Word: lathers
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...flourescent green light through which you could creep sideways; a black and white photograph of two messes of junk plunked on a studio floor; a large TV screen on which a pair of lips were painstakingly mouthing "lip syne" again and again; another TV screen with a man smearing lather all over his naked hairy chest; a color photograph of a pair of hands waxing the red plastic letters "HOT;" a rusted steel plate called "Dark"--the artist claimed to have written "dark" on its underside; a bunch of dirt...
...lather was ploughing when unexpectedly, the fog shrouding the mountain all disappeared suddenly. My lather stood in the field with the buffalo watching for the plane to pass so he could unhitch the buffalo. But suddenly four planes of the F-4H type flew over and immediately released their bombs. The bombs destroyed my village. All six houses burnt and a bomb fell about fifteen meters from where my father was ploughing, causing the blown up earth and the shrapnel to kill my father and the buffalo instantly... My sister and I ran over to him, but I saw that...
...Marjoe does not acknowledge is the relation between his craving for attention and the cruelty of his mother, who dunked his head underwater or smothered him with a pillow to insure that her young "gimmick" memorized his allegedly God inspired sermons contentiously Rather, he insists that he resented his lather more although he actually hates neither patent because he suggests unconvincingly, he's doing his thing and they were doing theirs...
...time to time the slouch-hatted and trench-coated shade of Humphrey Bogart (Jerry Lacy) appears and dispenses bits of hard-boiled advice to the lovelorn and loveworn Felix. With such expert assistance, Felix finally beds a kindly but dedicated neurotic (splendidly played by Diane Keaton of The God-lather, who spins something funny and touching from the script's few scattered remnants...
...when the plot dawdles, Rhinehart's language and humor exert their wiles. Though he leans more to wisecrack than to wit, he gets off fine mimicrys of TV talk shows, journalistic deepthink and professorial psychoanalytic jargon. Between sheets (the book is copiously copulative), Rhinehart works up a positively Joycean lather-blather...