Word: bleached
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...charged with child abuse, and last year his temper flared up again during an interleague game against the Mets, when he earned a 10-game suspension for head-butting an umpire. Almost makes you nostalgic for the glory days of Mets-turned-Red Sox pitchers Bret Saberhagen (who sprayed bleach at reporters back in 1993) and David Cone (who allegedly exposed himself to three women while hanging out in the Mets bullpen during a 1989 game...
Lest you think Calkins is a complete nerd, he's anything but. He fully realizes that Gibson, with his perky antenna-like tail and endearingly clunky legs, can be a chick magnet. If that doesn't impress, Calkins will sweep back his bleach-blond hair and rattle off the weekend's coolest parties in northern California. Still, Calkins isn't just content teaching his techno-pooch frat-boy tricks like kicking a ball or rolling over. He's into exploring Gibson's inner qualities: Calkins has backward-engineered his pet, methodically investigating his dog's software to see exactly what...
...sales manager, a controller. "These people picked up the ball and ran with it," Henschel says. Kerr, on the other hand, played defense, frustrating them at every turn. "I'd think, 'Goddammit, it's my business, and I'll do what I want,'" he says. "I'd rather drink bleach than go to a team meeting...
What he likes best is dry sex. In parts of sub-Saharan Africa, to please men, women sit in basins of bleach or saltwater or stuff astringent herbs, tobacco or fertilizer inside their vagina. The tissue of the lining swells up and natural lubricants dry out. The resulting dry sex is painful and dangerous for women. The drying agents suppress natural bacteria, and friction easily lacerates the tender walls of the vagina. Dry sex increases the risk of HIV infection for women, already two times as likely as men to contract the virus from a single encounter. The women, adds...
...midday, I know the proper way to clean up a blood spill. (With bleach.) I know the remedies for both conscious and unconscious choking, and how to self-administer the Heimlich maneuver (by leaning over the back of a chair). I know how to apply CPR. After a morning of vivid reminders of my mortality, the lunch break becomes an exercise in dread. For example, do I want to spend what may be the final hour of my life munching a Cobb salad and reading a book by Al Franken? I look down at my lunch and think...