steel shank, arch support - protective foot gear that I wear all the time. They are about three years old now - maybe a little more.

Just what is it about shoes, that make people - mostly women - want to collect them?

Do people actually LOOK AT shoes when they are being worn? I never look at mine. I just wear them. I don't look at any other people's shoes. Well - maybe. If I see an attractive female, my eyes may travel over her, admiring her legs and calves, and just maybe, I will notice her shoes.

Most likely, when I notice someone's shoes, I am noticing how silly they look, or how "out of place", or even how ugly they are. A lot of people at work wear huge-looking sneakers, that appear to be three times the size of their foot. Big, puffy things, often made of white canvas or plastic or whatever. Huh? People working in an industrial setting wearing WHITE shoes?

Oh, please, gimme boots. One pair of comfortable boots, that support and protect the feet. They need to breathe, so I want natural materials, like leather. No plastics, thank you very much, except the soles. I want non-skid and heat resistant soles. (Yeah, I bought a new pair of boots years ago, came to work, and stepped on a bit of slag from a welder. POOF! I instantly had a nice round hole melted through the sole, and a blister on the bottom of my foot.)

There's something psychological here. Why DO people collect more shoes than they can ever wear? I think it's gender linked for the most part. Lotsa guys only have one, two, three pairs of foot gear. Few women seem to have less than a couple dozen pair.

I did mention Marcos, earlier. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imelda_Marcos

"After she left Malacañang Palace, she was found to have left behind 15 mink coats, 508 gowns, 1,000 handbags, and pairs of shoes.[63] The exact number of her shoes varies with estimates of up to 7,500 pairs.[64] However, Time reported that the final tally was only 1,060."

Hells yeah. Anybody beat that w/ their daily driver?

“Hey, Ed! Haven’t seen you in weeks. How are you? You look worried. The usual?”
        “Hi, John. Yeah, and a shot of the strongest stuff on your shelf. I’ve had a really bad day.”
        “So what’s wrong?”
        “Trouble. And bad news for all of us Martians.”
        “Damn it, Ed, what’s going on?”
        “Earth’s going on. I was in a teleconference with the other dome mayors all morning over it. We’re in trouble. Earth is at war!”
        “What? At war with who? Us?” John exclaimed somewhat ungrammatically.
        “Each other.”
        “What? I thought it was a single government?”
        “It was, sort of, although nations had a certain independence, but had to follow U.N. laws. North America, China, and Australia rebelled. The Arab states may be next. It’s civil war!”
        “So what’s that got to do with us?”
        “Trade, John.”
        “Oh, shit. I’d better call Dewey.” Of course, he could only leave a message, since Mars and Earth were on opposite sides of the sun and the relay station was half an astronomical unit north of it, making radio lag even worse. It would be quite a while before the message reached its destination.
        John left his message and got back to the mayor. “Okay, it affects me, but what’s it got to do with Mars? We can get along without Earth, we’re self-sufficient and have been for fifty years. I have a problem, some other Martians probably have the same or similar problems, but why does Mars have a problem?”
        “Because technically we’re under the auspices of different states in the United Nations. We’re North American, the Alba Patera dome is Chinese. Half of the domes are European, so are affiliated with the U.N.”
        “But we’re all Martians. I’m an immigrant, but most of us were born here and have never left the planet.”
        “Half or more of the Euros here share that opinion, but their governments, like China’s and unlike ours and the Australians, are staffed with Earthians imported from Earth, and are appointed by Earthians rather than being elected by Martians.”
        “How about the Africans and South Americans?”
        “They’re neutral, but nobody from those continents have built domes here, anyway.”
        “It it a hot war yet?”
        “No, the diplomats are still talking but blockades are being erected. Give me another beer and another shot, John. This war crap is making me crazy. I just don’t know what to do.”
        “Well, the only advice I have is to be nice to the European domes’ mayors, maybe try to talk up independence.”
        “Independence?”
        “Why not? We need to get untied from Mamma Earth’s apron strings. Why should we be tied to their laws? They’re millions of kilometers away!”
        “You’re talking about revolution!”
        “Yes, I am. Hopefully peaceful. But like I said, we have to follow a lot of laws and regulations that make perfect sense on Earth, but are either meaningless or downright stupid here. I think it’s time!”
        “John, that’s crazy talk. We aren’t even armed!”
        “Yes, we are. You’re forgetting who does half of all space transport, and that’s Green-Osbourne Transportation Systems. Between the two of us, Destiny and I own a quarter of the company, and her dad and Charles control almost two thirds.
        “We have the fastest, most heavily armed and armored ships in the solar system, and Dewey has worried about war for a long time and has been preparing. War’s really bad for the shipping industry and we’ve always refused to engineer warships for Earth’s governments just because of that. Not many people know it, but our transports are warships, and there aren’t any Earthian government warships in deep space.”
        The Mayor sighed and ordered another beer and shot. “Maybe I should hold a Dome Hall meeting, televised and with the public invited so we can get a feel of the public’s attitudes.”
        “Ed, better slow down on the alcohol. It wouldn’t do to have a drunken mayor when war might be imminent.”
        “You’re right, skip the shot but give me another beer.”
        “I agree about Dome Hall, but don’t forget: GOTS is not about to let anything bad happen to Mars’ colonies.
        “Not only are we better armed, but we’re experienced, thanks to the damned pirates. Dewey started the defense fleet eight years ago because of the pirates and we’ve killed or captured most of them. Earth’s armies haven’t any experience at all with real war; there hasn’t been a shooting war for half a century except the war of shippers and pirates.”
        “Well, I don’t know what to say.”
        “Say you’re about drunk and it isn’t even two in the afternoon and you need to go home and sleep it off.”
        “I’m not going to be able to sleep with this over my head!”
        “Here, take these home with you,” John said, pulling out a bottle of white lightning and a twelve pack of beer. “It wouldn’t do to have the mayor staggering around the dome, especially now. Get drunk at home.”
        “You’re right, of course... about getting drunk. But revolution?”
        “Sleep it off and think about it. It’s time Mars was independent. Look how much we’re paying in taxes to Earth, and we’re getting absolutely nothing from it. We could use that to make Mars a better place.”
        “I’ll think about it.”
        “Look, Ed, stay sober tomorrow, okay?”
        “I’ll have to. See you, John.”
        “Later, Ed.”
        John’s phone made a noise; there was a message from Dewey.

