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Word: beer (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...back as 1997-at least in Western Australia, where the two scientists are local heroes, and where I was once a medical writer for the local newspaper in Perth, my hometown. As a joke, Marshall, a gastroenterologist, and Warren, a now-retired pathologist, had even taken to sharing a beer down by the Swan River in Perth every year when the Nobel for medicine was announced...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Reporter's Notebook: Australian Medicine Men Win the Big One | 10/4/2005 | See Source »

...after the much deadlier 2002 bombs, and in a world becoming increasingly inured to terrorism, the impact of the latest blasts may prove relatively muted. Just up the road from the site of the 2002 bombs, Spanish tourist Fernando Bartolome and two friends sit in the Sendok Restaurant drinking beer and nibbling French fries a few hours after Saturday's bombings. "We are hungry. We have to eat," says Bartolome, who is vacationing in Bali for the first time. "Bombs go off everywhere now. It's just...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Bali: Once Again | 10/3/2005 | See Source »

...spirits that push them to commit horrific deeds. But when the mambo priestess dies in a car accident, the snakes escape and kill the local mechanic, whose corpse is then possessed by all the malignant souls previously trapped in the vipers. And, of course, only a small group of beer-guzzling, emotionally-troubled high school seniors is there to stop the demonic creature from further spreading evil...

Author: By Michaela N. De lacaze, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: MOVIE REVIEW | 9/30/2005 | See Source »

...Start ringin’ the bell…,” he began. Nobody didn’t know the words to this song. On “God bless our troops,” everybody raised their drinks in a toast. In place of the beer he didn’t have, an unshaven man who said he was a Vietnam vet raised his hand...

Author: By Elizabeth W. Green, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: Eight Weeks in America | 9/29/2005 | See Source »

...Today is my 53rd birthday.” It was the unshaven Vietnam vet, sickly thin, in an old t-shirt and a worn-down hat. He smelled foul. “I don’t have any money. Haven’t even had one beer, and it’s my 53rd birthday.” Matt, pretty dejected himself, listened...

Author: By Elizabeth W. Green, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: Eight Weeks in America | 9/29/2005 | See Source »

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