Word: guffawer
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Their names were enough to make most Americans guffaw: Moonbeam McSwine, Fearless Fosdick, Lonesome Polecat, Joe Btfsplk (pronounced Btfsplk). For 43 years they frolicked across the funny pages lampooning the foibles of the high and mighty and mouthing the pungent politics of their raspy-voiced creator, Al Capp. He called his hillbilly vaudeville Li'l Abner, and it made him a wealthy man, though not an especially happy one. Racked by emphysema and distressed by the social changes he saw around him, Capp abruptly retired in 1977. He took up a reclusive life in Cambridge, Mass., where he died...
...intermission; the mounting horror in the theater suddenly dissipates when you buy your "Jamaica Cola" in the lobby, and it's difficult to take Lear's self-dramatizing declamation right after a desultory intermission conversation, or a trip to the rest rooms. Thus such atrocities as the general guffaw that followed Lear's "Didst thou give all to thy daughters?" last Thursday night...
...this man Hamilton Jordan know anything? somebody asked. One of the boys in one of the town's shops had declared that everybody he knew believed Jordan was real horse's ass. After a loud guffaw the consensus was that Carter might be all right, but many of those people around him were just no good. The shop man said that he would never again vote for a man who did not have experience with Congress. Around the tables ni the back of the Ideal Café there were silent nods...
George Carlin is an American artist trying hard to keep growing. Eternity came breathing down his back six months ago in the form of a heart attack. Now, after three nights of sold-out adulation and guffaw at Long Island's Westbury Music Fair, he leans forward from his French Colonial chair in Manhattan's chic Pierre Hotel--he is surrounded by the stuff of decadence--and talks in his familiar streetguy talk, as he must have talked to the neighborhood kids in White Harlem 25 years ago, airing not so much as a hint of malcontent or overindulgence...
George Carlin is an American artist trying hard to keep growing. Eternity came breathing down his back four months ago in the form of a heart attack. Now, after three nights of sold-out adulation and guffaw at Long Island's Westbury Music Fair, he leans forward from his French Colonial chair in Manhattan's chic Pierre Hotel--he is surrounded by the stuff of decadence--and talks in his familiar streetguy talk, as he must have talked to the neighborhood kids in White Harlem 25 years ago, airing not so much as a hint of malcontent or overindulgence...