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 Ernest Hemingway Message Boards : General Questions
Subject Topic: You Know You’ve Read Too Much... Post ReplyPost New Topic
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bookman
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Posted: 15 February 2006 at 1:09pm | IP Logged Quote bookman

You interview for a police officer position and give as your reason for applying, "Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else..." (You don't get the job.)

Edited by bookman on 15 February 2006 at 1:11pm
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Leo 168
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Posted: 13 April 2006 at 10:52pm | IP Logged Quote Leo 168

I'm grateful for this topic (file under misc. ...)

...You dream that you are young Hem before your marriage to Hadley and your father (who even looks like Hem's father) is giving you heck for telling your friends that he would supply liquor at the wedding reception (as you stand on a front porch with orangey autumn light reflecting off of the house...), but he relents and says that wine and beer might be okay (fat chance)...

(I'm reading The Young Hemingway by Michael Reynolds...that's my excuse...but in the dream Hem's dad made 'me' feel like a kid. Hemingway looks so mature in those wedding photos...).

Must read something else...Leo.

ps Anyone else dream they were Hemingway? In another Hemdream, I was sitting at dinner in a restaurant with Miss Mary and she was scolding me for something or another...

pss Still hoping for a dream 'bout POM. 

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Mike Galvin
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Posted: 16 April 2006 at 8:08pm | IP Logged Quote Mike Galvin

No Hemingway dreams but I've had several dreams I was playing guitar with The Beatles.

Mike

Edited by Mike Galvin on 16 April 2006 at 8:09pm
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Papa Cosa
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Posted: 17 April 2006 at 2:09pm | IP Logged Quote Papa Cosa

 

  *You go to the zoo and kill some elephants every time someone posts non 'Too much...' on your threads.

 

 

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Leo 168
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Posted: 22 April 2006 at 9:08pm | IP Logged Quote Leo 168

Ah, but maybe the lads were discussing their high school reading of Old Man And The Sea prior to letting Mike play guitar with them...'I am the marlin goo goo g'joob...'  (go easy on the elephants, eh?) 

-Leo

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Papa Cosa
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Posted: 23 April 2006 at 2:02pm | IP Logged Quote Papa Cosa

 

  How many more elephants have to die?!

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Papa Doble
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Posted: 25 May 2006 at 5:56pm | IP Logged Quote Papa Doble

...Your idea of "A Moveable Feast" is to carry a sandwich from the kitchen to the couch.

...Loving animals too much, you instead mount the heads of yuppies on your wall. 

...Whenever Suicide comes up in conversation, you cheerfully exclaim, "I'll probably go the same way."

...After an unpleasant encounter at a restaurant, you yell at your friends:  "This is why I never leave the Finca!"

 



Edited by Papa Doble on 30 May 2006 at 5:46pm
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Papa Cosa
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Posted: 27 August 2006 at 12:39pm | IP Logged Quote Papa Cosa



  * You honestly believe that Hurricane Ernesto is Hemingway's angry spirit coming to avenge you for Bob's refusal to admit you look more like Papa than he does.

  *  You believe that people who act suicidal are just pretending to be Hemingway-like and are just plain a**!@)$s.

  *  Unable to control your homophobia, fear of travel and your love for Hemingway adventures you've begun to refer to South Beach as the Swish Alps.

 
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Papa Cosa
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Posted: 06 December 2006 at 4:24pm | IP Logged Quote Papa Cosa

 

  *You think Papa is upset with you each time your posts fall off the first page of the Lost Gen site.

    I have nada.

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Papa Doble
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Posted: 14 December 2006 at 9:45am | IP Logged Quote Papa Doble

*Hello, fellow Papaphiles!  Just thought I'd repost my so-called "greatest hits" on this thread, since many of these are from the old board.  Happy holidays to you all!

Steve

02/14/04

You know youve read too much Hemingway when...

...you patrol the perimeter of your house every night before bed with a .45...

..you constantly pepper your conversation with the phrase : "Well, how do you like it now gentlemen?"

...your four wives are all from St. Louis...

...you allow yourself to be gored by oncoming traffic...

...you try pulling objects like ceiling fans down on top of your head because you want a horseshoe-shaped scar...

...are always saying how everything is "good." as in, "the fish was good." or "The Super Bowl was good."...

 

02/18/04

...At a bar, you order your daiquiris "by the vase."

...you collect concussions like others collect baseball cards...

...your daughters are named Jack, Patrick and Gregory...

 

02/22/04

...your parents call you Papa...

...you practice your "Cheshire Cat" Hemingway grin in the mirror...

...you own more double-barreled shotguns than pairs of socks...

...you say to your wife: "I'll take my newspaper in the pool."...

...you remove indefinite articles from your everyday speech...

...In a bookstore, you remove any Mark Helpern books that may have strayed into the Hemingway section...

 

*Unknown Dates, but probably between 03/04 and 08/04*

...You refer to Halloween as the time to "pass out chocolates to the Italians."

...You cheer for every white hair in your beard, thinking you are that much closer to achieving "Total Papaness."

