Word: chuted
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...From the beginning, we were the No-Wing Militia," said Michael Chute, 54, who served as range officer for the slaughter of the televisions. "We ain't right wing, we ain't left wing. We're trying to get the folks to see the problem ain't left versus right, it's up versus down." He uses a tool analogy. "A Republican is a standard screw," said Chute. "A Democrat is a Philips screws. So whichever way you vote you get the screw." (See a review of the movie version of The Beans of Egypt, Maine...
...Michael Chute, the host of the event, which took place on the 17 acres of his property in North Parsonsfield, happens to be married to one of the better known writers of the last 20 years, Carolyn Chute, 62, author of five novels. Her first book, The Beans of Egypt, Maine, sold 350,000 copies and made her a darling of the literary establishment in the 1980s. The critics compared her to Faulkner and Steinbeck, because what she wrote about so well and so convincingly was the back-broken underclass in Maine, the people who work, like Carolyn once...
...haven't had a hot water heater since 1970," she says. It also has no septic system (they use an outhouse, even in the bitter Maine winters) and has only a wood stove for heat. It goes without saying there is no television, and certainly not a computer. Chute writes her books on jangled old typewriters. Her husband sometimes hunts moose for their protein...
...used look like something from The Beverly Hillbillies. The Viking smoker is a sleek, 375-lb. (170 kg) stainless-steel vault built to resemble a high-end refrigerator. A cute little chimney vents smoke from the middle. The "gravity feed," Love pointed out, is nothing more than a long chute. It works much like a cat-food dispenser; you fill it with charcoal and smoke woods, which drop down as the lower stuff burns out, so you can set your temperature at a nice 250°F (about 120°C) and walk away for 12 hours. Hillbilly-type smokers require...
...stood on the kill floor, I watched the moment when each pig, emerging from the chute, sensed its fate; the sudden piercing squeal followed by the too-late attempt to turn and run—some pigs literally attempting to scramble up vertical walls—as metal shackles were clamped around their ankles. And I watched as the shackles hoisted each pig into the air and as the slaughterer’s knife sent blood splattering across my overalls...