Reynolds Metals

"the way mama cooked it" from the makers of reynolds wrap? a cookbook by consumer division.reynolds metals company

If Dom Deluise and Burt Reynolds did a heavy metal album would you buy it? The music would be pwnage to ears.

What was it that happened that to the Reynold's metal company that it had 2 become a super fund site? I am trying to understand what happened that the EPA had to Issue a Cleanup Decision for Reynolds Metals Superfund Site? If I'm in the wrong categroy can someone tell me which i should put this question in?

In a five forces analysis, with metal cans as the focal industry, where would each of the following be placed? 1.Reynolds Metals 2.Coca Cola Bottling 3.Alcoa Read Answer 4.Continental Can 5.Major beer brewers 6.Glass bottle manufacturers A.Supplier B.Buyer C.Rival D.Supplier and Rival E.Buyer and Rival F.Substitute

How do I make my guitar sound heavy? My friend gave me her J. Reynolds guitar, looks like a Fender pretty much. I have totally 0 music knowledge. I finally got a chord for the amp and plugged it in but I have no idea of how to make it sounds different. I'm aiming at making it sound Metal or Hard Rock at least. Right now it sounds pretty much the same as unplugged. Like Acoustic-ish. Remember: I have 0 musical knowledge so explain everything like if you were talking to a baby.

survey: how do I blow up my microwave, it almost blew up on me and no metal was in it, so how do I ruin it? my parents are dumb. we've had this cheap under 50 dollars microwave. for like 8 years. and it just almost blew up on me 10 minutes ago. so I just want to blow it up...I put some reynolds wrap in there and it just shot out some firey light...so maybe it needs a fork?

would someone read this story and rate it on a scale of 1-10 and critique it as well? My story starts when i was four. My name is Evangeline Valdis. Picture this. I am sitting at a desk coloring a picture. The picture is meaningless. It is a rainbow and a pony. My teacher is Miss. Reynolds. She is writing our lesson plan on the board. The scene changes suddenly. Rapidly. It is a parking lot. Dark. It is raining and Miss. Reynolds car wont start. She is muttering under her breath. A red car pulls up beside her. "Maybe it's your spark plugs Miss. Reynolds!" A man hollers. >She gasps then steps out of the drivers seat. Smiling. Its only Mr. Turner. "Probably!" She calls back. He jogs over. She is still smiling. Suddenly there is a scuffle. A scream. Several screams. A bang, clang of metal. And then Miss. Reynolds, covered in blood at the foot of her car. Dead. >The scene shifts and i am four again. And i am screaming at the top of my lungs. Miss. Reynolds looks terrified. "Angel--" she begins shakily, for my screams are otherworldly. I do not know what i saw or why i saw it. >The screaming continues as Miss. Reynolds calls first my parents then the school nurse. I am sedated and taken home by my father. A week later, Miss. Reynolds is on the news. She was found raped and beaten to death by the foot of her car in the school parking lot. >There are no suspects.

This is my short story, how can i improve or add to it? As i walk down the street i breathe deeply, taking in the fresh air and looking up at the clear sky above me i started to think about how much Things are now different, ive noticed all the stores across the street have "closed" signs on them, even the movie theatre and the bank. I walk into our house and i see our wooden table with 2 wooden chairs and a single plate of food sitting there for me as i eat i think back to what life use to be like, we useto be one of the richest people in town , but now we have very little. Life has changed and now I have to stay out of school because I have no money to buy any books or new clothes, and I realized while your hungry and cold you can't learn much. Sometimes we didn't even have anything to eat, but i understood why. My father says that he was looking for work but had no luck, he would tell my mum "It just seems impossible to buy anything when you cant get a job anywhere." Times were hard whether you lived in a city or on a farm, whether you were an adult or a child, no one could find work anywhere. We could no longer afford candy or sugar so instead we ate fruit and grew our vegetables and traded with our neighbours. No matter how little we had we would still try and help our country, everyone would always save all of their metals and take them to the scrap piles for use in building supplies for our military. They saved reynolds wrap, tin cans, and even gave jewelry to support the troops. Everyone in our neighborhood was poor, but no one knew it back then because we were all in the same boat. everything around me just seemed horrible, but I understood so little, because when your just a kid you have no worries over anything. Everyday things just looked like they were getting worse and i couldn't think it was ever going to end. I always felt hungry and my clothes were ragged and all i had left to hold onto was hope.