...At a baseball game, you watch the Cubs but think about "the war."

...You have a bar built into the side of your easy chair.

...Your wife catches you drinking before noon and you snap:  "It's seven p.m. in London!"

...Lacking Mangos, you proudly point out the eighteen types of weeds growing in your yard.

...You back up your wild claims by shouting, "I read it in Hotchner!"

...Your belt buckle reads:  "Gott Mit Uns."

...You have more concussions than books in print.

...You write brilliant, vitriolic letters to Senator Joe McCarthy, but never mail them.

...You sit by the phone and wait for Collier's to call you into the next war.

...You name your Maine Coon "Black Dog."

...You're convinced that the winner of the Hemingway look-a-like contest is an FBI agent spying on you.

...You come up with a great joke or idea and credit it as originally being Hemingway's.

...When your friends visit you at the hospital you greet them by saying:  "You've just come to watch me die."

...You tell your kids not to plan ahead, because "We Hemingways don't live long."

...Your vacation itinerary includes two crashes on De Havilland airplanes.

...Your idea for dressing up for dinner is to wear a rope belt.

...You answer the knock on your hospital room door with:  "Friend or enema?"

...You get the group rate at the place where you buy your white visors and guayaberas.

...You refer to Venice as "My town", much to the annoyance of your friends who actually live there.

...You pose in pictures with friends like they were Kudu or wildebeest you shot on safari.

...When someone asks you how you're doing, you respond with:  "I'm strong at the broken places."

...You refer to every dark-haired beauty you see as "My Adriana."

 

 

09/16/04

...Your wife is munching on a salad, but you swear it's the silkworms eating Mulberry leaves.

...You refer to every woman you don't like as "a bitch complete with handles."

...You cancel yet another evening out with friends to continue working on your "Africa Book."

...You regularly send emails to the Nobel Prize committee declining to attend the ceremony, citing "My recent injuries."

 

12/10/04

...your T-shirt reads: "Got Papa?"

...you excitedly call friends and family after you get a concussion because it's an injury Hemingway had. Then you black out.

...You bring a sleeping bag everywhere, just in case you run into Maria.

 

01/13/05

...you grab Anthony Hopkins by the scruff of the neck and say: "Here's what you're doing wrong."

...your final breakfast is a helping of thirty aught six.

...you ask every elderly Cuban you meet if he'll skipper your boat.

...you get a paper cut, then pour Gin in your ear.

 

03/28/05  Put Down that Shotgun, Papa

...When you're not killed in a serious car wreck, you grin and say: "My luck she is running good."

...The maitre'd asks you "Table or booth?" and you respond: "Just give me a clean, well-lighted place."

... Instead of calling you, your friends check the obituary columns to see if you're still alive. And whenever you're late, they call the morgue.

...You arrange to have a broken arm whenever you're in Billings, Montana.

...Your music collection is identical to Hemingway's and you refuse to buy anything recorded after July 1961.

...Regardless of the subject, the first words out of your mouth are always: "That's just like when Hemingway..."

 

03/30/05  A Cheshire Grin Just Like Papa's

...You fall into a "Black-Ass Mood" when wondering why Hijo isn't a registered user at LostGeneration.com.

...You justify your irrational behavior by saying: "Well, Hemingway did it."

...You fix the leaky ceiling above your side of the bed, but allow your wife's side to remain soaked.

...You stubbornly defend "Across the River & Into the Trees" even though you know it really sucks.

...When reminiscing, you use incidents in the Nick Adams Stories instead of your own actual experiences, which you have forced yourself to forget.

 

06/03/05

...Your idea of exercise is standing in front of the mirror and practicing your "haunted" look.

...You claim the day is wasted unless you've caused or suffered some kind of physical or emotional injury. Then you go to bed with a smile on your face.

...While on the Disney World Jungle Cruise, You tell the person next to you that the guide is "a great white hunter."

...You bitch about how your wife can't even run a household in Spanish.

...You think you're dazzling the public with your "Cheshire Grin", but everyone just thinks your jaw's been wired shut.

 

06/21/05

...You see a shattered vase on the floor and assume it's your soul.

...You chalk up the missing posts in this thread to your failing memory, which has "betrayed you."

...At the travel agency, you compulsively book and then immediately cancel expensive safaris.

...You're 33 , but you look and feel 75.

 

07/08/05  Official Hurricane Dennis Edition

...You and Papa Cosa stand at the southernmost point of the U.S. armed with shotguns,  daring hurricane Dennis to come ashore.

...You try and "take charge" like Papa in the aftermath of the storm, but end up getting locked away in the nuthouse.

......Amongst your "mob", you throw your head back and laugh at the storm's imminent arrival, but while alone, you drink a quart of rum and sob, muttering "'Fraid 'o nothing!" over and over.

...You blame the storm on Faulkner.

 

11/13/05

…You time your divorces so that your marriages end the same time as Papa’s did.

…Your romance advice sounds like boxing lessons.

 

 

 

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