Hemingway You Sissy

 Hemingway is great.  Oh, Hemingway is soooo great.  He is the greatest writer every to grace his face on planet Earth.  I am really sick of everyone saying this.  There are other writers out there, too, and its time we tip our hats to them instead of always kissing up to some old, dead writer who was too much of a sissy that he had to shoot himself. 

He starts his story out as usual, which is with no explanation of what is going on or where and nowhere can we find a plot.  As far as we know, it is some old depressed guy (surprise!) sitting in McDonalds somewhere eating an Egg McMuffin and moaning over some girl who won't date him because hes old.  He also wants to commit suicide, another grand surprise!  Oh poor old man.  He's so old.  Hes so old he cant bear to live.  Here's where we obviously know he's just writing about himself.  This isn't a story, it's his life!  My grandmother is old, and she's still alive.  She bakes keeps active in the yard and doesn't go around drinking in cafes and annoying waiters with her boring life story.

The worst thing about this story is that the man is so depressed it makes me sick, and there is no reason given to explain why.  Why is he so depressed?  I don't know.  I read the story, too.  He has money, and a niece, what's he all upset about?  The waiters don't know, no one knows, the man doesn't know, and I don't know either. 

There are all these waiters standing around guessing at why because they're bored.  They don't care about him, just like I don't.  When they start speaking Spanish with each other, that's when I really want to throw my forearm into a certain writer's teeth.  I don't speak Spanish, so I don't read it either.  Because of that, it doesn't make sense.  

Everyone says how Hemingway is the greatest because he writes like an iceberg.  His writing is supposed to be like an iceberg because his words are so short and choppy, like the water in the Arctic, and the story the thing that floats in the water.  I'll tell you how he's like an iceberg:  his writing is big and cold and out in the middle of a place no one wants to go.  Plus, his writing kills tons of people, just like icebergs do.  His writing could probably even kill penguins, if penguins could read.  They'd probably steer clear of that bad iceberg, though, because penguins are smart, smarter than us, who read Hemingway because we have to.  I'd like to put Hemingway, his books, and all the people who suck up to him on top of that iceberg with no food or coats and push him off from the shore.  I'd tell the penguins first, though, so they know to get out of the way, but they probably would anyway because their sharp penguin instincts haven't been dulled by having to read the driest writer ever to put a pen to a page.

The only thing good about this story is that it's short.  Other stories should be just as short and then college students wouldn't have to read all those meaningless words.  If writers would just think about the person who is going to be reading their stories, then all literature would be better, shorter, and actually might be enjoyable.  All Hemingway ever does is write about him self and how depressed he is.  No one cares, Hemingway, not even penguins.