(The following is a parody of Hemingway's “Hills Like White Elephants.” If you haven't read that story, you're an idiot and should read more.)

Hills Like White Hills
By Kevin Catalano

The American and the girl sat drinking at a table outside the railroad bar. The girl, who was also American but who is only referred to as the girl, looked off at the hills across the valley, which were white, and they had big floppy ears, sharp ivory tusks, and long trunks.

“They look like white elephants,” she said.
“No they don't. Don't be ridiculous.”
“How can you say they don't?”
“I don't know.”
“You do know what a white elephant is, don't you?”
“Yes,” the man said.
The girl was silently stumped.
“Nevermind then, let's just drink and have a fine time.”
The man called into the bar and a woman came out.
“We want two cervezas.”
“Don't you mean dos?” the woman said.
“Yes. I meant dos cervezas.”
“Sorry, I don't speak Spanish,” the woman said.
“What does dos cervezas mean?” the girl asked the American man.
“It means two beers. Jesus.”
“Don't get mad at me,” the girl said. “I don't speak Spanish.”

The woman left and returned with two beers. The man and the girl drank. The drink tasted like a cool stream to the girl, but to the man, it tasted exactly like what it was, which was beer.

“Listen,” the girl said. “If you want me to do it, then I'll do it.”
“Do what?”
“I mean, if I do it, and it makes you happy, and I say things are like other things and you understand, then I'll do it.”
“What are you talking about?”

The girl looked down at her suitcase, which was littered with labels from all the hotels they'd visited. The girl cleared her throat loudly and the man looked at her. He followed her eyes down to the suitcase she was looking at. She nodded at him. He shook his head. She jabbed her finger at all the hotel labels.

“What are you doing?” the man said.
“I'm trying to get you to see all the labels.”
“I see them. So what?”
“It means we travel a lot. And we have a fine time when we travel.”
“So the hell what?”
“If I don't get the operation, then we can't travel anymore.”
“What operation?”
“The simple operation. The one that lets the air in.”
“What in God's name are you talking about?”

The girl looked out at the fertile land between the road and the hills. The land there was fertile. Very fertile. It would bear just about any “seed” you “planted” in it. The girl looked at the fertile land, then at the man.

“Do you get it now?”
“You want to take up farming?”
“No,” the girl groaned. “Fertility, operation, travelling…”
“Abortion!” the woman yelled from inside the bar. “She's talking about an abortion. God.”
“You're so daft,” the girl said.
“Well, why didn't you just tell me that's what you were talking about?”
“Because, I wanted you to figure it out by showing instead of telling.”
“Show versus tell? Who the hell does that anymore?”
“I think it's grand.”
“It's overused if you ask me.”

The girl finished her beer and stood from her chair.

“You're as stubborn as a mule,” the girl said leaving the table.
“What?”

The girl walked into the bar. The American man gazed off at the white hills, which were eating peanuts and spraying water on their backs. He was suddenly astounded by how much like white hills they looked.