Word: eight-hour
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...fascist dictator is finished!" the invaders shouted over loudspeakers as they moved slowly through the city. Two nights before, the Tanzanian army unleashed an assault on Kampala: a dozen MiG-21s screamed over the city, strafing military targets, and an eight-hour artillery barrage lit the skyline with almost continuous flashes. Next day the invading force was greeted by jubilant Kampalans who danced in the streets and tossed flowers at the advancing tanks. Accompanying the Tanzanians was TIME'S Tony Avirgan, who observed: "The whole thing took on the air of a victory parade, but at times the revelry...
Need a hired hand in Florida? Dial the Capitol in Tallahassee. Newly inaugurated Governor Robert Graham just took in $24 for an eight-hour day laying sod. "It's good for you psychologically. It cleans out the cobwebs of the day-today crises you normally deal with," says Graham, 42, who literally worked his way into office by spending 100 days of his campaign at odd jobs. Among them: scrubbing bedpans, covering a police beat, hefting fertilizer and tuning Toyotas. The idea was to "get in touch with the people" (and perhaps make voters forget his roots...
...hundreds of people who fake being sick--lose two straight at the NCAA regional playoffs. Delaware wins the first game, beating All-American Larry Brown (Pitching with balls that are Taiwan Little League rejects), 1-0 on an unearned run--but only after the game is called after an eight-hour rain delay...
...five hours. Then the patient unwraps the empty plastic bag, lowers it to the floor, releases the clamp and lets the waste-laden fluid drain out of the abdominal cavity. Subsequently, a new bag of fluid is attached, and the procedure is repeated three times more at four-to eight-hour intervals every day. While the blood is being cleansed, patients can do just about anything. Morgan has even gone deer hunting...
Still in a half-befogged state from Yale weekend, a member of the Harvard-Radcliffe Dramatic Club [HRDC] stumbled into the Loeb on a recent Monday morning to serve his eight-hour slot behind the box office window. Puttering through a collection of weekend mail, tattered ticket stubs and dog-eared programs, he caught sight of an unfamiliar sheet of stationery and did a double take. Someone had slipped the Loeb an anonymous note. The letterhead, The Yale Dramatic Society. The message, a poem...