Word: viscous
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Traditionally, most laymen have thought of nicotine as the principal villain in tobacco. For two decades, scientists have been concentrating on "tars," a catchall term for the viscous gunk that is left from cigarette smoke after the gases and water vapor have been boiled off. Now, while they do not exonerate these culprits, researchers are studying carbon monoxide, a product of incomplete combustion in cigarettes as in automobile engines...
...three base their finding on observations and X-ray photographs of 17 patients who volunteered to have their finger joints stretched on a specially designed machine. The tests showed that stretching increases the space between the finger bones, thus reducing pressure on the clear, viscous synovial fluid that lubricates the joints. This causes tiny gas bubbles to form within the fluid. As the pressure continues to decrease, these bubbles burst and release their energy as noise. The gas does not escape. Instead, as the joint returns to normal position, the gas is reabsorbed into the synovial fluid over a period...
...Osguthorpe's way is not the Army way. While Utah ranchers buried their sheep in 8-ft. trenches and wondered who was going to pay them some $300,000 in damages, Brigadier General William W. Stone of the Army Materiel Command insisted that the heavy, viscous nerve liquid sprayed from the aircraft could not have been carried off the proving ground by wind. Yet wind velocity during the test was between 5 m.p.h. and 20 m.p.h., with gusts up to 35 m.p.h. blowing in practically a straight line from the proving grounds to Skull Valley, where the sheep died...
...surrealistic Yoknapatawpha Country, a rich wasteland crossed by Highway 61 and the holy slow train. Enter at your peril. There are no lumberjacks to give you facts when Dylan, riding on a radiant electronic bass, attacks your imagination. You pay your money to watch the geek, but the viscous torrent of picture words doubles you on yourself. You think very hard about nothing, narcissim at 33 and 1/3, until you like Mr. Jones "know something's happening but you don't know what...
...blinks in the afternoon light, cocks his head for a moment, listening intently, and then starts jogtrotting down the hill. With frayed trousers flapping and a cumbersome flak jacket jiggling against his bare chest, he makes his way through the debris of cartridge boxes and C-ration cans. Deep, viscous red mud sucks at his boots and oozes up to his knees as he struggles down the slope. Suddenly, from high above, comes a familiar, chilling whine. "Incoming!" someone yells, and the leatherneck flattens himself in the mud. The artillery shell bursts 50 yards from him, gouging out a small...