Thrash/Death Metal Vocals? I'm the vocalist for a Thrash metal band, and I want to do the vocals like John Kevill, Steve Reynolds, and Steve Zetro. Do have any tips on breathing exercises, how to not screw up my voice, how to do the screams, etc. Any tips are helpful. Here's the link. http://www.myspace.com/tartarus13

Gostaria da gentileza de traduzir este texto para o português. Tem alguém que possa me ajudar? . Born out of the West Coast Metal scene of the 80's, Metal Church quickly became one of the standout talents of the genre. After signing a deal with Elektra records, they released two critically acclaimed albums. Their self-titled release "Metal Church" postured the band as one of the pioneers of the thrash/metal scene. The All Music Guide had this to say about the debut: "The band's incredibly tight musicianship is a highlight all on it's own. This album remains an overlooked classic of straight-ahead American-bred heavy metal." With the heavy metal scene starting to rise in the U.S., Metal Church set out on a very successful tour with label mates Metallica. Next came "The Dark," the fury of its opening track, "Ton of Bricks" was championed as one of the premier metal releases of the 80's. The Dark also led to one of a few lineup changes with the departure of vocalist David Wayne. However, more success was yet to come. With the addition of former Heretic vocalist Mike Howe, and Metallica guitar tech extraordinaire John Marshall, the riffing became heavier and the subject matter deeper. They tackled political and social issues of the day with the releases of "Blessing In Disguise" and "The Human Factor." At a time when heavy metal bands moved from the underground and became part of the hair band/pop fad, Metal Church stayed true to their roots. During the mid 90's, the members of Metal Church headed in their own directions. Kurdt Vanderhoof worked on his namesake project, Vanderhoof, while Kirk Arrington was playing on various sessions including a recording with Sir Mix-A-Lot. 1999 led to a well-received reunion of the original Metal Church lineup with the release of "Masterpeace". The band went back to their classic sound and played several festivals overseas. 2004 saw them back with new vocalist, Ronny Munroe, whose style has been described as "Rob Halford meets Dio", as well as Jay Reynolds (Malice) on guitar and Steve Unger on bass. With a new record "The Weight of the World" and some new blood, heavy metal legends Metal Church picked up where their aptly titled last release "Masterpeace" left off. In 2006, twenty years after their cult album "The Dark", Metal Church presented their brand new release, "A Light In The Dark", forging a creative arch that skillfully links the band's past with the present. Ten new tracks, (plus a new version of the classic "Watch The Children Pray", a tribute to original frontman David Wayne), document the development of a band that, despite all innovation, has never denied it's typical trademarks. The current lineup consists of Kurdt Vanderhoof, Ronny Munroe, Jay Reynolds, Steve Unger and new addition Jeff Plate on drums. "Jeff is an incredibly dynamic and professional drummer," Vanderhoof points out. "He has propelled us to a musical level that surprised even ourselves." Plate has replaced Kirk Arrington, who left the group for health reasons, and proves a real stroke of luck on "A Light In The Dark". In 2008, guitarist Jay Reynolds was replaced by Rottweiler guitar player Rick Van Zandt. This Present Wasteland, Metal Church's ninth release, is a return to their roots and contains some of their strongest material to date. Get ready to join the congregation! Obrigada e bjs em seus corações

What does that mean exactly............? I was watching Firefly, and the opening of Our Mrs. Reynolds, where these bandits counter the crew, and after they pull their guns out, Mal says: "Now you can luxuriate in a nice jail cell, but if your hand touches metal, I swear by my pretty floral bonnet I will end you." What does he mean by metal?

Is this writing sample OK? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Oliver saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to Uncle Maxwell to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Uncle Maxwell, however, had just been attacked by two men at once, and could hardly be expected to see or hear Reynolds over the tumult. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Oliver could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), he ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Oliver, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Oliver close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Oliver and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Oliver was cut abruptly short. In front of Oliver was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes reached Oliver’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

What do you think of this excerpt? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Andrew saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to Uncle Maxwell to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Uncle Maxwell, however, had just been attacked by two men at once, and could hardly be expected to see or hear Reynolds over the tumult. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes reached Andrew’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

