Vice City is . . . a steaming Cuban sandwich of sultry Latin sirens, drug deals gone bad and seedy mobsters with big metal briefcases full of small unmarked bills.

The latter is a phagedenic ulcer of the bark, very destructive to young apple-trees […] .

The drummer on the last cut of their CD is not identified.

The length of the stoppages could not well be reduced; indeed, they are already too short if we are to believe the tale now current of a wandering Jew sort of passenger—a lady of advanced years who can only alight from a train backwards. Every time she begins to get out a porter rushes up crying Hurry up, ma'am; train's going!—and pushes her in again!