Ernest settled into his seat to watch the last bation of masculinity, the sport of man, bullfighting. His heart sank as the bullfighters started their acrobatic backflips avoiding the bull. Ernest would leave the stadium never to return
When Ernest got home we walked into his closet, pulled out his shotgun, and shot himself in the face
--Excerpt from HockeyMountain's newest book. The Sun doesn't rise anymore: or why Hemingway really killed himself Look for it on book stands this February!
12/10/08
/heads back to Jalopnik
/shuned at Jalopnik
/finds home at Jezzabel
/gets tarred and feathered at Jezzabel
/awarded 3 hours at Fleshbot
12/10/08
When Ernest got home we walked into his closet, pulled out his shotgun, and shot himself in the face
--Excerpt from HockeyMountain's newest book. The Sun doesn't rise anymore: or why Hemingway really killed himself Look for it on book stands this February!
12/10/08
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Wouldn't it be nice to think so?
12/10/08
But. A nice job. All around.
12/10/08
dammit! it's only a book I've read a dozen times and taught at least twice.
/dying.
12/10/08
I think you mean, "¡Siii!."
12/10/08
This is exactly what Charles Oakley used to require his road beef to say.
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