How is this for a death scene? A ship's crew on a mission to capture slaves has attacked an African village.? The fighting still raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay dead beneath their feet. Kieran saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Africans into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to Uncle Maxwell to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Uncle Maxwell, however, had just been attacked by two men at once and could hardly be expected to see or hear Reynolds over the tumult. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that African’s were more human than animal, Kieran could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Kieran ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. Suddenly, with a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a bitch nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, still clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to leave the children be. Apparently, this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s an African, a dirty, black, stinkin’ savage!” “Whether this child is an African or the President’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Kieran, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give…give the order…we have to go. Reynolds…he..he’s out of chains…can’t take any more…we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Kieran close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem, and the fighting continued. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and dying. Clancy turned towards Kieran and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Kieran! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr …” Clancy’s warning to Kieran was cut abruptly short, and before Kieran was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind until he died, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Crimson blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He then began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. Once Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes had reached Kieran’s terrified face the howl had become a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. This tortured scream finally gave way to an airless, gurgling whisper as Clancy’s voice gave out and the man grew quiet, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, trying to suck air into his pierced and heaving lungs. Until Clancy’s screams had ceased, Kieran hadn’t realised that he had been screaming as well. Kieran continued to yell in terror until Clancy gave a final, shuddering gasp and collapsed. In the few seconds before Kieran’s world went black and all conscious thought left his mind, he glimpsed the boy from the hut snarling at him, his brown, blood spattered hand gripping the hilt of the knife which had been buried in Clancy’s back.

Opinions on this excerpt? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Andrew saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to Uncle Maxwell to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Uncle Maxwell, however, had just been attacked by two men at once, and could hardly be expected to see or hear Reynolds over the tumult. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares.

What do you think of this writing? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Andrew saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to Uncle Maxwell to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Uncle Maxwell, however, had just been attacked by two men at once, and could hardly be expected to see or hear Reynolds over the tumult. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a bitch nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes reached Andrew’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

Is this writing good or bad? *Excerpt from Chapter 3* The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Andrew saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to Uncle Maxwell to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Uncle Maxwell, however, had just been attacked by two men at once, and could hardly be expected to see or hear Reynolds over the tumult. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes reached Andrew’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

Is this excerpt OK? Or too gross? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Andrew saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a bitch nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes reached Andrew’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs. Until Clancy’s screams ceased, Andrew hadn’t realised that he too was screaming. Clancy gave a final, shuddering gasp and collapsed. In the few seconds before Andrew’s world went black and all conscious thought left his mind, he glimpsed the boy from the hut snarling at him, his brown, blood spattered hand gripping the hilt of the knife buried in Clancy’s back.

How is this fight scene? The fighting raged on, feet trodding on the fallen. Andrew saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s stricken eyes reached Andrew’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

Is this excerpt OK? Too boring? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Andrew saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s stricken eyes reached Andrew’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

Do you like this excerpt of my story? Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. "Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!" Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy's bloody, broken face. With a loud "CRACK" of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. "What's the matter with you, you son of a bitch nancy boy?!?" screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, "You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you'll forgive me if I had to help it along." "That little black bastard bit me," Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. "What's it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid's an African, a dirty black savage!" "Whether this child is a savage or the President's only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not." Clancy replied coldly. "Clancy!' gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, " give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he's out of chains-can't take any more-we have to go!" Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. "Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!" But Clancy's cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. "Andrew! Get out of here! I can't stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don't come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-" Clancy's warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy's breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy's once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment's light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. Once Clancy's wild, stricken eyes had reached Andrew's, the howl had become a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. This tortured scream finally gave way to an airless, gurgling whisper as Clancy's voice gave out and the man grew quiet, opening and closing his mouth, desperately trying to suck air into his pierced and heaving lungs. Until Clancy's screams had ceased, Andrew hadn't realised that he too had been screaming. Clancy gave a final, shuddering gasp and collapsed. In the few seconds before Andrew's world went black and all conscious thought left his mind, he glimpsed the boy from the hut snarling at him, his brown, blood spattered hand gripping the hilt of the knife buried in Clancy's back.

Is this fight scene OK? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who had fallen. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Andrew could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), Andrew ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Andrew, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Andrew close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Andrew and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Andrew! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Andrew was cut abruptly short. In front of Andrew was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes reached Andrew’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

Ancient Raleigh road bike- safe to ride? I have an ancient Raleigh 12-speed road bike. I bought it many years ago and even then it was pretty old- if I had to guess, mid-80's at newest and maybe even 70s (the shifters aren't index, for example). I had to do a bit of work on it then, as it appeared to have been pretty heavily used- for example a few spokes actually broke on me so I replaced them all. I myself have used the bike pretty gently. Anyway, someone recently raised the possibility that I should worry about metal fatigue on such an old frame. The frame is a lugged Reynolds chrome-moly steel.

