Word: mocks
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...after reading the how to peak hip glossary at the end, but this new twist on the be a better and healthier person or else you'll die genre does little for the quest of rooting out the uncool in the world, one of its stated goals. In a mock parody like The Preppy Handbook, one might try to tolerate the section on. "The Dark History of Sunglasses" and the consumer help portions of the book, which offers readers where-to-buy leads, addresses and advice...
...amnesia, wandering the land with his turn-ups stuffed with ticket stubs," he muses. Birdboot is interested only in ogling young starlets and keeping smut out of the theatre. Fulfilling what must be every playwright's ultimate fantasy, Stoppard uses the self-centered antics of these two to mock the whole business of theatre criticism viciously. In the process, he produces an extremely funny play...
...civilized community can tolerate. Pervading the pages of the Dartmouth Review, founded in 1980, is a sophomoric brand of macho humor. An essay in its Oct. 18 issue spoke scornfully of a "never-never land where men are women and women are persons." The same issue contained a mock memo berating student homosexuals: "Wasn't the closet more comfortable than the trash bag? You guys could suffocate." Contends Editor in Chief E. William Cattan: "We are writing for Dartmouth students. We have to make it spicy...
...young couple fell in love at Longlea, Millionaire Charles E. Marsh's mock 18th century manor, set on 1,000 acres of Virginia hunt country. He was an awkward, ambitious, first-term Congressman named Lyndon Johnson, and she was Alice Glass, then 26, a stately and bright young beauty with blond-ochre hair that one admirer said "shimmered and gleamed like nothing you ever saw." The previously undisclosed love affair is described by Pulitzer Prizewinner Robert Caro in Volume I of The Years of Lyndon Johnson, excerpted in the November Atlantic Monthly...
...Maximum Leader and Supreme Baby Kisser of the Soviet Peoples has come back to greet us. Who would ever have supposed that the most immediately memorable show in New York City's SoHo, at the start of the 1982 art season, would be a gallery full of mock Stalinist socialist realism, done in the correct borsch-and-gravy colors of official Soviet art 30 years ago? But there is nothing that pluralism will not give us; and so it is with the exhibition by Vitaly Komar (a name that, in Russian, means "mosquito") and Alexander Melamid, which grandly fills...