Word: slouching
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Even by the old standards of Latin American despots, Panama's strongman General Manuel Antonio Noriega is no slouch. He has been accused of drug running, money laundering, election fraud and helping to steer restricted American technology to the Cubans and Soviets, not to mention repressing his own people. Yet Noriega, the Commander of the Panama Defense Forces and de facto dictator since 1983, has been adept at exploiting his country's strategic position. Although he openly cuddles up to Havana, he has long enjoyed a cozy relationship with the CIA, and his country plays host to the headquarters...
...their duet together, Beatty's operatic voice contrasts nicely with Tornell's more comic style and lends the tune some real musical flair. But Beatty is no slouch when it comes to comedy, as she does a wonderful job with the scene where "mission doll" Sarah Brown discovers Bacardi...
...true reason, I suspect, was fear of the Board of Overseers itself. For 100 years the Board has been a polite, compliant group, quietly rubber-stamping the administration's decisions. President Eliot--no slouch when it came to gathering power for the administration--said that the Board should maintain an attitude of suspicious vigilance toward the Corporation. But this vigilance was relaxed and relaxed, and the Board went to sleep...
...world stills, for the longest time. Then, at the edge of sleep, hyenas come to giggle and whoop. Peering from the tent flap, one catches in the shadows their sidelong criminal slouch. Their eyes shine like evil flashlight bulbs, a disembodied horror-movie yellow, phosphorescent, glowing like the children of the damned. In the morning, one finds their droppings: white dung, like a photographic negative. Hyenas not only eat the meat of animals but grind up and digest the bones. The hyenas' dung is white with the calcium of powdered bones...
...they are dead weary . . . Every line and sag of their bodies speaks their inhuman exhaustion. On their shoulders and backs they carry heavy steel tripods, machine-gun barrels, leaden boxes of ammunition. Their feet seem to sink into the ground from the overload they are bearing. They don't slouch. It is the terrible deliberation of each step that spells out their appalling tiredness. Their faces are black and unshaven. They are young men, but the grime and whiskers and exhaustion make them look middle-aged . . . All afternoon men keep coming round the hill and vanishing eventually over the horizon...