Word: madmanned
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...wrong: if I worked for the government, I'd be wasting money like a madman. I'd head a commission to investigate the safety of Kobe beef, bring back a one-man Meese commission and make myself ambassador to Angelina Jolie...
...sublimely greater, he drew from his jacket a Coke bottle full of gasoline, and he doused the piano with one hand as the other hand banged out the song; and he struck a wooden match and he set the piano aflame, and his hands, like the hands of a madman, did not quit the blazing keys, but kept pounding, until all became unknown tongues and holiness and fire, and the kids went utterly, magically berserk with the frenzy of it all; and Jerry Lee stalked backstage, stinking of gasoline and wrath, and he said to Chuck Berry, real calm...
Nonetheless, the jury sent Yoder back to Chester. Cuneo, the state psychologist, had testified that Yoder was bipolar and delusional and that he had a history of violence. Given a choice between two competing experts, the jury played it safe. Who wants to be responsible for loosing a madman? Yoder repeatedly faced this conundrum in court--convincing jurors he was sane from inside an asylum. The state had a strong case: jurors heard about Yoder's battery of women. They heard about the time he got into a scuffle with a guard and bit him. They heard about incidents when...
...best way to catch the Hives is in concert. Pelle, who has the slender androgynous look of the young Mick Jagger, oozes star power, while Nicholaus dances like a madman and plays flawless guitar. Their stage banter is hysterical. Pelle cranks up his Swedish accent to explain to the audience why the Hives' sets are so short: "We have been told by the government of the U.S.A. that we cannot play for more than 45 minutes. It would be dangerous to the youth." After a particularly slick guitar performance, Nicholaus grabs the mike and, in full-on Swedish tourist mode...
...course. At first you pay little attention to the teams on the screen until you notice that the players wearing the royal blue jerseys are somehow different. This guy with a candy-apple red Mohawk darts into view, launching his lanky frame at the ball like a madman. In the center of the defense is a buzzing human gnat wearing the black-leather face mask of a professional wrestler. The team captain is a silky assassin who snakes passes with the style and misdirection of 007. His wingman is a shaved-headed, ball-dribbling maestro. Up front: two bleach blond...