Word: chickens
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Captain Lavin sums up the Army's current policy in crisp G.I. language: "Nobody is going to chicken out if I can help it." Roughly four-fifths of Korea's psychiatric cases now go back promptly to combat. Nearly all the rest get forward duty in service companies. And the system works: of the men returned to duty after up-forward psychiatric care, only 10% have to come back for more...
Even so, a few snippets of gossip got out. The court heard that Louis sometimes fainted at dinner, after stuffing himself to the gills. Sample menu: four soups, three terrines of foie gras, countless hors d'oeuvres, 16 meat courses, partridge, chicken, song birds, pheasant, turkey, squab, 14 desserts, creams and cakes. And Paris had ample evidence that, in her later years, Pompadour turned from mistress to madam, filled the château with a succession of pretty girls to drive away His Majesty's boredom...
...last the professor agreed to call in a consultant. Madame Viviana, a cheerful, blowzy blonde with a wide circle of friends in the spirit world, was confident that she could do away with anyone's husband with the aid of four chicken hearts and a measly 54,000 francs. Auguste produced the desired articles, obediently stuck pins in wax candles at Viviana's command, and waited. In almost no time, Lucienne's husband, bursting with health, returned from the Cameroons to his willing wife, who no longer had time for Auguste...
...character put down-in a setting that is just around the block and dolloped with matter-of-fact nonsense. His present hero, a city rabbit named Winthrop, is not conjured out of a top hat but from the place city rabbits normally come from-"a toy village enclosed by chicken wire and located in Section B, on the sixth floor of a big New York department store." Winthrop is first reduced from $2.98 to $1.78 because he proves not to be "colorfast, washable and docile"; then he finds himself out on his ear in the harsh world of Central Park...
...Annapolis last month, or at Cambridge just a few days ago, the humbl fare of the Yale dining halls seems shockingly inferior in both quantity and quality. All that we had seen at Annapolis steaming, platers sticked high with chicken halves, soup fuveens full of chocolate chip ice cream, pitchers overflowing with milk all remained vivid in our minds as we retreated back across the Vistula. And by the banks of the Charles our far-famed social franquility went to the winds as we gorged like men half starved on salad pilled high with thousand island dressing, reast beef...