Word: truckfuls
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...Hariri, a former Lebanese Prime Minister who opposed Syrian dominance of Lebanon, was killed in a massive truck bomb blast in February 2005. His death, which many Lebanese blamed on Syria, sparked protests that compelled Damascus to withdraw its troops from Lebanon two months later. Since then, Syria's critics in Lebanon accuse Damascus of seeking to reimpose its hegemony over Lebanon through assassinations and intimidation. Syria denies any involvement in Hariri's death and the subsequent assassinations...
...Reagan. "I never saw Rambo as a Republican," Stallone says, though he liked the President too much to make an issue of it. "We watched Escape to Victory on folding chairs in the White House. It was really makeshift. You had a better sound system in your pickup truck." Rambo, he says, is underestimated emotionally and intellectually, just because he doesn't so much talk as use his voice like a car horn to warn or scare others. "In a film like Rambo, the more he speaks, the less interesting he is. It's much harder to play than Rocky...
...finally willing to pay more for better food, whether it's fast food or five-star food." Keller's upcoming Burgers and Half Bottles in Napa Valley, which pairs his house wines with simple burgers, was conceived back when he lived in L.A. and would sit in his truck drinking wine with a burger from the In-N-Out chain. "I've always found it fun to unwind in a casual restaurant that offers great food--especially after working long hours in a fine-dining environment," he says...
...time, it looked as if Stephen King would never reach retirement age. Nine years ago, a pickup truck slammed into him on the side of a Maine road. One of his legs shattered, a lung collapsed, several ribs broke and his hip fractured. A few years later, after developing a severe case of pneumonia, the king of chills decided to embrace warmth. "It's the law," he jokes from his part-time home on the Gulf Coast. "You get a little bit older, and you have to move to Florida." So, in one of the rare cliché moments...
...slowing down. What the hell!? I start sprinting down the street, praying the shuttle’s headlights shine on my flailing arms. 3:36 AM—My bad. That wasn’t a Harvard shuttle. Or even a bus. It was the Boston Herald delivery truck. I slowly lower my middle fingers and hope the driver’s window wasn’t down. 3:42 AM—At last, I stagger up the steps and plop down near the shuttle’s sole other passenger, a nicely-coiffed young brunette, tennis shoes...