Hemingway and James Joyce were drinking buddies in Paris. Joyce was thin and bespectacled; Hemingway was tall and strapping. When they went out Joyce would get drunk, pick a fight with a bigger guy in the bar and then hide behind Hemingway and yell, “Deal with him, Hemingway. Deal with him.”
Between this and the story about him reassuring F. Scott Fitzgerald re dick size, I’m developing a picture of Hemingway as the mother hen of the disaffected white male literary set of the early 20th century.
He probably called up Steinbeck sometimes and was like I CAN’T EVEN WITH THESE DIPSHITS and Steinbeck was all “That’s what you get for living in Paris, asshole”.
what i learned from school
- im a fucking piece of shit
- everybody else is also a fucking piece of shit
- mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell
Imagine J.K. Rowling pulling a Beyoncé and releasing another Harry Potter book at midnight on July 31 with no warning can you even imagine the chaos that would ensue
my life is one big “wow ok”