This is a canard. Nobody in his right mind, even on this site, contends that free speech ought to allow one to break laws. Punching someone in the face is undoubtedly a form of speech, insofar as it communicates a message, but one cannot defend such an assault on free speech grounds. Likewise with insider trading and any other crime involving speech.

You appear to be framing the difference between the two approaches as one of Yosemite Sam on the one side, speechifying willy nilly without regard for the baleful consequences of his indiscretions, and on the other, the pasty-faced egghead Parisian intellectual in his black beret and turtleneck, heaving a weary sigh at the rusticated antics of his Yankee cousin, whilst making a few minor tweaks to the law in the interests of the basic human decency that so delights the heart of the European, but so quickly withers away in the harsh frontier conditions of the New World. You might bring some of that famed European nuance to bear on the question and consider whether this cartoonish interpretation does anything more than flatter your own ego.

this is fiendishly clever. if you're bad enough at it, you might end up getting your original job back.

The airline could even capitalize on this by awarding certificates to passengers afterward proclaiming that they remain Official Space Virgins.

They'll just install a remote attack-authorization button so the thing isn't technically autonomous, and then someone at Quantico will put his coffee cup on top of the button. Problem solved.

It must really annoy Lucas to hear people ask this even after he produced a detailed three-part instructional video on the subject.

Monster actually used to manufacture Beats.

Comma Chameleeeeon

finally some common sense! what my wife confides in her girlfriends during their weekly book club sessions is none of my beeswax. If they're meeting at our house that week, I make a point of scheduling some time at the driving range and let them have their fun. likewise, she has sense enough not to ask what exactly I'm doing hanging out at the local highway rest stop between the hours of 2 and 4 am every Saturday night.

the other side of the story: "my husband thinks he has access to all my email."

is that like the startup version of quasi modo?

They probably just couldn't be bothered.

Actually, confronting the perp is the best way to get the full CSI treatment. If you're lucky, they might even pull up your dental records to conclusively ID your remains.

In all my years as a celebrated sex therapist, I've never heard that particular bit of female anatomy referred to as a 'wiggle room' before.

Land sakes, man, sex should never be boring! Leave the light on long enough to find the hole that's already there!

You're a better man than I. After eight screwdrivers I ran out orange juice and threw my cube at the wall, shattering my lava lamp and setting fire to my shag carpeting. I managed to stomp it out, but my elevator shoes and bell bottoms were ruined in the process. The very next day I slicked back my hair, bought a pin-striped suit, and started buying up distressed companies and selling off their assets to fuel my coke addiction.