Is this death scene ok? This is from the end of one of my chapters. The book is about a group of sailors who set out to capture Africans for the slave trade. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. Suddenly, with a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a bitch nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, still clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to leave the children be. Apparently, this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s an African, a dirty, black, stinkin’ savage!” “Whether this child is an African or the President’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Kieran, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give…give the order…we have to go. Reynolds…he..he’s out of chains…can’t take any more…we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Kieran close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem, and the fighting continued. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and dying. Clancy turned towards Kieran and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Kieran! Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr …” Clancy’s warning to Kieran was cut abruptly short, and before Kieran was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind until he died, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Crimson blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He then began to emit a low wail, a howl that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. Once Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes had reached Kieran’s terrified face the howl had become a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. This tortured scream finally gave way to an airless, gurgling whisper as Clancy’s voice gave out and the man grew quiet, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, trying to suck air into his pierced and heaving lungs. Until Clancy’s screams had ceased, Kieran hadn’t realised that he had been screaming as well. Kieran continued to yell in terror until Clancy gave a final, shuddering gasp and collapsed. In the few seconds before Kieran’s world went black and all conscious thought left his mind, he glimpsed the boy from the hut snarling at him, his brown, blood spattered hand gripping the hilt of the knife which had been buried in Clancy’s back.

Broken bicycle frame (steel): can I have it welded? Details included::? This is a fairly complicated question for someone with a lot of bicycle experience. I have an old dawes racer. It has a label that it is a Reynolds 5?1 frame. I cannot read the middle digit, but assume it is a 3, that is: a 531 Reynolds frame. It broke on the freewheel side of the frame just before it connected to the rear wheel, Just above the slot for the rear wheel with the threaded hole for the rear derailleur below it, There is a small triangular section, a bit over an inch on each side, that connects this 'part' of the frame to the main frame tubes, and both sides ofthis little triangle broke, again, just after the tubes, well, just past where they stop being tubes and become flat and join this triangle arrangement. Can I have this welded? Maybe the inside of the triangle could be filled in with metal, but would it be strong enough to trust? I have JUST put new drive cogs/chain/freewheel and shifters on the bike, and I would very much prefer not having to start over! Thanks for any help you can offer. Wow! What an extraordinary response! It is difficult to pick a "Best" when so many of the responses have been really helpful and informative, and clearly based on long-term experience. Now I'd like to learn more about MIG (and TIG) welding, not to mention the various brazing techniques. So the responses have also set me off in a new direction. Many many thanks to all!

How's my book so far? I'm 14 so give me a break k? This is just a small portion of what I wrote so far. My mom likes it, but I think mom's are suppose to say stuff like that. Mom started to move with the traffic but it was moving slowly. Everyone that was coming from the Airport and Reynolds area were driving erratically, honking and trying to get through the other cars that were also full of spooked people. Just sitting there looking out the side window at some of them, made me even more nervous about getting home. You could still hear metal on metal and distant screaming from the last intersection. I turned in my seat to see if I could see any of it. What I really ended up seeing, was the front grill of what looked like a brand new red Camero barreling down on us. I braced as the noise I had heard from down the street was suddenly coming though the back window. The back of the van caved in, the window smashed, and myself thrown to the front of the vehicle. At first I was stunned, as I sat there with my eyes closed. I could hear mom and Paige yelling at each other, than their attention was turned onto me. I at first didn’t really want to open my eyes, but forced myself to open one and then the other. I finally took in a deep breath. “Holy crap!” I yelled. “I was almost road kill.” Mom smiled but the frown already returned to her face. The owner of the Camero staggered out of his car toward ours, blood coming down from his cut cheek and his open mouth revealed blood stained teeth. “We have to go mom.” I said quietly yet urgently. She did not have to be told twice. She literally grabbed us and pushed out of the car on the opposite side that the man was walking toward. I was half pulled, half fell out of the van. My mom was still trying to pull me down the street, I finally was able to get my footing and I turned around only to be frozen in place. There, not even 20 yards away were more of those injured crazy people just standing there staring at us. I could hear my mom gasp at the sight. I slowly backed up toward my mom, but she was already running back to meet me. She grabbed my shirt and started to go the other way when I looked up, and saw that Paige was still standing there staring at the mob that was already starting to slowly walk our way. “Wait,” I yelled for mom to slow down. “Paige is still…” I didn’t get out another word; she shot past me and back to where my sister stood. Paige wouldn’t budge; her head was just shaking back and forth in complete shock. I could hear my mom starting to yell at her to move it, but Paige would just stare past her. That’s when I heard my mom slap her. Paige grabbed her face and looked at my mom then back down at the people that were almost to the edge of our van. This time Paige grabbed my mom and they both started to run to where I was standing. When we came around to the front of the van the scene was even more horrific. These injured looking people were all over the place, the gore was hanging off of them like necklaces. We clung to the side of the van hoping that these people, these things that they had become would not see us. **DON'T STEAL...IT'S NOT COOL!" ...Thanks guys. You can do a lot with a thesaurus. this is page 5 from my story. I'll add the first part... **Always being the one stuck in the back seat sucks. My sister Paige, who is only three years older than me, constantly gets to sit in the front whenever we get to go somewhere. My mom took us both to Spring Meadows Shopping Center to look at buying shoes for school, which was less than a month away. It is was so hot in that van, and my mom would not turn on the air conditioning because we were low on gas at the time. She also had a headache so she wouldn’t even turn on the radio so I had something other than Paige’s bad singing to listen too. I asked twice if Paige would share her mp3 player with me and twice she told me to get lost. Mom wouldn’t even do anything about it. I sat there listening to the horns blasting through the heat of the day. You could see arms rising out of individual cars, as drivers were getting angry at the cars ahead of them for not moving. I could not see much, but from my stand point it looked as if a ******WOW Thanks Happy! and everyone else. Just a reminder this is page 5 and the last part was a bit of the beginning so that everyone could get a feel for who the characters were. Thanks again!

