Word: spitted
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Down & down I go, round & round I go, like a leaf that's caught in the tide . . . under That Old Black Magic . . ." The Red Commodore also relayed a message from young (18) Briton Philip Mickman, who had unobtrusively swum the Channel two weeks before: "Head up, chin up, spit it out, beat Old Man Channel." Between wireless messages, the A.P. released carrier pigeons to fly bulletins to England. Unfortunately, the pigeons flew to France...
...weeks of preparing a political barbecue pit for Harry Vaughan, the Senate subcommittee investigating five-percenters made no secret of its intentions-it was going to spit him, spin him over the fires of righteousness until sin dripped out of him like gravy, and lug him back to President Truman looking like a huge shish kebab. While no formal announcement was made, G.O.P. members implied that church bells would be rung, cannon fired, and flags run up on public buildings as soon as he was cooked...
...against the Arabs and the British, may be the heroes of a new rash of fictional melodramas. In this slow stalking of the Palestine situation, the British are pictured as fatuous sports, the Arabs as a colorfully comic tribe of three-occasionally seen in the background taking a hefty spit at a Jewish armored truck-and the Jews as total heroes. The worldwide political snafu that preceded Israel's rebirth is boiled down to the smuggling of Jewish D.P.s through British patrols, a one-sided desert scramble that resembles a gang of dead-end kids working against one slow...
Whitney's housewives redoubled their cries. Complained 70-year-old Mrs. T. E. Bagley: "They must spit about two or three gallons a day! They ain't died fast enough, these old men!" Tom Rose, 97-year-old dean of the bench sitters, replied with spirit: "Come here in '77 from Tennessee, been married 76 years, and my wife ain't whipped me yet! What do they want us old folks to do-hide in the woods...
Burra's fifth one-man show, opening in London's Leicester Galleries last week. made suitably weird use of such source materials. His thick-painted water colors ("I mix my paints with spit, mostly") represent public places from Mexico City and Harlem to Limerick and Toulon, all swarming with grinning monsters from every age. Peering happily at one representative specimen, the pale little painter with the pointed nose giggled: "Isn't that horrible? It gives me a turn. I thoroughly like...