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News of Young's interview broke in Geneva just as Vance handed a message from Carter to Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko concerning Shcharansky. "Shit, shit, shit," screamed one ranking member of the Secretary's party when he learned what Young had said. "That stupid son of a bitch." As for the usually calm Vance, "what he said was unprintable," reported an aide. The Soviet news agency Tass promptly and predictably trumpeted Young's remark as "an official admission that political persecution is widespread in the United States...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: World: Andy Young Strikes Again | 7/24/1978 | See Source »

...words are: shit, piss, cunt, fuck, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits...

Author: By Mel M. Marinkovic, | Title: Court Decides Carlin Routine Not Fit for Air | 7/7/1978 | See Source »

...Lunghai railway from Paochi through Sian to the gap through which the Yellow River flowed and the railway ran. The Japanese, on the far side of the river, habitually shelled this gap by day. The station at the break, where we spent the evening, stank of urine, stank of shit, stank of bodies. All around us were acres of huddled peasants, bundles of flesh lying in the cold on the ground, waiting for the next train to take them east, to the rear area and food. Babies cried; but no one paid any attention, even if a baby was crying...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Special Section: In Search of History | 7/3/1978 | See Source »

...have ever smelled. Even the escorting officer could not stand the odor and, holding his handkerchief to his nose, asked to be excused. Abandoned babies were inserted four to a crib. Those who could not fit were simply laid on the straw. They smelled of baby vomit and baby shit, and when they were dead, they were cleaned...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Special Section: In Search of History | 7/3/1978 | See Source »

...MORNING was dark and drizzly, ugly in a way that only New York can be. Snarling people, filthy streets, dog shit everywhere. Three cups of coffee hadn't done much for the head. Still bleary-eyed, still in a fog, still feeling the pitchers of beer from the night before. Groping my way down Broadway, wondering why the hell I was heading to the Museum of Modern Art to see Guernica and the rest for the hundredth time...

Author: By Cliff Sloan, | Title: Mannequins and Mormons | 5/9/1978 | See Source »

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