Word: tubs
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...course there are some who'd rather lounge in the tub...
...imminent child asleep in her womb. Who is this presumptuous intruder in Alex's dream cottage? Someone who doesn't deserve to play happy family. Someone who deserves to die. Their struggle for the knife finally alerts Dan, who rushes upstairs, overpowers Alex and forces her into the full tub. She struggles, then ceases, blood rising from her mouth. But you can't keep a bad woman -- or a citation from the landmark French chiller Diabolique -- down. Alex springs screaming from the tub and slashes at Dan, as Beth appears brandishing a handgun and kills Alex with a bullet through...
...argument there. Besides the lavish ego strokes that luxury vessels bestow, today's yachts satisfy almost every whim imaginable. The sun deck cradles a hot tub that can accommodate eight people, while commodious staterooms boast VCRs and private baths with Jacuzzis. Instead of a grungy galley, the superyacht has a gleaming kitchen replete with microwaves, commercial-size freezers and stoves, and trash compactors. The bionic boats pack every aquatic toy: water skis, snorkling gear, diving equipment, Jet Skis and sailboards. To help while away foul weather, a free-flowing bar is at the ready, and libraries are stocked with videotapes...
...tell right off when a novelist knows his way around the block. Take the first sentence of Larry McMurtry's moody, sensitive, ironic yet lightheartedly despairing new novel: "Duane was in the hot tub, shooting at his new doghouse with a .44 Magnum." The Jamesian restraint of the language -- not "Blam, blam, blam, wood chips glinted in the dusty air," but a dreamlike, almost passive kind of doghouse blasting -- foreshadows subtle stuff. The hero, we sense, is a country boy (the name Duane, and the implication that there is enough vacant acreage behind the doghouse so that stray bullets...
...Legs out in a Chuck Berry Duck Walk, I hop around singing into my mop while the manager rushes about waving correction slips and time cards. Then we're in the service area, cranking out the final tasks. Both choosing the same moment to drag out an ice cream tub, we collide. Eyes bugging, faces centimeters apart, we break into a primal scream duet. Nancy joins us, and we all scream again, faces flushed, drowning out the music, and then finally collapsing into exhausted laughter. Closing time...