Word: wet
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...movie ends on the same picture. While the two hours in between are entertaining enough a witty and sometimes outrageous romance complete with homosexual obsession, witchcraft, and enough lurid fantasy to earn the picture an X. The Fourth Man is nonetheless predictable and studied, almost like a computer's wet dream...
...nurture its water-loving fowl and alligators. When the 200-ft.-wide, 30-ft.-deep channel was completed and the Kissimmee's annual overflow was eliminated, two-thirds of its adjacent marshland, or 20,000 acres, shriveled up, taking with it the plants and animals dependent on the wet-and-dry cycle. Bald eagles, which feasted on the marsh fish that flourished during the summer flood each year, declined catastrophically; their population is currently only 26% of its prechannel total. Mottled ducks and coots are down by 93%, and alligators have disappeared from many areas. Says Johnny Jones, head...
...does it with a peculiar combination of ambisexual eroticism and self-mythologizing. Until Purple Rain, Prince played at being a prisoner of sex who craved a life sentence. Some of his song titles sounded like cuts on a Pigmeat Markham party record (Head, Soft and Wet). If there was a unifying theme to his lyrics-indeed, a governing obsession-it was that carnal knowledge is the ultimate wisdom. Party till you drop, make out till you molder: self-realization through rutting...
...squad; Shirley Dery, 22, born in the U.S. of Hungarian parents, who trained until last year with the powerful Hungarian team; and Leslie Klein, 29, from Concord, Mass., another kayak gypsy who converted from white-water kayaking. Klein spent years "living out of a car in soaking wet clothes, eating gritty oatmeal." Her life is somewhat more conventional now; she is married to J.T. Kearney, a phys-ed professor at the University of Kentucky, who took a sabbatical to train for the men's kayak team, failed to win a place, and volunteered to be the women...
...cheers everyone up by saying, "Never mind the mess here, honey, let me tell you about world-class squalidness." And then yarns away, maybe, about babies so wet that their diapers give off rainbows (a Phyllis Diller line she loves to steal). Or about her husband, the football watcher, who sits in front of the tube "like a dead sponge surrounded by bottle caps" until "the sound of his deep, labored breathing puts the cork on another confetti-filled evening." About her schoolboy son who flunked lunch. About her washing machine, which eats one sock in every pair; her kids...