Movie watchers: what are your guilty pleasures? Here are mine: 1. The Warriors (1979): This one is about a New York City street gang who, after a disastrous conclave with other gangs, has to run and fight their way back to their home turf, about fifty miles away, in the course of one night. The acting is awful and the dialogue is hilarious, but there's something about this movie, mostly the way it was photographed, that keeps me coming back to watch it. 2. Smokey and the Bandit (1977): This movie had Burt Reynolds at his peak. It is utterly implausible and ridiculous, but this movie, with its inane plot of bootlegging beer across state lines, still does it for me. The car chases are pretty good, and Jackie Gleason as the sheriff is great. I dare anyone to listen to "Eastbound and Down" without tapping their toe. 3. National Lampoon's Animal House (1978): This is the granddaddy of all the raunchy comedies that are popular today, such as "The Hangover" and "The 40-Year-Old Virgin". The movie is crass and juvenile, to be certain, but it features the late, great John Belushi at his best, and I absolutely love the ending. 4. Heavy Metal (1981): As much as I hate to say it, this movie, more than any other, defined my generation. A series of violent, very adult cartoons based on a glowing, evil green ball from space, it featured metal music at its peak and all the faux-nihilistic attitude that went along with it. This is one of those movies you either love or hate, no middle ground. 5. Conan the Barbarian (1982): Yup, the one I'm most embarrassed to admit to. Good ol' Arnold Schwarzenegger at his sword-swinging best. Dismembered limbs and spurting blood galore. Arnold's dialogue is, as always, priceless. Nobody delivers as much cheese and campiness as he does. And I never fail to watch it if I catch it on TV.

I think I broke a part of my trucks, Can someone tell me if its bad ? Okay, I dont know what the parts called but I will try to explain it. Im looking stright down at the skateboard and its upside down. Theres the bolt a little metal spacer it looks like then this rubbery hardish piece that appears to be split a little bit, Does this mean I need new ones. My skateboards a week old, Brand new. Reynolds Gold And White Trucks. HELP PLEASE. How did I break the bushings, I just tightend my trucks when I noticed it, My trucks are stiff because thats how I like them, But could tightening them cause this ?

