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Word: wads (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...energy crisis and warnings of limits give Americans a guilty fright; they know perfectly well that they have been squandering with an abstracted heedlessness, consuming on automatic pilot, like the jaws' dreamy working of a wad of gum. "Woe to them that are at ease in Zion," said the prophet Amos...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Rediscovering America | 7/7/1980 | See Source »

...Feliciano, described a bribe attempt at Saratoga in the summer of 1974. Feliciano was riding in several races that day. He had gone to the toilet in the jockeys' dressing room when an unknown man walked into an adjoining stall. The man shoved an envelope containing a wad of bills across the tiles, told Feliciano that the money was his if he would simply "hold" -rein in-his horse in a race. Feliciano said he refused the attempted bribe (indeed, he won the race), but since has admitted to taking fix money for other races at Saratoga during...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Milestones: Racing on Trial | 5/26/1980 | See Source »

THIS IS THE TRUE trash aesthetic. This is every bad movie that you've ever seen on Creature Features or Groovy Ghoulies. This is every Three Stooges comedy wrapped up in one gigantic wad of Larry's hair. This is every lousy cartoon which demented, misguided youths have ever forced you to watch. This is every sex-and-death dime novel you've frantically glanced over in the back section of the corner magazine stand. Imagine them all together and they can't begin to plumb the depths to which the Cramps sink...

Author: By Scott J. Michaelsen, | Title: The True Trash Aesthetic | 4/26/1980 | See Source »

...that's why we had to take him seriously," said Featherless, as the jeweler threw his son's sterling silver baby cup into the melt pile and handed him a wad of aerodollars. "The one who really worries the Republicans is Anderson...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: In Illinois: Imaginary Musings | 3/24/1980 | See Source »

Marty hummed "Folsom Prison Blues." He toyed with the lights and switches and slung a thumb-size wad into his mouth. "I love doin' this the most," he said, firmly yanking the wheel toward his gut. The jet bucked to a 60-degree angle, pressing me into my seat. "Thirty degrees more and we'll be a rocket-ship, boy," he said, spittle running down through his grin and back across his bulbous cheek...

Author: By Jim Tyson, | Title: Chariots of the Gods | 3/15/1980 | See Source »

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