Word: flogged
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Alexander's wide-eyed but not very sensitive view provides a short crarri course on the ways men have discovered to dehumanize themselves. For a start, Maclnnes and young Alexander rub the reader's nose in the flog-grog-and-vomit life of the British seaman...
What has matured in Bill Maitland is not himself but his fears, guilts and anxieties. His skin has become thinner, not thicker, and he flares up with the irascible sensitivity of thwarted desires, blighted hopes. He must flog a body that is losing its resilience, and he smells death's bad breath at dawn. He envies the young for being young and for possessing the integrity that has eroded in him, the appetite for life that has cloyed on his palate, and the courage that has been drowned. Locked in hell's isolation ward of self, he claws...
Jones's plays belong to a relatively new dramatic genre that has been called the theater of cruelty. The theater of cruelty aims to punish an audience, flog it, and maybe even make it sick at its stomach. But which audience? Jones seems like a man who needs an enemy so badly that the nearest friend will do. His true target in these plays is the well-intentioned liberal intellectual with namby-pamby notions of cozy, overnight, instant brotherhood. The Toilet's depiction of Negroes as semi-cretinous urban cannibals is calculated to affront precisely those white racial...
...obvious compelling need for such a drastic departure. "You can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertisements," wrote British Author Norman (South Wind) Douglas. Allowing for occasional flaws in the glass, advertising is simply a mammoth mirror of the world around it, and the intellectuals who flog advertising are using it, consciously or unconsciously, as a whipping boy for all that they dislike about U.S. society and the U.S. character. In the most effective rebuttal any adman has yet made to Arnold Toynbee, William Bernbach wrote: "Mr. Toynbee's real hate is not advertising...
...Catherine the Great was ignorant of the facts of life, thought the only difference between men and women was that men, for some odd reason, had to shave. Her Romanov husband was impotent, mad and sadistic, and his favorite pastime was to play with his toy soldiers or flog a dachshund suspended by a rope from the ceiling. "In later life," writes Nicolson, in a sly reference to her 30-odd lovers, "she did much to repair this gap in her experience." In later life she was also a great lip servant of liberty ("Liberty is the core of everything...