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Word: whipping (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...will train youngsters to remain ungetie straight through gometry period and the 3:00 pm belt. If true, why not ban all noise until lunch time. Or forbid the pint-sized calteria muggers and pre-pubsecent drug pushers from even speaking while on school property. This ought to whip the little troublemakers into shape. Meanwhile religious devotion becomes trivialized when portrayed as a principal's tool for maintaining discipline...

Author: By Paul M. Barren, | Title: A Prayer By Any Other Name | 10/25/1982 | See Source »

After Princeton narrowed the Crimson's margin to three on a one-yard plunge by halfback Road Warren, Allard went back to working a whip and chair over the Tiger defenders...

Author: By Michael Bass, SPECIAL TO THE CRIMSON | Title: Gridders Gunther-Gebel Tigers, 27-15 | 10/25/1982 | See Source »

Except for his proud Gallic nose, the author blends in. He dresses in native furs, cracks the whip expertly over his sled team, and gnaws blubbery popsicles in the glow of an igloo oil lamp. He falls into the rhythms of polar life and begins to view this white-on-white world through the eyes of an Inuit...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: A Sahara of Ice | 10/25/1982 | See Source »

...been a hazardous presidential luxury. Virtually all of the real stuff is contained backstage while the public displays are carefully controlled and released. John Kennedy's outburst that Big Steel men were s.o.b.s was muffled in the Oval Office, then leaked. Jimmy Carter's "I'll whip his ass" (Ted Kennedy's) was orchestrated better than Carter's State of the Union addresses. Even Harry Truman's most famous explosions were in private. Nixon once got angry at reporters, grabbed Press Secretary Ron Ziegler and pushed him toward the panting pack, snapping...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Presidency by Hugh Sidey: A Flash of Irish Flint | 10/18/1982 | See Source »

Today, Cowboy Joe will be hoping that he doesn't need the whip at all, that Mr. Multiflex flows from start to finish, that Big Red stumbles out of the blocks and never really recovers, still dragging that foreleg. And that it isn't raining. 'Cause if Big Red comes out steppin' high with nostrils flarin, and the weather is downright early, Mr. Multiflex may be sucking wind before they're too far into the backstretch. And you may be tearing up your tickets and flipping the stubs at the teller in the $2 window...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: It's Post Time | 10/9/1982 | See Source »

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