White Badge

• Han Kiju, a pulp fiction writer, needs to write a new best seller every month for his publishing house. Still reeling from his youth experience as a volunteer infantryman in the South Korean Army's highly decorated White Horse Division, which fought alongside American troops in Vietnam, Han suffers a textbook case of Vietnam syndrome. The burdens of guilt and alienation make his private life b

Hephaestus Books represents a new publishing paradigm, allowing disparate content sources to be curated into cohesive, relevant, and informative books. To date, this content has been curated from Wikipedia articles and images under Creative Commons licensing, although as Hephaestus Books continues to increase in scope and dimension, more licensed and public domain content is being added. We believe books such as this represent a new and exciting lexicon in the sharing of human knowledge. This particul! ar book is a collaboration focused on South Korean expatriates in China.This digital document is an article from Journal of Shellfish Research, published by National Shellfisheries Association, Inc. on April 1, 2011. The length of the article is 5223 words. The page length shown above is based on a typical 300-word page. The article is delivered in HTML format and is available immediately after purchase. You can view it with any web browser.

Citation Details
Title: Expressed sequence tag analysis of Physa acuta: a freshwater pulmonate in Korea.(Report)
Author: Yong Seok Lee
Publication: Journal of Shellfish Research (Magazine/Journal)
Date: April 1, 2011
Publisher: National Shellfisheries Association, Inc.
Volume: 30 Issue: 1 Page: 127(6)

Article Type: Report

Distributed by ! Gale, a part of Cengage LearningThis book introduces one of Ko! rean cul tural heritages. It is my wish
that through these books, foreigners like my friends would be a bit more familiar with Korean culture.This book introduces one of Korean cultural heritages. It is my wish
that through these books, foreigners like my friends would be a bit more familiar with Korean culture.Studio: Lions Gate Home Ent. Release Date: 09/09/2008 Run time: 90 minutes Rating: RThe most kaleidoscopic crime thriller you'll ever see. Nowhere to Hide is about a team of cops tracking down a murderous drug lord--but the plot is the only ordinary thing about the movie. Nowhere to Hide uses just about every visual trick imaginable: slow motion, rapid-fire editing, different film textures (from gritty black and white to luminous color), freeze-frames, as well as techniques that have only become possible with computers and that are impossible to describe. But the movie has more than visual razzle-dazzle: scenes go off in bizarre directions, the tone ! shifts radically from hyperviolence to total sentimentality (in one scene, the loose-cannon detective is brutally beating a handcuffed prisoner; moments later, he's as happy as a little boy when his sister gives him a pair of gloves), the characters are outrageously melodramatic. The soundtrack shares this amazing cinematic schizophrenia, featuring light pop songs, shrieking heavy metal, moody Spanish guitar, and soaring classical. The overall effect is dizzying, disorienting, but at the same time giddy and exciting. The closest American equivalent is Charlie's Angels; these are movies that have moved beyond story logic and character development into sheer sensory enjoyment; movies that push action-movie techniques to the point of becoming almost avant-garde, some insane hybrid of John Woo and Jean-Luc Godard. Not to be missed. --Bret Fetzer Han Kiju, a pulp fiction writer, needs to write a new best seller every month for his publishing house. Still reeling fr! om his youth experience as a volunteer infantryman in the Sout! h Korean Army's highly decorated White Horse Division, which fought alongside American troops in Vietnam, Han suffers a textbook case of Vietnam syndrome. The burdens of guilt and alienation make his private life barren and constantly sabotages his career and marriage.

Using flashbacks to the combat fields of Vietnam the film depicts, in a graphic way, how Han and his frontline infantry experienced the war uniquely as Asians yet felt the same nightmare of fear and meaningless sacrifice as their American counterparts.

While Sgt. Han's platoon is being decimated by an unseen Viet Cong enemy during a long range reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines, one of his fellow soldiers slips into insanity causing untold carnage and death. A reunion with this man forces Han to confront the past and the most painful events of his life.

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World Wrestling Federation (WWF) Sable Bomb Series 2 Action Figure

• Shotgun Saturday Night 1998 Series 2 - Sable Bomb
• 6" tall action figure
• Outfit is black with "Sable Bomb" on one side of her "spandex" pants and red high heels
• Package include whip and folding chair

Tate is overjoyed when a scrawny mutt turns up in the yard one day. She even persuades Mam and Pap to let her keep Sable, named for her dark, silky fur. But before long, the dog begins to cause trouble with the neighbors and Mam and Pap decide the dog must go. But Tate doesn't give up easily . . . and neither does Sable.

Call her Roz. All of her fans do...

