With slight wrist inflection, Churchill’s V for Victory could quickly become a British “up yours” instantly. Always wondered how he used it when meeting Stalin.
There are—for some—truly scary films. I remember leaving the theater after seeing “Rosemary’s Baby” and commenting to my date (she was Catholic btw), “I wonder how old Adrian is now.” She freaked out.
In basic training there was an exercise (i.e. punishment) like that. Lay on your back, arms and legs elevated and stay that way until the drill sergeant got tired. They called it the “Dying Cockroach.”
Never had the desire to smoke weed. Preferred my relaxer neat and single malt. Then again, the barracks hallways in Korea and Germany were s-o-o thick with weed smoke there was probably some residual affect.
My neighbor delivered the San Diego Evening Tribune (late 50s) and I rode with him often enough to know the entire route and subbed for him if he were sick or went on a trip. Learned to fold the paper in on itself so you only needed to use rubber bands for the Sunday paper. A perfect cast would slide up the walk to the front step, and if it landed in the shrubs you’d go back and put it on the front step.
When I was first learning to drive (long, long ago), my mother said to always remember that “Red means ‘Stop.’ Green means ‘Go.’ And yellow means ‘Go like hell.’”
With slight wrist inflection, Churchill’s V for Victory could quickly become a British “up yours” instantly. Always wondered how he used it when meeting Stalin.