Word: puns
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Still, Lyndon Johnson suffers from one further problem: Lyndon Johnson. "The prevailing weakness of most public men is to slop over," Humorist Artemus Ward wrote a century ago. "G. Washington never slept over." The pun aside, Ward stated a problem that has plagued the President all along, and now threatens to overshadow his truly impressive domestic record. He does slop over. He speaks-or preaches-with the accents of the Depression in an age of prosperity. His rustic reminiscences seem irrelevant to a predominantly urban electorate. At 58, Johnson is roughly midway in age between Bobby Kennedy...
...staff are former athletic stars such as Marcel Hansenne, an assistant editor who finished third in the 800-meter run in the 1948 Olympics; and intellectuals such as Antoine Blondin, a novelist who won the Prix Interallié in 1959 and now writes a regular column of slangy, pun-filled and often sarcastic observations. Reporters must scrape along on salaries of $300 to $350 a month, and even top editors earn only $800 to $1,000; yet many of them quit higher-paying jobs on other papers to join L'Équipe. Why? "Because," explains Grand Prix Racing Reporter...
...good pun and a useful one in a century overburdened with Bonapartes. Like a swarm of corpulent drones they rose from the thickets of Corsica and fell with a sodden thump on the sinecures of empire. Noisy, ugly, greedy, provincial, quarrelsome, ostentatious, lewd and downright criminal, they terrorized Europe off and on from 1801 to 1870 and frightened Napoleon himself almost as much as the Grand Alliance did. All through his reign they ridiculed, insulted and cheated him, and when he needed them most a number of them cynically betrayed him to his enemies. Of all modern dynasties, the Bonapartes...
...holding an empty glass when I began to read Fangs A Lot [April 8]. I had so much pun galloping through your pheasantries that my crocodile tears fell so fast I thought I needed an eye-viper. It gladdened my hart to see the tears had fallen into the glass. Instantly I addered a mastiff slug of raw animal spirits, with ice-"crocs on the rocks"-thrush snaking my thirst in a swallow. Delicious. Pity I had no horse d'oeuvre. Such a stag party may never be held again. On the otter hand, I wonder wether the savoir...
...turned out mudpie paintings covered with coarse scratchings and reduced the traditional ideal of feminine beauty to scarifying yet powerful grotesques. In other series, called Texturologies and Topographies, he has exalted the artistic possibilities of ordinary dirt. His latest works, titled L'Hourloupes (opposite)-probably a pun on entourlouper, "to deceive, to misguide"-dip even further into the mad world to find images that he hopes will produce "a strong exaltation and a disturbing shock...