Follow along with Rosalyn Patrice Hayes, a professional doxy. She's more than an actress, she's "a permanent affair." Every day, this southern-born beauty stars in a play she's also written and produced for an audience that doubles as co-star. It's a performance showing on a stage way off B! roadway, the grandest stage of allâ€"the hustle and bustle of life in New York. Told in 1st person, from the time the curtains go up until they go down you'll find yourself mesmerized by each deliciously naughty act.

Warning: 18+ Only! This title contains erotic scenes, graphic language, anal sex, M/M sex, M/F/M sex, Cowboy sex, F/F sex, (sheesh, there's a lot of sex) umm...sex on a desk, sex toys, some light bondage, interracial/international sex, and a doxy with a smart mouth. Yep, that should cover it.

- - - -

Excerpt:

“Maria,” I begin again, my tone even. “I understandâ€"”

Her fist strikes the table, rattling my water, reminding me I’ve yet to receive my wine. “I will not sit here and allow you to patronize me. You listen to me, you little cunt. I don’t care what you think you understand. Only thing you need to do is stay away from my husband!”

There is no talking sense to some people. Sh! e’s content to cast me the villain and I have no problem pla! ying the role. As I said, acting is adapting; if she wants drama, she’s come to the right place.

“What you’ve failed to realize, Maria, is that I’m not the one who initiated this affair, your husband did.” I offer it casually, voice inflected as though we’re old acquaintances having a nice chat. “And when Charles deems our relationship over, it will be. You’ve nothing to worry about from me.”

Appalled, her mouth drops open wide enough to let all of that hot air escape if she’s not careful.

“Do you know who I am?”

See what I mean? I’m aware her question is rhetorical, the acrimonious response of someone with more affluence than common sense, but it seems she’s the one who’s forgotten her role.

“Everyone knows who you are, Maria. You do make a habit of embarrassing yourself at every turn.” I pause for a swallow of water; place the glass back on the table. “At the mayor’s luncheon, you were s! o drunk you lifted your dress bare-assed.”

I’d arrived near the end of the soiree for an appointment, just in time to witness the woman’s flowing green gown go skyward. Chuckling softly at the memory I add, “And right now you’re on the verge of giving us all a repeat performance.”

She glances around, seeing the eyes, the reproachful shakes of heads.

“These people don’t know what you are, but I do.”

I take a deep breath. “And what am I, Maria?”

“You. Are. A. Whore.” Lips curl into a snarl as she snips off each word.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m a doxy.” Her eyes narrow to slits, a frown marring her perfectly arched brow. “Allow me to explain. See, a whore doesn’t warrant a second thought. A whore is a fast fuck in an empty closet, or on the subway. A whore is nothing more than a passing fancy, a means to satisfy an immediate human urge. Whores are…”â€"I shrugâ€"! “base.

“Now a doxy like me,”â€"I lean forward! , voice still low, eyes boring into hers. “I’m that random smile on your husband’s face in the middle of the day, Maria. I’m the pep in his step in the morning while you dawdle over the banality of which bag will match which shoes; contemplate what you and the girls will have for lunch over at Lupa’s in the Village. And when he finally pushes through the door after working late, yet again, I’m the only reason Charles can stomach coming home to you at night.”Call her Roz. All of her fans do...

Follow along with Rosalyn Patrice Hayes, a professional doxy. She's more than an actress, she's "a permanent affair." Every day, this southern-born beauty stars in a play she's also written and produced for an audience that doubles as co-star. It's a performance showing on a stage way off Broadway, the grandest stage of allâ€"the hustle and bustle of life in New York. Told in 1st person, from the time the curtains go up until they go down you'll find yourself mesmerized! by each deliciously naughty act.

Warning: 18+ Only! This title contains erotic scenes, graphic language, anal sex, M/M sex, M/F/M sex, Cowboy sex, F/F sex, (sheesh, there's a lot of sex) umm...sex on a desk, sex toys, some light bondage, interracial/international sex, and a doxy with a smart mouth. Yep, that should cover it.

- - - -

Excerpt:

“Maria,” I begin again, my tone even. “I understandâ€"”

Her fist strikes the table, rattling my water, reminding me I’ve yet to receive my wine. “I will not sit here and allow you to patronize me. You listen to me, you little cunt. I don’t care what you think you understand. Only thing you need to do is stay away from my husband!”

There is no talking sense to some people. She’s content to cast me the villain and I have no problem playing the role. As I said, acting is adapting; if she wants drama, she’s come to the right place.

“What you! ’ve failed to realize, Maria, is that I’m not the one who ! initiate d this affair, your husband did.” I offer it casually, voice inflected as though we’re old acquaintances having a nice chat. “And when Charles deems our relationship over, it will be. You’ve nothing to worry about from me.”

Appalled, her mouth drops open wide enough to let all of that hot air escape if she’s not careful.

