THE GANGRENOUS UMPIRE (# 74,990)
Today I discover how Hemmingway dealt with his hunting mishaps. There is a cut on my right forefinger and an alien being has crept inside and now exerts its squatter’s rights. Every tap adds to a bruise that is starting to resemble a judge’s nose. Iodine only goes so far, Ernest. Time to pass the tournaquet and give myself out.
January 9, 2009
Filed Under Writing on writing
Filed Under Writing on writing
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Be the man you yearn to be. Join us. But, before you yank the trigger, write something good and don’t leave your mother to publish you. She’s too good for that.
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