the rest of my book- whoever read the first half (on another question)? Ok so someone said they'd like to read the rest of my book, so here it is so far: “Kevin, even when I go off to college, I will call you every day and write to you and come home every time I can. You know that I love you more than any other person in the world, right?” she held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Right?” My eyes climbed up her face, finally resting on hers. “Right,” I said at last. “Good,” she said, leaping up from the couch. “Let’s go back to the party.” August came. It was cold and blustery and made me really appreciate Summer. On the 31st, I woke up very crabby. I slumped downstairs and slouched onto a chair. I stared down blandly at my Mini Wheats and grabbed my spoon. Leslie was sitting next to me eating a blueberry muffin. Today, she was being grumpy with me. I nodded to her muffin. “Is it any good?” she shook her head lazily, “not really.” I dragged myself back upstairs and got dressed for my first day of third grade. Now, as you may have noticed, I am telling a story from my memory. In reality, I am not a 8-year-old boy on his first day of third grade. But that is all I remember. On our way to school, we were talking cheerfully about what this year would contain for us. Leslie was going into seventh grade, and I into third. It was a step up for both of us. Leslie was talking about how she hadn’t seen her friends for the whole summer, and then I blacked out. When I woke up, it took about five minutes for my vision to return completely. I was in a cold hospital bed with at least ten bouquets of flowers on tables in my room. There was a sack of blood hanging on a metal hook next to me and a tube running under my blanket. On my other side was a heart monitor and a clipboard, with a doctor’s messy writing all over it. I hadn’t realized that my head had gone up, but when I did, I laid it back down. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what had happened. Just then, I heard footsteps and a curtain open, so I shut my eyes. The doctor, well, who I assumed was a doctor, walked around the room and I could hear the scratching of a pencil and him lifting things and setting them down again. He sighed, then left the room. I opened my eyes again and tried to sit up more directly, but my body wouldn’t do it, so I just laid there in silence. I heard people coughing and heart monitors beeping and doctors murmuring in the rooms around me. It must have been an hour until someone else walked in. It was a nurse and she came in and did the same things the doctor had done. When she looked at me though, she gasped. “He’s.. he’s.. he-” then ran out of the curtain and returned about two minutes later with a doctor. I heard him dismiss her and then he walked into the room. He looked into my eyes. “Can you hear me, Kevin?” I tried to say yes, but my mouth just creaked open and didn’t produce any sound. He shined a flashlight in my eyes and told me to look left then look right. Then he took the room phone off the hook and dialed. “Hello, Mrs. Hansen? This is Dr. Reynolds.” He paused and tapped his pencil on his clipboard. “Please come to the hospital as soon as possible. He’s awake.” He then clicked the phone down and looked over at me. “We have to run a few brain and heart tests to make sure you’re okay, is that alright, Kevin?” For the next hour and a half, I was put into machines and looked at and after a while, it got annoying. Eventually I was sent back to my room, and when I got there my parents were sitting in the white chairs against the wall. My mom stuttered and covered her mouth and my dad patted her shoulder, smiling at me. My bed was wheeled back to its original spot, and I looked over at my parents. Just then, my mom removed my dad’s arm and shuffled up to me, as if I would break if she got too close. “Honey, Kevin? Are you okay?” I looked at her like she was weird. I was fine. The doctor then walked back in with a small stack of papers and read them off. “His brain activity is normal, and there is no obvious damage to his muscular structure, his nervous system is taking a while to recover, but he should be up and running in a few hours, his heart is in perfect condition. Kevin, how do you feel?” I looked up at him and spoke. “What happened?” With that, my mom started sobbing and my dad hugged her tightly. The doctor pulled up a swivel-chair and sat down next to me. He looked very sympathetic. “Kevin, you were in a car accident. You have been in a coma for the past three years.” I looked at my parents, and back at the doctor. Three years? I couldn’t comprehend anything. I must be 11 years old, and I had missed my whole third, fourth, and some of my fifth grades. “What else?” My mom looked at me. “Honey, we thought you wouldn’t make it. We were going to take you off of life support in four months.” I looked at her as if she were a strange alien from outer space. “Where is Leslie?” The doctor looked at my parents, and back to me, and to my parents again. My mom was crying, so my dad

How is this conclusion paragraph? It's a research paper and it's about bad driving habits. This is the conclusion paragraph. I just want to know if it makes sense and sounds good... Our ability to cause harm to ourselves and others by our own carelessness is not something that should be taken lightly. Yet millions of Americans are buying SUVs thinking they are safer even though they are “three times more likely to die in a rollover accident than someone in a car (Reynolds).” It’s simply a higher center of gravity that makes this true. Perhaps that’s true for humans as well. When you get behind the wheel, you have a higher sense of security, probably due to the thousands of pounds of metal that surrounds us. You get a sort of invincible feeling and a blind faith that nothing bad will happen to you. You put your trust into the driver you are tailgating that he will never have the need to make any sudden stops. So the next time you catch yourself committing one of these bad habits, you’ll be able to recognize it right away and stop it before the unthinkable happens and you become unrecognizable after being thrown from your higher sense of security. Thank you very very much for taking the time to read this and add your opinions or corrections.

