Word: desks
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...those who need a better contingency plan, this portable fuel-cell generator provides a kilowatt of continuous power for eight hours on a single tank of environmentally correct hydrogen. The AirGen is a tad bulky (about the size of a mini-fridge), but you can roll it under a desk. Unlike a gas-powered generator, it emits only water vapor and heat, so it's safe for indoor use. INVENTOR Coleman AVAILABILITY $5,995, consumer version using low-pressure hydrogen canisters due shortly TO LEARN MORE fuelcellstore.com...
...believed was stopping the American people getting the good news on Iraq. Now, it appears, the President himself has been the victim of a "filter" - in the form of Vice President Cheney and the Rumsfeld crowd at the Pentagon who have kept the bad news from Iraq off his desk. Indeed, it was to make an end-run around that particular "filter" that a bleak CIA assessment of U.S. operations in Iraq was leaked to the media. The analysis, written by the CIA's Baghdad station chief from reports compiled by some 270 operatives on the ground, makes nonsense...
...begins with Chavez sitting on a dorm room desk, bobbing his head and waving his arms to the remix, while Fang, Mao, and Nguyen sway arm-in-arm in the background. When Kelly croons, “You must be a football coach/The way you’ve got me playing the field,” Fang is hit in the face by a football propelled at high velocity from an unspecified source. Other highlights include Chavez downing a gallon of milk on “sippin’ on coke and rum;” Nguyen?...
Hotch made an appointment with a mayonnaise bottler in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. He was frisked and escorted to a crowded office, where, through the thick haze of cigar smoke, he was faced with a group of five men who lounged on chairs arranged around a large central desk. They wore bright neckties and sported diamond rings on their pinkies. Hotch was offered a seat, a cigar, and a glass of Sambuca. Hotch loathed Sambuca, but he downed it bravely. The guy behind the desk, who had hands the size of catcher's mitts, did the talking...
...Hellmann's-esque scene with white-robed, hair-capped workers tending rows of antiseptically serviced jars; instead, he saw a line of disheveled people, no covering on hands or hair, desultorily filling jars as they moved past on a slow-moving belt. "Well, kid," said the Godfather behind the desk, "we'll spring for the olive oil and we split fifty-fifty, but we got to go with the Umbria name, not this--what'd you call it?" There are probably still track marks from Hotch's 'Vette, bearing indelible testimony to his frightened foot on the throttle...