“Do you know who I am?”

See what I mean? I’m aware her question is rhetorical, the acrimonious response of someone with more affluence than common sense, but it seems she’s the one who’s forgotten her role.

“Everyone knows who you are, Maria. You do make a habit of embarrassing yourself at every turn.” I pause for a swallow of water; place the glass back on the table. “At the mayor’s luncheon, you were so drunk you lifted your dress bare-assed.”

I’d arrived near the end of the soiree for an appointment, just in time to witness the woman’s flowing green gown go skywa! rd. Chuckling softly at the memory I add, “And right now you’re on the verge of giving us all a repeat performance.”

She glances around, seeing the eyes, the reproachful shakes of heads.

“These people don’t know what you are, but I do.”

I take a deep breath. “And what am I, Maria?”

“You. Are. A. Whore.” Lips curl into a snarl as she snips off each word.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m a doxy.” Her eyes narrow to slits, a frown marring her perfectly arched brow. “Allow me to explain. See, a whore doesn’t warrant a second thought. A whore is a fast fuck in an empty closet, or on the subway. A whore is nothing more than a passing fancy, a means to satisfy an immediate human urge. Whores are…”â€"I shrugâ€"“base.

“Now a doxy like me,”â€"I lean forward, voice still low, eyes boring into hers. “I’m that random smile on your husband’s face in the middle of the day, M! aria. I’m the pep in his step in the morning while you dawdl! e over t he banality of which bag will match which shoes; contemplate what you and the girls will have for lunch over at Lupa’s in the Village. And when he finally pushes through the door after working late, yet again, I’m the only reason Charles can stomach coming home to you at night.”The original stories of Mike Grell's Jon Sable are re-presented in Omnibus format for a whole generation of new readers! Follow Sable as his for-hire exploits take him from New York City to the plains of Africa as his nose for intrigue, espionage, and beautiful females entertains.Secret agent Kizzie Baldwin has a mission with a simple objective: Steal a formula while attending the festivities on the villainous Xander Duquesne's luxury yacht. There's just one problemâ€"she has no idea it's a BDSM party.
Dom and criminal mastermind Xander is a man who likes to be prepared. But the unexpected run-in with Kizzie throws him for a loop. Will he give her what she came for, or a little something extr! a?

*1st appeared in the Summer Heat Anthology. Visit my website to get both FREE!
- - - -

Excerpt: “Why isn’t someone stopping this?” Kizzie hadn’t meant to speak, but something needed to be done. She took a step forward when Xander stopped her with an arm around her middle, holding her firm.

“Ah-ah-ahhh. You know the rules, don’t you, Princess? Never interrupt a scene.”

The man tugged on a clothespin, stretching the connected nipple and bringing a barrage of cries from his playmate.

“He’s hurting her,” Kizzie said through clenched teeth. Intel suggested Xander had a sadistic streak, but this was barbaric!

“Safe, sane, and consensual. A Master would never do anything not agreed upon with his submissive,” he assured. “And if he did, it’s my place to step in, not yours.”

Well, step in already, dammit! The woman screeched and Kizzie cringed, unable to comprehend why someone would want to do this! . A slap on the butt in the middle of sex was one thing, but t! his? Thi s was too much…wasn’t it?

Years ago when she was just a green agent, Kizzie was in her kitchen deciding on dinner when the guy she’d been dating smacked her on the ass hard enough to make her eyes tear. Without thought she lifted her heel and connected with his groin and then flipped him over her shoulder, landing him flat on his back. He was straddled and his neck pinned to the ground by her forearm two seconds after. The terrified confusion blanketing his face was the only thing that made Kizzie back off. No surprise the relationship ended minutes later, but the wetness between her thighs came as a huge shock.

Doomed before it started, that relationship. A love life was a professional hazard for an agent, all the secrets and unexplained disappearances. That’s why Bond kept so many sexy girls handy, she reasoned. Mr. “Martiniâ€"shaken, not stirred” sure as hell didn’t go home to the old ball and chain. Nope, stick and move; bang her and on to th! e next one. Classic Bond, and Kizzie had long ago determined to follow his lead. With an aptitude to recall miniscule bits of detail, she considered it a gift when she didn’t remember a lover’s name, infrequent as they were.

Satisfied moans brought her attention back to the woman whose expression was almost trancelike in its euphoria.

“That’s a good girl,” the man in the circle cooed. His fingers pistoned in and out of her pussy; juices oozed down her leg. A flick of a latch released her from the pole and she dropped to her hands and knees. He patted her ass. “Who wants some?”

