Fuck You, Hemingway.

When Hemingway had writer's block, the story goes that he would sit down (presumably once he found a space amidst all the empty wine bottles and letters from Gertrude Stein) and just write the truest thing that came to his mind. Today I decided to break my writer's block and give ol' Hemmy a try. Here's what I came up with:

"Stories that end with, 'and it was SO funny' should never have been told in the first place."

I know why you did it. Everyone was talking and laughing and you were there, waiting to jump into this very subtle double-dutch game of wordplay. You sat there, sweating, panicking, tuning out of the conversation in order to come up with your very precious contribution. Something moving? No, the other people seem to be enjoying themselves and this doesn't feel like the time to share your grandmother's last words. A significant statistic? Hm. You don't actually know how many people per year lose limbs from deep-frying turkeys at Thanksgiving, and it would be the ultimate embarrassment if Steve knows and calls you out on it because fuck that guy.

They are all laughing and ordering another round. You shift your weight in the squeaky booth, uncomfortable with how long you've been silent; they must be noticing that you haven't said a word in the last 4 minutes. The beers arrive, but this is no time to be drinking and dulling your social senses. This is the time to look alive, be sharp, kill them with your wit. And then Steve clears his throat, ready to say something he's obviously been waiting to say but your silence is too uncomfortable to bear for the length of another person's story. You jump in.

"Hey, remember that time that we all went up to Big Bear?" You have their attention, a few smiles of recognition. Yes, they remember that weekend. But dear God, you went too fast too soon! What were you going to bring up? GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME. There's no time, you've gotta play it fast and loose or that dick Steve is going to talk about when he got into a snowball fight to the death and shit, that's a good story.

"I just...remember when I went to buy 30 pack but left it at the store and then we had to go back and you guys were all, 'Dude!' and it was SO funny?"

You get a chuckle. A pity chuckle at best. Somewhere in the distance you hear a faint "Oh, yeah..." and you give yourself a little breathy laugh because what a hilarious memory for you. But the momentum has hit a roadblock and you have to bury your face in a beer to pretend like you don't know you kicked it into drive and jammed it into the wall against which it is currently crushed. You sit, smiling, emitting a soft, "God, that was hilarious. "Dude." Haha."

And just like that, you've teed Steve up for the snowball story and you know what? Fuck that guy. It's not that good of a story.

But it really is.

HEMINGWAY, WHAT HATH YOU WROUGHT?