Word: rottener
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...most famous enforcer of Tommy's code is Ralph, who has earned the curiously child like nickname "Ralph Rotten" in the course of his years behind the counter. Ralph, who often wears his nickname proudly emblazoned across a stretched and sweaty T-shirt, occasionally carries the code--no combing or booze, no feet off the floor, no combing your hair, no profanity, no clove cigarettes--to it's illogical extreme. As he works over the grill, slicing and frying, he radiates certain anger--feeling each new order is an unwarranted imposition. On occasion he explodes, and leaps over the counter...
...hate Rotten Ralph. says Cathleen R. Wilson '86, "I think he's a thought criminal." But there is a soft underbelly to the Ralph Rotten story, a sense that he delights in his pastime of epaler le bourgeoisie. "Watch this," he'll say, winking to the older customers perched on their stools by the counter, and then he'll direct his stentorian bellow towards he rear booths: "Hey Lucy, put your feet on the floor!" "Lucy" is his collective name for all women; when asked about it he le laurels, surprised. "I don't know--'Lucy,' it sounds cuckoo...
...Royko continued with a more pointed observation: "Nobody ever asks us about our needs, our frustrations . . . It's always, 'Madam, do you have your quota of orgasms?' " One putative expert on that subject, Cosmopolitan Editor Helen Gurley Brown, had her own reaction to the hubbub. Hurried, "lackluster" sex is rotten for everybody, she concluded, while good sex is "pretty terrific"-- second only, in her experienced opinion, to good food...
...daughter of mine I'm tied hand and foot. She goes back to school on Sunday, THANK GOD! When she's with me, I miss more than ever my Katya and Osia (her children in the Soviet Union). They are so nice, and she (Olga) is a fool, spoiled rotten...
...Jewel most of the pukka props that have become the stuff of imperial legend: rusty colonels and their horsy daughters, schoolmarmy missionaries and pip-pipping young officers. Awful duffers are forever bashing off for a gin-and-tonic at the club, while social gaffers natter on about their rotten luck. India seems, on the surface at least, to be the ultimate British public school, an extended expatriate cocktail party...