The crowd swarmed her, hands probing, touching. Her Master stood nearby, orchestrating as people went about stuffing the girl’s every orifice. She deep-throated one guy while a woman shoved a vibrator into her pussy. Others removed the clothespins from her body, lapping at the pinched skin. She jerked with every touch to her hypersensitive flesh.

The stimul! ation was too much for Kizzie, and damn if the team wasn’t g! etting i t all on tape. How would she ever explain this to Connolly? Still, she didn’t look away.

“Stats,” Solomon warned.

But her adrenaline was pumping for an entirely different reason. Blood thundered in her ears, her vision blurred. Soft whimpers pushed through the fog and it took her a moment to realize she was making the noises.

“You want to go next, Princess?” Xander’s hand splayed possessively over her belly. Body pressed the length of hers, he ground his semi-erect cock against her ass. In a rough whisper he said, “I’d be happy to tie you up and spank you. I think you’re a very naughty girl."Secret agent Kizzie Baldwin has a mission with a simple objective: Steal a formula while attending the festivities on the villainous Xander Duquesne's luxury yacht. There's just one problemâ€"she has no idea it's a BDSM party.
Dom and criminal mastermind Xander is a man who likes to be prepared. But the unexpected run-in with Kizzie throws him fo! r a loop. Will he give her what she came for, or a little something extra?

*1st appeared in the Summer Heat Anthology. Visit my website to get both FREE!
- - - -

Excerpt: “Why isn’t someone stopping this?” Kizzie hadn’t meant to speak, but something needed to be done. She took a step forward when Xander stopped her with an arm around her middle, holding her firm.

“Ah-ah-ahhh. You know the rules, don’t you, Princess? Never interrupt a scene.”

The man tugged on a clothespin, stretching the connected nipple and bringing a barrage of cries from his playmate.

“He’s hurting her,” Kizzie said through clenched teeth. Intel suggested Xander had a sadistic streak, but this was barbaric!

“Safe, sane, and consensual. A Master would never do anything not agreed upon with his submissive,” he assured. “And if he did, it’s my place to step in, not yours.”

Well, step in already, dammit! The woman screeched an! d Kizzie cringed, unable to comprehend why someone would want ! to do th is. A slap on the butt in the middle of sex was one thing, but this? This was too much…wasn’t it?

Years ago when she was just a green agent, Kizzie was in her kitchen deciding on dinner when the guy she’d been dating smacked her on the ass hard enough to make her eyes tear. Without thought she lifted her heel and connected with his groin and then flipped him over her shoulder, landing him flat on his back. He was straddled and his neck pinned to the ground by her forearm two seconds after. The terrified confusion blanketing his face was the only thing that made Kizzie back off. No surprise the relationship ended minutes later, but the wetness between her thighs came as a huge shock.

Doomed before it started, that relationship. A love life was a professional hazard for an agent, all the secrets and unexplained disappearances. That’s why Bond kept so many sexy girls handy, she reasoned. Mr. “Martiniâ€"shaken, not stirred” sure as hell didn’t go hom! e to the old ball and chain. Nope, stick and move; bang her and on to the next one. Classic Bond, and Kizzie had long ago determined to follow his lead. With an aptitude to recall miniscule bits of detail, she considered it a gift when she didn’t remember a lover’s name, infrequent as they were.

Satisfied moans brought her attention back to the woman whose expression was almost trancelike in its euphoria.

“That’s a good girl,” the man in the circle cooed. His fingers pistoned in and out of her pussy; juices oozed down her leg. A flick of a latch released her from the pole and she dropped to her hands and knees. He patted her ass. “Who wants some?”

The crowd swarmed her, hands probing, touching. Her Master stood nearby, orchestrating as people went about stuffing the girl’s every orifice. She deep-throated one guy while a woman shoved a vibrator into her pussy. Others removed the clothespins from her body, lapping at the pinched skin. Sh! e jerked with every touch to her hypersensitive flesh.

! The stim ulation was too much for Kizzie, and damn if the team wasn’t getting it all on tape. How would she ever explain this to Connolly? Still, she didn’t look away.

“Stats,” Solomon warned.

But her adrenaline was pumping for an entirely different reason. Blood thundered in her ears, her vision blurred. Soft whimpers pushed through the fog and it took her a moment to realize she was making the noises.

“You want to go next, Princess?” Xander’s hand splayed possessively over her belly. Body pressed the length of hers, he ground his semi-erect cock against her ass. In a rough whisper he said, “I’d be happy to tie you up and spank you. I think you’re a very naughty girl."Shotgun Saturday Night 1998 Series 2 - Sable Bomb. Sable is 6" tall, her outfit is black with "Sable Bomb" on one side of her "spandex" pants and red high heels. Sable is ready to inflict her trademark wresting move "the sable bomb" on any contender. This action figure is 6" tal! l. Package includes chair and whip.

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