« The First Taco Bell | Main | The executives can sign what they like, but the contract is not enforceable until it is approved by the board. »
March 16, 2015
Ernest Hemingway, 1950s
Posted by gerardvanderleun at March 16, 2015 12:47 PM. This is an entry on the sideblog of American Digest: Check it out.
Your Say
Discovered that it did not make a good lollipop.
Posted by: Fat Man ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://americandigest.org/sidelines/nav-commenters.gif)
at March 16, 2015 10:33 AM
Is that Biden, in drag?
Posted by: ghostsniper at March 16, 2015 1:21 PM
Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
Ernest Hemingway (a suicide)
ps - He used a shotgun.
Posted by: Anon43 at March 16, 2015 5:40 PM
For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow, so saith Ecclesiastes 1:18.
I don't blame Hemingway much. He was starting to break down mentally, and he knew it. He lost his nerve. Thompson, on the other hand, was just a poseur.
Posted by: browncoat at March 17, 2015 5:53 AM
" The hole in his forehead where the bullet went in was about the size of a pencil. The hole in the back of his head where the bullet came out was big enough to put your fist in, if it was a small fist and you wanted to put it there.
"I reckon you could have put your foot in the back of his head where the two barrels of heavy duck load splattered out even if it was a medium-sized foot, and you didn't want to put it there." W.S. Burroughs
Posted by: chasmatic at March 17, 2015 10:03 AM