Word: pitchforkness
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...Proletarians, to horse!" was the shrill recruiting cry of Mme. Budenny as she dashed on a plunging charger into tiny Russian villages, fired peasant lads with her tales of battle and glory. Soon every man who possessed a horse and gun (or even a pony and pitchfork) was galloping at her heels to join Budennevskaya Kon-armia (Budenny's Horsemen). Only last year, when the Soviet Congress was discussing a project for electrification of certain provincial cities, Commander Budenny strode in and stampeded the session by shouting: "What is all this talk of 'electrification?' What we need is 'horsification!' Give...
...hovered tremulously in a corner. They tore off his father's fingernails. They crunched his father's fingers one by one between wooden slabs. They ran his father through the middle with the cold tines of a pitchfork, tossed him on the white snow beside the body of his brother near the grey ice of the Dnieper. George Zagorsky, 25, son of onetime Brigadier General Zagorsky of the Czar's Imperial Russian Army has good reason to detest "Reds." Last week George sweltered in Manhattan, parsed verbs, declined nouns and pronouns. He already speaks fluently French, Russian...
...unmanageable mass of modern knowledge. Looked at historically, I think the hay-field episode is an accurate illustration of what has happened in our colleges during the last century. Overwhelmed by new facts that were coming faster than they could be managed, educators slid off the stack, stuck the pitchfork into the ground, and, turning to green freshmen, said, with the profanity deleted, "Stack it your-self...
...earnest. The man on the stack managed to keep his head above hay for a while, but before long he was up to his neck in hay that he could not handle. He managed to extricate himself from the mass of unstackable hay, slid off the stack, stuck his pitchfork in the ground, and said: "Damn it, stack it yourself...
...bright morning: "Abide with Me," Schuman's "Traumerei," "Hark, Hark, My Soul," "Song Without Words." He was proud for he played the greatest carillon in the world. But the burghers of Park Avenue, dreaming of a thousand empty bottles clanked against each other by a fiend's pitchfork, pulled the sheets up over their heads...