        Aimée Beaulieu hated her job. She didn’t want to be in this damné dome on this God-forsaken planet. But she had been exiled here; “exiled” isn’t exactly accurate, but it’s close.
        She had been head of the EU’s diplomatic corps, and had an idea that could give Europe more commercial power. She sent her diplomats to the other continents’ governments with orders to negotiate her plan. Instead of negotiating, three of them, inexperienced but influential people appointed by Europe’s government, presented the idea as an ultimatum.
        They were fired and she was paying a price as well. Stuck on Mars, Mayor of one of the stupid domes.
        Damned dome! She’d only been here a month and hated it with a passion. Now there was that stupid revolution, civil war, whatever back on Earth and they told her she was no longer allowed to trade with the North American, Australian, or Chinese domes.
        And she loved Knolls beer, Damn it! That was the only good thing about this God-forsaken planet. She wondered what could be done about the situation. Probably nothing, she thought. Except by the idiots in charge on Earth, damn them.
        She didn’t much like the Martians, either, but she understood where they were coming from. A lot of the Martian-born Martians in her dome had been talking about independence from Earth. That would suit her... as long as she was off of this damned rock and back in France first. After all, if the dome revolted under her watch her career would be ruined even worse than it already was. She’d probably be forced to resign.
        She sighed, and went back to the meaningless paperwork Earth demanded.

        Chuck Watson, mayor of Ceres, was angry. What were those idiots on Earth thinking? If he followed their directive Cererians would surely starve! Those who had been born on Ceres had already been talking independence.
        And Charlie, who had been a close friend for years and a trading partner for almost as long, he was prohibited from communicating with.
        He had enough, he decided, and called Charlie. To hell with the Earthians!

