Word: foreheaded
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...summer day in 1997, Rudolph Snead, his mother's boyfriend, had picked B.J. up from basketball, his daily passion. Someone in another car shot at Snead. A bullet grazed Snead's forehead and broke glass that cut B.J. Police charged Russell Peeler with the attempted murder; both Snead and B.J. identified Peeler as the shooter. Peeler and Snead knew each other and were said to be fighting over money...
...other. One side's good, pari passu, is the other's evil. Such are the stakes. One side has "possession." Who, or what, then, is "possessed?" And with what satanic implications? This is a question that drives postmodern man to crush an empty beer can on his forehead--and even to open another...
JANUARY 2000 Annoyed by paparazzi trying to photograph her while she eats a hot dog on a New York City sidewalk, Monica goes "ballistic," according to witnesses, and embeds the heel of her Manolo Blahnik shoe in the forehead of a photographer. Monica is charged with assault with an expensive weapon. Under Mayor Rudy Giuliani's new "zero tolerance" assault-shoe laws, she faces 25 years to life; but since she now has competent lawyers, the case is quietly settled out of court. "Can you imagine if Ginsburg were still representing her?" comments ABC's Jeff Toobin...
...novels or trying to make sense of the plotlines for Melrose Place, is not an easy undertaking. Step onto the mazelike cosmetics floor of almost any department store and you are likely to be assaulted by salesclerks--some spritz-happy, some too eager to confront you about your shiny forehead. Chances are the beauty product you're looking for is under glass, off limits to mere customers. According to at least one market-research survey on the way cosmetics are presented and pitched in stores, the entire process "inhibits friendliness...
Beads of sweat break out on your forehead and slowly travel down your face, into your nose, stinging your eyes. Your hands tremble and fumble with the pages. Yet still you remain transfixed. You read without a sense of yourself--aware only of the feel of paper and the putrid smell of filth and excrement clinging to the words. Occasionally the pages, white and luminous, drag you so deep inside their parameters that for brief moments, you literally imagine you are one of the victims, one of the inhuman, one of the blind. A cold fear clings to each word...