Word: bitches
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...faculty-sponsored defense fund, managed to cast considerable doubt on the girls' testimony. Witnesses claimed that Susan had such a hatred for McNeill after she got a low mark on a test that she pounded her desk, cried "I hate you!," later called him "a son of a bitch" and talked about "dirty black niggers." His lawyers raised the question of why she had kept still for 45 minutes without trying to protest-although a class was in session in an adjoining room, the doors were unlocked, and the interior of McNeill's office was visible through three...
...everyone here is of military age. Second, he continued, we always find informants to separate the civilians from the soldiers. "We have a few Egyptian prisoners who have been here before in '56. It's like 'old home week' for some," an old Israeli officer said. "Although they may bitch," he continued , "they're damn happy to be out of the shooting and having someone look after them." A severely burned Syrian, his wounds covered with flies, was being carried by other prisoners to the hospital tent. No one seemed to notice...
...this flat-footed travelogue of Gangland, 1929, Capone is champion of bootlegging, extortion and all other racket sports. The simple art of murder has placed him at the top alone-until George ("Bugs") Moran begins muscling in on Chicago's North Side. "I want that son of a bitch hit!" rages Al, and assigns exterminators to get rid of the Bugs in his operation. On Feb. 14, a bunch of thugs dressed as cops enter Moran's garage and gun down everyone-except Moran, who happens to be off the premises. The St. Valentine's Day Massacre...
...stifling heat, Smith grew impatient and imprudent. Alternately braking and accelerating, flicking his headlights on and off, Smith tailgated the police car. Finally, after a quarter-mile of tailgating, Smith tried to swing past the police. They cut him off. Who the hell? . . . Goddam . . . Son of a bitch! There was a short scuffle, and Smith was trundled into the squad...
Deutscher, now 60, obviously remains caught up in his love affair with the bitch goddess of the left-international socialist revolution. And even though his love has not only been wed but ravaged by all sorts of adventurers, he still regards her as essentially pure, as innocent as she seemed when she first appeared before him in his youth. It is, he believes, her captors who are to blame. But in so often allowing emotion to obscure fact, myth to overwhelm reality, he only proves once more, alas, that no bourgeois gentleman can be as sentimental as a doctrinaire proletarian...