        Charlie Onehorse, Mayor of Dome Australia Two, was annoyed. DA2’s main export, high quality steel and rare earth ferromagnetics mostly went to the European domes, and half of all the domes on Mars were European. And the ores were from the British mining colony on one of the asteroids. DA2 was going to have trouble both importing and exporting.
        They could probably have ore shipped from China, but Earthian ores were incredibly expensive, thanks to Earth’s gravity well and environmental regulations; mining anything on Earth was effectively outlawed by regulations that made it a hundred times cheaper to import from Martians and asterites.
        He was thankful that a few of the North American domes were farming domes, since none of Australia’s three domes had farms, and they had to import all of their food. He swore to himself that the situation was intolerable and would have to change.
        Born in DA3, his parents were immigrants from Australia. His paternal grandfather had moved to Australia from somewhere in North America.
        But unlike other countries’ domes, the Australians had great autonomy. They could pass their own laws and regulations, and only had to pay tax to the Earthians. Still, paying those taxes rankled; the money would be better spent improving life on Mars. Things were still rough on the Martian frontier, although nowhere near as bad as it had been before the robot factories were built.
        He wondered where the Europeans were going to get new robots, since the three robot factories were all in North American domes. Parts to repair malfunctioning robots, as well. He grinned at that, and thought to himself “bloody dills! Those bludgers are going to have to work now. Bloody hell, it’ll be Rafferty’s rules for sure; things are already becoming a bit chaotic.”
        He decided to call his old friend Ed Waldo. Ed always knew what to do when things got crazy.
        Ed’s secretary said he had taken the afternoon off.
        “With this war stuff going on?”
        “He said he was going to talk to his friend John, said John always knew what to do when things got crazy.”
        He should drop by Ed and John’s dome and bend the elbow with them, he thought. He liked John, who didn’t charge as much for his grog as anybody else charged for theirs, and his beer was the best. Even better than Victoria Bitter, although that brand’s quality had suffered in the last couple of decades.
        He called Ed’s pocket number, but Ed had it shut off. He called the French dome, which was only twenty kilometers from DA2, but was told that there could be no communication with non-UN domes as well as no trade; the diplomats were all in charge. And there were no diplomats on Mars, only Earth.
        Except, well, John, maybe. John wasn’t even a real Martian. Not yet, anyway. You had to be a resident of any dome for ten years to get voting rights, even though those rights were pretty meaningless in some domes, like the Chinese and UN domes. John had two years to go before he was a citizen.
        John had connections. He was the son in law of the founder of the biggest shipping company in the solar system, and between he and his wife owned a quarter of company stock. He also had a small farm, a brewery, and a bar on Mars, all of which his wife said were hobbies even though they all made him a lot of money and even more friends.
        As he was trying to figure out a plan, a message came from his friend and trading partner Chuck Watson. luckily Ceres and Mars were close enough at the time that the radio lag wasn’t too bad.
        “Charlie, what are we going to do? The damned Earthians are killing us!”
        “Come on, Chuck. don’t over react.”
        “Charlie, I’m not. We’re going to need food, where’s it going to come from? Earth? We’ll starve!”
        “No you won’t. Earthians can go to hell, we Martians and you asterites can stick together. You want to trade, we’ll trade. We need rare earths and you need food, and neither of us needs Earth.”
        Of course, it was a very long conversation because of the lightspeed lag.

        “You look like hell, Ed.”
        “Hung over, and I even had trouble sleeping after getting stumbling drunk. Got any coffee?”
        “Yeah, coffee’s free. The pot’s over there.”
        “Thanks, John. What the hell am I going to do? We don’t need much from the Europeans that the Chinese and Aussies can’t provide, but if this lasts a long time...”
        “Don’t worry, it’s only going to last a few months and when it’s finished, Mars is going to be independent of Earth.”
        “No way. This is a diplomatic and economic war, it could last for years.”
        The mayor from the neighboring dome came in. “Hey, Charlie,” Ed said. “Hell of a mess.”
        John grinned. “Nope. Where’s Europe going to get any rare earth magnets, or any of the other rare earths?”
        Charlie groaned. “John, ever hear of the asteroid belt?”
        John grinned. “Yep. Ever heard of Green-Osbourne?”
        “So what?”
        “So they shouldn’t have pissed off Dewey and Charles. First the Europeans seized company holdings in Europe, but luckily all the engineering is done in North America and most of the assets are in space. Then we lost a man and a landing craft when the Euros fired on it. It was full of my beer, too, damn it. Anyway, that was the last straw.”
        “I thought your ships were almost impervious to weapons?”
        “Only the interplanetary ships. Landers and boosters have to deal with the gravity well and can’t be that heavy.”
        “So what can Dewey do?”
        “Guys, do any of you know anything about war?”
        “I do,” an elderly female voice piped up from the other end of the bar. “I was only twenty. It was horrible.”
        “Oh,” said Ed, “Hello, Mrs. Ferguson. I didn’t see you down there. Where are you going with this, John?”
        “Earth hasn’t had a shooting war for half a century, and their armies have forgotten how to fight. They’re barely armies.
        “Meanwhile, Mars has been at war almost from the beginning, at war with pirates. Green-Osbourne has an army, a space army, and an experienced one.
        “Dewey convinced all the other shippers to refuse interplanetary shipments until the mess on Earth is over. Some he had to threaten, he made it clear that his army would allow no shipping, and people who tried to trade with Earth would be blown out of the sky. Nobody but Green-Osbourne is doing any shipping, and only to select clients, like us. You Aussies can have all the rare earths you can afford, but the Euros get nothing.
        “China and North America are the only Earthly sources of rare earths, so Europe is screwed; mining is effectively impossible there. Their economies will collapse; they’ll come around.
        “Meanwhile, I expect to see riots in the European domes pretty soon. There will be revolution for sure. Lots of Martians are tired of being tied to Mother Earth’s apron strings. We want to be free!”
        “I don’t know, maytie,” Charlie said. “Australians almost have independence already, I don’t see any revolt coming.”
        “John’s right,” Ed replied. “you folks will be last, except maybe the Chinese, you might revolt before them. But when we’re not paying taxes to Earth and you are, and there’s nothing that can happen to you for not paying the tax, you’ll sign the declaration.”
        “Declaration?”
        “We’ll declare our independence. When the time is right. Mars has an army and Earth doesn’t. They can’t boss us Martians around any more!”

