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...logic has been tortured. He has routinely praised Bush and Baker for "getting the peace talks started," but he has just as regularly shot at the Administration for its loan guarantee stance, which was the key element in getting the players to the table in the first place. "It ain't complicated," concedes a Clinton aide. "We needed Jewish votes in the primaries. We played it one step at a time, and we can't waffle now. We're stuck. We can only hope there's enough residual bitterness about Bush's hardball tactics to depress his part...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Political Interest: Bush's Reward For Courage | 8/3/1992 | See Source »

...course, everything gets checked out, and the process is arguably a healthy one that eventually separates the truth from the bullshit. But only eventually. In the meantime, even the fact that rumors are going around can become a story. Over pate and wine on the press plane (these ain't the scruffy boys on the bus anymore), you hear that Marilyn Quayle is sick. You call a couple Republican Party officials who heard Dan Quayle might be dropped. Bingo. Come filing time, you can write a fresh story...

Author: By John A. Cloud, | Title: White House Rumors And Roving Reporters | 7/28/1992 | See Source »

...rich and powerful. In the darkly humorous RV, Patton plays to the hilt a fortysomething couch potato who has made a career of failure. He narrates the sorry soliloquy in a gravelly, hangover-from-hell drone to a bluesy piano and guitar accompaniment. "Besides listening to my belly gurgle/ Ain't much else to do," he groans, then concludes by mumbling, "I think it's time I had a talk with my kids/ I'll just tell 'em what my daddy told me/ You ain't ever gonna amount to nothin...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Blazing Their Own Road | 7/27/1992 | See Source »

...hound, disembowelled a "fan" during the first song. The victim stumbled and bounced around the stage for a while, tripping on his own rubbery intestines. In the next song, Jizmach sliced off the head of a "security officer" while singing the catchy refrain to the band's tune "you Ain't Shit Until You've killed a Cop." The cop danced headless around the stage for 20 minutes, his jugular spurting a jet of red water into the slam-dancing audience. The fans jumped up gleefully to catch it in their mouths. Gross, but sort of funny...

Author: By David S. Kurnick, | Title: Guts No Glory | 7/10/1992 | See Source »

...ain't so. Cambridge, especially Harvard Square, is actually kind of fun in the summer. Survivors of previous hot months here will agree that there's nothing to dread--in fact, there's a lot to enjoy...

Author: By Ira E. Stoll, | Title: Summer in the City | 6/27/1992 | See Source »

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