Hey, working on a short story for English? What do you think? I haven't edited it yet. Here is everything I wrote so far. Feel free to adjust it, edit it, make suggestions? :) P.S. rest of story in 'details.' Graduation “Get lost.” Ron swung one arm over the back of his chair and leaned back. A half-smirk formed on his face. “Excuse me? What did you just say to me? Hand in your homework before I stop pretending I didn’t hear that.” Ms Reynolds stepped closer to Ron’s desk. “You didn’t hear me? I said-“ “Out. Principal’s office. I’m sick of you. When will this stop?” He heard the titters, the muttered gossiping. “Always gotta make enough trouble for two.” “He’ll never make it on his own.” Ron slowly, deliberately got up, tucking in the ripped corner of his shirt and pushing up his black blazer sleeves. He yanked his books off the desk and walked towards the door, aware of every imposing eye that was looking onwards critically. He didn’t care, did he? No. He couldn’t. Always have to make enough trouble for two… Cutting across the quadrangle, he turned right around a block of classrooms towards the office. He paused at the door. Something felt strange, unusual. There was something moist on the tip of his eyelashes. He wiped it away. It came back. Now it was running down his cheek. “This is all your fault, Cee. Look what level I’ve been lowered to since you left me.” -- - Darrell made a desperate leap in the air to catch as many flapping register forms as possible. Good, caught all of them. Wait. Where was the last one? The wind carried it away from him, the paper slipping away almost deliberately. “COME BACK!” Darrell hollered, and began sprinting after it. His foot catching on a stick on the ground, he crashed into a hunched form. “WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING.” “Huh?” Darrell looked down at a bitter faced, pale boy. He looked to be in his year. His medium length black hair was tousled over his face and his bright green eyes narrowed and red at the corners. He was short and thin, yet looked rough. “O-oh…I’m sorry. Are you okay?” “Don’t get in my way in the future.” The boy shoved past him, Darrell watching him run quickly away towards the student parking lot until he couldn’t see him anymore. There was a thin silver chain on the ground. He bent to pick it up. It was a small, square shaped locket. Darrell flipped it open; revealing encased a tiny photograph of the boy he’d just crashed into. He was leaning casually against a tomboyish girl of European ethnicity. Both had mischievous grins, as if enjoying a secret joke. What a different expression from the one he’d seen just now. Snapping the locket shut, he looked on the back. Engraved in block letters was the name Ron Moore. -- - Leaning against the cold, smooth stone wall a few meters away from the student parking lot, Ron scowled to himself. Absentmindedly he put his hand up to his neck. Instead of gripping onto a metal chain, his hand brushed his collar bone. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me I lost the thing.” He plopped himself down on the ground. That locket had sealed so many memories, so many dreams, so many nightmares. Enough trouble for two… Can’t make it as an individual… Cee… Where’s his other half? She’s gone. -Two Years Ago – “Why do you keep hanging out with those people? Do you get kicks outta making trouble with them?” Ron gave a bitter look. “What do you know? I understand you, Ron, but you don’t understand me. I’m just trying to broaden my circle of friends.” That last remark hit him like a speeding bullet. Face flushed, he lowered his tone. “Oh, so I’m not good enough to be friends with you? Because I don’t do out of control things like your new buddies? I’m just worried about you.” “They said us being such close friends is bad for us. And I’m thinking that they might be right!” Tossing her locket at him, she quickly strode off until she was no longer in sight. Ron bent down and picked up the necklace. -- - That was the last time he saw her in person. After that, what he saw of her was her Year 10 school photograph on the news. “Car accident late on Saturday night…speeding…drunk…crashed into a lorry…none of the students in the group survived,” the newsreader had stated that Sunday. “Hey…you dropped something.” Something cold and hard was pressed into Ron’s palm. The locket. “W-wha-“ “I’m Darrell. I’m new here, despite it being near the end of the year. I’m sorry I made a bad first impression on you.” “Whatever. Don’t touch my stuff, yeah.” Ron looked at him with suspicion out of the corner of his eye. “Understood. I have to ask, though…why are you being so cold?” Darrell stepped closer and leaned against the wall next to him. His grey eyes studied Ron’s face thoughtfully. “The expressions you give me…they’re nothing like that smile you had in the photograph.” “You opened the locket? That was bloody personal!” Ron yelled. “This is why I can’t trust people. Always snooping. They don’t care; they just wanna satisfy their own selfish curiosity. I’m sick of peoples’ selfishness.” Ron’s face flushed a deep red. He couldn’t exactly appear threatening to this guy, he was twice as tall as him. Darrell ran a hand through his short, light blonde hair. “Obviously something happened to you that affected your view on society. You don’t have to, but you can tell me why you think this.” Shoving his hand in his pocket, Ron pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Gripping the box tightly, Darrell could see his knuckles turn white. He started to stride off with forced composure, avoiding Darrell’s piercing stare. “You can’t hang on to a memory forever. Sometimes you should let go.” What does that jerk know? He doesn’t even know what I’ve been through. Get lost, new kid. Cbf copying the rest <3