        “Sir, we’ve detected a craft coming in from the belt.”
        “Very well, Captain Phillips. Disable it with an EMP and set it in orbit around Mars. It will be their prison until a treaty is signed, we’ll supply them with the necessities of life.”
        “Yes, sir.”

        A month later, there was indeed rioting in the French dome. The elected, normally powerless city council presented a demand for independence from Earth; after all, Earth was powerless against Green-Osbourne, and that company had protected Mars from pirates – and now was protecting Mars from the Earthians.
        The mayor refused to sign the declaration and was arrested, and an election for a new mayor was scheduled.
        News reached the other domes, of course, and almost all of the Martians became rebels.

        Three months later on June thirteenth, by Earth’s calendar (Mars rotates at a different rate and is on a longer orbit), the UN had no choice but to sign a treaty with the Martians, which recognized the domes as sovereign states. Their economy was crumbling, citizens were doing more than grumbling, elected leaders were in danger of no longer being elected.
        Earth no longer had the illusion of a single government.
        Aimée Beaulieu was released from jail and returned to Earth after the treaty was signed, and retired with honors and a huge pension, seen as a patriotic hero by her French countrymen and the French government.
        The only loss of life in the entire “war” was the Greene-Osbourne landing craft captain that the U.N. had shot down.

        John’s bar was full of happy people with nothing on their minds except celebrating Martian independence. John downplayed his involvement.
        “I’m not even a real Martian, Charlie. Not for two more years. The real Martians, guys like you who were born here are the real Martians.”
        A voice came from a few stools down. “Hey John, don’t you serve Frenchmen?”
        “Lewis! Good to see you, old man. Lager?”
        “Of course.”
        “So how do you like your new job?”
        “Oh, man, I hate it. I wish I hadn’t run for office, those damned Euros really fouled everything up. But I’ll manage. Mars will, too, now that we’re not wearing Earth’s yoke.”
        “The second French revolution and nobody got guillotined!”
        “The second American revolution, too. And it was a lot more like now than the French revolution.”
        John grinned. “I wouldn’t know, my wife’s the history buff. Excuse me, Lewis, it looks like there’s a lot of empty glasses! PARTY!! Robot, don’t just stand there, you stupid junkpile, get Lewis a lager.”

Maybe its time to run our Police like the British, with predominantly unarmed officers, with fire-arms teams readily available when needed.

So what is a few criminals turn runner and get away because some physically un-fit cops can't chase them down? Most criminals get away, then get found out later.

Maybe Unarmed officers would wear WHITE jacketed uniforms, or maybe white sleeves, and wouldn't carry any weapons (and that includes no multi-shock Tasers) other than a small self-defense baton. (Something that leaves a distinctive trace-able mark). They could still wear bullet/stab proof vests if desired.

They'd get defensive martial arts training and conflict deescalation training instead of fire arms training.

This would not, as some claim, result in mass killing of police, because the white jacket would make it clear they are unarmed and present no immediate physical threat.

