He crashed on the ground, his face white as a sheet.
In the love column: literature, irony, humor, the individual, and the defense of free expression.Just as we did in District Thirteen.” ― Suzanne Collins, “When the Washington Post telephoned me at home on Valentine's Day 1989 to ask my opinion about the Ayatollah Khomeini's fatwah, I felt at once that here was something that completely committed me.It was, if I can phrase it like this, a matter of everything I hated versus everything I loved.No more root-and-branch challenge to the values of the Enlightenment (on the bicentennial of the fall of the Bastille) or to the First Amendment to the Constitution, could be imagined. “Well, I have something to tell you: don’t let the sun set on you in this county, because…”I grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, tripping him with my foot. “Listen well, because I won’t be repeating myself, you racist prick.He went down back first and I caught him by his throat, three feet above the ground, lifted him up a bit and bent down to his face. If you make any trouble for me or my people, I’ll hunt you down like the pig you are and carve a second mouth across your gut. The next time you hear something laugh and howl in the night, hug your family, because you won’t see the sunrise.”I opened my fingers.Specifically, the report outlined handbook content that’s lawful – and that which is likely to violate the National Labor Relations Act.