Is this writing sample OK? The fighting raged, both sides battling on top of those who lay beneath their feet. Oliver saw Reynolds by the edge of the village clapping one of the captured Savages into the last of the shackles. Out of restraints, Reynolds began gesturing frantically to Uncle Maxwell to let him know that they should retreat to the ship. Uncle Maxwell, however, had just been attacked by two men at once, and could hardly be expected to see or hear Reynolds over the tumult. Anxious for an end to the battle (after seeing that Savages were more human than animal, Oliver could no longer bring himself to consider this a ‘hunting trip’), he ran towards Clancy, who was frantically trying to stop Platt from pummelling a boy who looked to be about seven years old. The child was unconscious. “Stop, Platt! I am ordering you to stop! STOP!” Clancy bellowed, but Platt took no notice, and continued pounding his knobbly fists into the boy’s bloody, broken face. With a loud “CRACK” of metal on bone, Platt was thrown from the boy. Clancy stood over him, shaking with fury. He had hit Platt across the head with the butt of his rife. “What’s the matter with you, you son of a ***** nancy boy?!?” screamed Platt, grasping his head. Clancy, clutching his rifle so hard that his knuckles were white, replied, “You, Platt, along with the rest of the crew, were told to let the children be. Apparently this order was not able to penetrate your thick skull, so you’ll forgive me if I had to help it along.” “That little black bastard bit me,” Platt panted back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “What’s it matter to you, anyway, Nancy Clancy? Huh? The kid’s a Savage, a dirty black Savage!” “Whether this child is a Savage or the King’s only son makes no difference to me, Platt. An order is an order, and when I give you an order you will obey it, whether you like it or not.” Clancy replied coldly. “Clancy!’ gasped Oliver, finally reaching the sailor and almost knocking him over in his haste, “ give-give the order-we have to go! Reynolds, he’s out of chains-can’t take any more-we have to go!” Clancy jerked his head up and scanned the melee while Platt slipped away, perhaps to find a new victim. Spotting the frantically gesticulating Reynolds, Clancy waved back at him and ran into the middle of the fray, Oliver close behind. “Men! Pull back! We have them! We have them all! Pull back!” But Clancy’s cries could not be heard over the mayhem. Blood and dust filled the air, and the clearing rang with the groans of the wounded and the dying. Clancy turned towards Oliver and grabbed his shoulders, his face stark white and full of alarm. “Get out of here! I can’t stop them! Get to where Reynolds is and hide yourself! Don’t come out until I call you, not until everything is under contr-” Clancy’s warning to Oliver was cut abruptly short. In front of Oliver was a sight that from that day on would lurk in the dark, grisly corners of his mind, dancing in his head when darkness fell, turning dreams into nightmares. A blade protruded from Clancy’s breast, a few inches below the hollow of his throat. Blood dripped steadily from its tip onto Clancy’s once impeccably clean jacket, staining the garment’s light blue silk a deep purple. Clancy looked down at the blade as if studying it, this alien object poking out of his chest. He began to emit a low wail that grew in volume and intensity as the dying man raised his head. By the time Clancy’s wild, stricken eyes reached Oliver’s, his howl became a piercing shriek; an animal sound filled with pain and horror. The tortured scream finally gave way to a weak whistle of air as Clancy desperately tried to suck breath into his pierced and heaving lungs.

Mercury of density 13600 kg/m3 flows through a pipe of 0.2 m diameter at a rate of 0.1 m3/s, in a liquid metal? If the dynamic viscosity of the mercury is 1.526 x 10-3 Pascal seconds determine the Reynolds number and whether the flow is laminar or turbulent. What is the mass flow rate?.