What a Man

See, this is what I was talking about before (there was no before). When I write I have a cup of coffee and something quiet on and you can bet that if I was wealthier I would own a foot bath or something to complete by little baby philosophy of creation.

In case you don't know that is Ernest goddam Hemingway laying down the law probably between writing epic verses about bedding foxy Spanish resistance members or catching giant fish in a little boat.

I don't advocate hunting but all I am trying to say is that the modern writer is such a little diaper wearer in comparison to some of the guys who went before. Hemingway was so dope he made the name Ernest hard as anything and probably seasoned his cornflakes with razor blades instead of brown sugar. See, if my hands were on a gun I would be as likely to level a bear as take off in flight but old-school writers were no suckers and they could show you this is pictures of them looking like they taught university classes while holding the lines in heated combat.

There really isn't any point here but that I had this picture and it always puts me at an automatic loss for words in trying to express how badass Ernie is.

Also, if you can be as awesome as all of that then years after your righteous old corpse is in the ground people will dress up as you and riot in the streets. The best part of all of it is that the man himself is so nasty that even when he was a fat, balding, alcoholic old degenerate that was the very image that old men everywhere would mold themselves into to celebrate him.

That is testament to a guy's greatness where I come from. I don't know about you.