Hem-Dog: Getting Fucked Up to Deal with It

Ernest Hemingway is my homie. Literally, we are connected in a deep way. For one thing, we have the same birthday, and that’s about all the real things I can think up.

Hem was a sick, sick writer, and if you don’t think that, then you are a retard. He was on the front line of savagery. If you don’t like him because he is too macho and manly, quit whining. If you don’t like him because you think he is a homosexual homophobe, you might be right, but you still can’t touch him. If you think he was a misogynistic drunkard buffoon living out his fantasies through the destruction of the people around him who loved him…you’re probably right. But, that still doesn’t change the fact that the words he wrote changed the way people think about stories and characters, and that he was larger than life, and that he changed my life in a huge way.

Shout out to my Hawaiian Home-Dog Captain Walt P. Wenska. WORD UP.

What the fuck was Hemingway doing? He went to war, but he couldn’t fight because he had poor vision “supposedly.” So he drives an ambulance, gets his leg blown the fuck up, and acts like a badass, dragging someone back to base out of the fight, Forrest Gump style. Savage acts of heroism in the face of death? CHECK.

After that, he went home to Minnesota and started working at a newspaper. His mom was a psycho religious bitch, and they hated each other, and he left. “Soldier’s Home”… I don’t remember the lines, obviously, I’m at work. But it is sick. Alienation, depression, talk about existential fucking dilemmas, Hemingway was down like Charlie Brown. Except it adds a little to the existential flavor when you have been covered with other people’s blood, seen bodies of young people ripped to shreds by machine guns (an exciting new invention of the times) and just had an overall mind-blowing, world-shattering experience.

Anyway anyway anyway, at the bottom of all these, we have Hemingway. What was his favorite past time, may I ask? Other than hunting, fishing and writing, Hemingway was a motherfucking Booze Hound. Key West, FL was his spot, and he would walk around town boozing it up, go writing and shit, and go out in the ocean fishing for sharks and other big ass fish. Basically, he lived the American fucking dream. He got paid a shit load of money to write about his adventures, and he became famous and well-read, despite his obvious, painful emotional difficulties and hang ups.

I’ll admit it. I can’t even get my head around this shit. Ernest Fucking Hemingway, I mean…he is the Man, hands down, no questions asked. No questions asked.

If and when I can come up with a cohesive argument about why Ernest Hemingway was the most savage writer of the last century, I will. But today, it’s probably not going to happen.

Instead, let’s go down the old road of putting up pictures to get a point across. Here’s what Ernest Hemingway was all about.









Making Babies


Talking Shit




Going on illegal rum-running and people-running missions between Cuba and Key West.


I’ll stop there. The last one, illegal people-running is some ridiculous shit. Let me tell you a story, about a story, that made me realize something about E. Dog. One of his short stories is about a guy in Key West who runs a fishing boat, who also knows people in Cuba. He splits his time between the two countries. When he’s in Cuba, he gets propositioned to do a people-smuggle mission from Cuba to FL, and he accepts. The deal was brokered by a shady Asian, and blablabla, we are on the boat, on the coast of Cuba.

The character (an obvious projection of E-Dog) pulls up to shore, and gets all the Cubans loaded onto the boat, there’s like 10 of them or so. Then, he goes out to a different boat to meet up with the Asian dude to get his money. The Asian dude gets on Hem’s boat and gives him the money for taking the people across to Key West.

Then, after Hem gets the money, he kills the Asian guy by strangling him to death, and then takes the Cubans back to shore (Cuba), and makes them get off the boat at gunpoint, because there’s no fucking way he is about to smuggle some goddamn Cubans back to America.




3 Responses to “Hem-Dog: Getting Fucked Up to Deal with It”

  1. 1 The distinguished Jay "Helmut" Gatsby September 13, 2007 at 8:47 am

    not to mention his six-toed cats running all over the place. i am a particular fan of sea change and big two hearted.

    for the ultimate anti-hemingway and true savage in his own right, can i get a hell yeah, for ‘Diamond as big as the Ritz”? He’s a whiny bitch, but he shares a lot of qualities with you, stoney. Man-crush on Hemingway, check. Pretty boy floyd, check. Depressed, check. tortured priviligioso drinking himself into oblivion, check. and oh yeah, you’re a whiny bitch too.

  2. 2 stoneywageslave September 13, 2007 at 8:54 am

    my boy f. scott is also an undisputed savage, fond of excessive drinking and debauch. when i first read gatsby, i hated the fuck out of it.

    i was only 12 years old and didnt understand it, but as time went on i came to realize it as The Great American Novel, as cheesy as that is.

    as an American hero (in my own mind at least), i see huge parallels between myself and the underlying story… west to east becomes east to west, but you are the only one who cares about this, and i dont have anything else to add to our own discussions, which could go back and forth all day long, while we are doing jack shit at our respective jobs.

    the yin and yang aspects of hemingway/fitzgerald are too obvious to be taken as anything but cheeky. however, generalizations and stereotypes happen for a reason, and i feel like their relationship, breakups, shittalkings, homo, all that…is an amazing chapter of american literary thought, and i havent found a reason yet to really explore anything else, because im happy in my 2-sided little fantasy world.

  3. 3 Vegas Nightmare February 8, 2014 at 2:36 am

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    this write-up very compelled me to take a look at and do so!
    Your writing taste has been surprised me. Thanks, quite nice

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