Even if they come to arrest someone, they are not likely to induce fear and loathing Most police effect most arrests without ever pulling a gun. Most arrests are not for crimes that killing someone is an acceptable outcome.

Even among thieves and drug dealers there's no glory in shooting an unarmed man. The unarmed white shirted police officer would be as safe as the ticket writing "meter maids" of the 50's who were never armed.

Armed apprehension teams could be dispatched when the need presented itself.

Why is it a 5' 2" female unarmed British constable can effect an arrest of a pub brawler, but American ex-military, 6'4" cops can't issue a speeding ticket without a side arm?

It works elsewhere.

Which one of these is legally acceptable discrimination?

A) "I'm sorry, being Martian is really a requirement for this position."
B) "I'm sorry, being native-born is really a requirement for this position."
C) "I'm sorry, being college-educated is really a requirement for this position."

If you answered C as in College, you're correct.

As others have noted, often times a degree means any bachelor's degree required, not necessarily one specific or even relevant to the line of work. So what is the cause of this hiring obsession with degrees today? One former bigwig I worked for required me to add it to the job descriptions because it would keep our pay relevant compared to every other department.

I would not be surprised that Applicant Tracking Systems are being used to quickly thin the herds of applicants, with location being the first check and the second being a degree. So while recruiters whine about not having enough qualified applicants, how many are really digging into applicants by hand and by eye to find the best of the whole pool outside of that candidate-burying checkbox?

In a role where I was at the cusp of being hired, the CEO's last piece of advice was to put my education status at the top of my resume, as though that's the first thing he cared about, not the last decade of directly-relevant work experience that so readily said I could do the job. The external recruiter later said they "redid the requirements" to aim at someone who well, wasn't me. In many of these cases, perhaps my judgement is skewed because this is the readily available legal rejection, not that I'm huge and intimidating by size, or pale as a ghost, or whatever.

I didn't get diagnosed with ADD until after I left college, so while I'm intelligent and was reasonably successful, I have this repeated experience where I can't get hired to a job commensurate with my real life experience and award-winning track record. And it makes me feel like leftovers, that someone might hire me if they really need someone right now, but otherwise all I'm good for is answering calls. Even some early high school degree requirements were found to be discriminatory. So this this educational requirement the new discrimination?

Chris Evans has announced he is leaving his role as a presenter on BBC Two's Top Gear after one series.

He tweeted: "Stepping down from Top Gear. Gave it my best shot but sometimes that's not enough.

"I feel like my standing aside is the single best thing I can now do to help the cause."

His resignation comes after falling ratings for the show - which hit a series low on Sunday night, with an average of 1.9 million viewers.

Source: BBC

It is just over a year since Evans was given the job of reinventing Top Gear for the post-Clarkson era, an appointment that was controversial from the start after he had repeatedly denied he had been approached to host the show.

The then BBC2 controller, Kim Shillinglaw, said Evans’s “knowledge of and passion for cars are well-known and combined with his sheer inventiveness and cheeky unpredictability he is the perfect choice to take our much-loved show into the future”. But Shillinglaw lost her BBC2 job before the show went on air, one of a string of senior departures to hit the show, also including that of its executive producer Lisa Clark.

Source: The Guardian

http://www.vice.com/read/oakland-underage-sex-work-scandal

Not so long ago it was possible to point to Oakland as a police reform success story. In the last decade, the cops have gone from conducting an average of 3,000 searches without probable cause every year to 280 in 2015. Officers are now required to wear body cameras. After decades of abuse, violence, and corruption, the police department seemed to finally be changing.

In the last few weeks, though, a scandal has emerged that threatens to tear the department apart. In brief, 14 Oakland police officers are currently under investigation for sleeping with an 18-year-old sex worker—three of them when she was 17, thus allegedly committing rape and sex trafficking under California law. The woman, using the alias Celeste Guap, told the East Bay Express earlier this month that she was having sex with the cops for money and protection; she had been given a friend's arrest history and information about undercover prostitution stings.

Hints of the scandal surfaced last year, after a suicide note written one of the officers involved, Brendan O'Brien, mentioned Guap, prompting an investigation. But the higher-ups allegedly dragged their feet, and the supposed cover-up has only widened the sordid scandal has since expanded. (According to Guap's later comments to the media, she's actually had sex with "more than 30 officers" from multiple agencies around the Bay Area.)

