Word: button
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...those who live in rural areas. So many Americans have already achieved the suburban goal that suburbia itself has undergone a mutation. Inevitably, the new migrants have undone the cliché image of an affluent. WASPish. Republican hotbed of wife swappers. In the suburban myth, all men are button-down commuters, swilling one martini too many in the bar car of the 5:32. Frustrated women spend their days driving from station to school to supermarket to bridge club. The kids are spoiled and confused. Families move regularly, as Daddy is transferred or climbs the corporate ladder...
...soon as the mayor was settled at one of the two head tables, the guests reseated themselves before their blue-rimmed Pyrex plates. At each plate stood a campaign brochure and a Daley button. Swiftly, hundreds of yellow-jacketed waiters and waitresses began scurry ing about with groaning trays. If the steaks were not exactly sizzling, it was hardly their fault. The heated carts had to be wheeled up to three city blocks to reach one of the four service kitchens...
...secret that several officers in the U.S. command's secret information-gathering center in Saigon keep Japanese-made "laughing bags" on their desks. The little battery-operated noise boxes emit an 18-second burst of hysterical laughter at the push of a button. Officers have been known to push the button during working hours-quite possibly in response to the latest batch of statistics to arrive from the battlefields or hamlets of Indochina...
...turned out that the warning center, which regularly transmits a taped test message to the news-service wires, had inadvertently sent an actual warning tape. To unstick the panic button and resolve the confusion, the center finally got through the prearranged code signal canceling the alert. Quite unintentionally, it sounded a sardonically witty note: CANCEL MESSAGE SENT AT 09:33 EST. MESSAGE AUTHENTICATOR: IMPISH, IMPISH...
...Holy -!" announced Myrna, perforating my ribs with her elbow. "Your father's a fascist pig!" Myrna wasn't afraid of anything. The way it turned out, my father did not seem at all put out by Myrna's peace button, her Black Panther button, her S.D.S. button, her "Kill the Pigs" button, her bib overalls or her carefully teased blonde Afro wig. He didn't even wince when she accidentally let loose a - and a - over the Chianti, and a Holy -! and a - during the spaghetti. In fact, I could only see the faintest spark behind...