The shocking and salacious events were the catalyst to Oakland appointing four police chiefs in two weeks. Initially, Sean Whent, who was promoted to top cop at the end of a similarly messy 2013 shuffle that saw three new police chiefs in three days, got canned because he allegedly knew about Guap sleeping with Oakland cops but didn't press for a speedy and public investigation.

I had the HTML and other electronic versions of Random Scribblings done a couple of months ago. I should have uploaded it without an index to test it on my phone, and I should have examined it more closely on the computer. Some of the code was REALLY bad.

One page, the longest, still wobbles in Android Firefox on a phone, but is fine in the phone's built-in browser. I haven't tested it in Opera or Chrome.

I went to the pawn shop and bought a tablet just to see if it was okay on a tablet. It isn't, at least on a Samsung Galaxy 3 tablet; the text is teensy, more so in Firefox than its native browser but hard to read anyway. I guess I need to google a little; in the computer if the text is too small I can hit Ctrl +. The reverse pinch thing on a touchscreen isn't good enough.

Anyway, one page is very long and has quite a bit of code, and looking for clues of where the errors were by examining the page in a browser, how I debugged back in my programming days, wasn't cutting it. So I ran it through the W3C code validator, and egads! Over 1700 errors and warnings! I settled down a little when I realized all but a half dozen or so were simply the lack of an "alt" tag in images where that tag was not only unnecessary but would get in the blind reader's way; the graphic is a one pixel clear PNG I use for tab stops at the beginning of a paragraph (<img src="tab.png" width="25" height="1" align="left" border="0">).

The first error was from a useful habit I got into back in my programming days: re-using code. Re-inventing the wheel for each wagon you invent is just stupid, so I would simply copy everything above the <body> statement. But the twenty year old doctype was no longer recognized. Some other ancient code wasn't recognized, either.

Well, I'd better get back to work on it... It's here.

To make matters worse for Hillary, it recently emerged that at least one of the emails she handed over to investigators under subpoena in fact did contain classified information that was marked as such. The April 2012 email chain discusses an impending phone call with Malawi’s new president. The important part is an email from Monica Hanley, an aide, to Clinton, including the “call sheet” for the secretary. In layman’s terms, this was a note for Secretary Clinton telling her what she needed to discuss during her scheduled phone conversation with a foreign head of state.

We don’t know what that was, however, since most of that email has been redacted as classified at the Confidential level, the lowest classification level in the U.S. Government. The smoking gun here is that the call sheet begins with the line: “(C) Purpose of Call: To offer condolences on the passing pf President Mutharika and congratulate President Banda on her recent swearing in.”

Everything after that has been redacted. But that “(C)” is what is termed a “portion marking,” a tip-off to the reader that the paragraph following is classified. (For how this all works in practice, see this explainer.) In other words, Hanley knew she was sending classified information in an unclassified email to Hillary Clinton’s personal email account, an unambiguous violation of Federal law.

and

Last week the Associated Press broke a big story about how Clinton’s “unclassified” emails included the true names of CIA personnel serving overseas under cover. This was hardly news, in fact I broke the same story four months ago in this column. However, the AP account adds detail to what Clinton and her staff did, actions that placed the lives of CIA clandestine personnel at risk. It also may be a violation of the Intelligence Identities Protection Act, a 1982 law that featured prominently in the mid-aughts scandal surrounding CIA officer Valerie Plame, which so captivated the mainstream media. More recently, former CIA officer John Kiriakou spent two years in Federal prison for violating this law.

To make matters worse for Team Clinton, last week it emerged that several of the classified emails under investigation involved discussions of impending CIA drone strikes in Pakistan. Clinton aides were careful to avoid hot-button words like “CIA” and “drone” in these “unclassified” emails, engaging in a practice that spies term “talking around” an issue.

However, the salient fact is that the CIA—which has the say here—considers this information to be Top Secret, as well as enormously sensitive. It had no business being in anybody’s unclassified emails. As the secretary of state, Ms. Clinton and her top staff had access to classified communications systems 24 hours a day. They chose not to use them here—a choice that clearly violated Federal law. Moreover, this new report demonstrates that a previous Clintonian EmailGate talking point, that discussions of drones in emails were no more than pasting press pieces, and therefore innocuous, was yet another bald-faced lie.

You can read the original article to view embedded links in the quotes above.

It makes little sense, except perhaps to further some false flag operation, to continue to make the argument that Clinton didn't break serious laws here.