у кота такой вид, будто это он написал все рассказы, а Хемингуэй смотрит на него с завистью
Ну а что оставалось, если кожаный постоянно бухой?
В издательстве никто не знает, что ты - кот
очень хорошо описывает описан образ пиздабола и алкаша хэмингуэя...
Причем сам хэмингуэй, хотел стать американским Достоевским, пфф ничтожество
Причем сам хэмингуэй, хотел стать американским Достоевским, пфф ничтожество
А где любимое ружье?
Вечно эти любимчики красуются на фото. Я бы предпочел увидеть Хеменгуэя с его нелюбимым котом, или хотябы с котом, который ему безразличен.
В его же доме сейчас живёт толпа шестипалых кошек?
Любимый? А где нелюбимый?
Dear Gianfranco:
Just after I finished writing you and was putting the letter in the envelope Mary came down from the Torre and said, ‘Something terrible has happened to Willie.’ I went out and found Willie with both his right legs broken: one at the hip, the other below the knee. A car must have run over him or somebody hit him with a club. He had come all the way home on the two feet of one side. It was a multiple compound fracture with much dirt in the wound and fragments protruding. But he purred and seemed sure that I could fix it.
I had René get a bowl of milk for him and René held him and caressed him and Willie was drinking the milk while I shot him through the head. I don’t think he could have suffered and the nerves had been crushed so his legs had not begun to really hurt. Monstruo wished to shoot him for me, but I could not delegate the responsibility or leave a chance of Will knowing anybody was killing him…
Have had to shoot people but never anyone I knew and loved for eleven years. Nor anyone that purred with two broken legs.
Just after I finished writing you and was putting the letter in the envelope Mary came down from the Torre and said, ‘Something terrible has happened to Willie.’ I went out and found Willie with both his right legs broken: one at the hip, the other below the knee. A car must have run over him or somebody hit him with a club. He had come all the way home on the two feet of one side. It was a multiple compound fracture with much dirt in the wound and fragments protruding. But he purred and seemed sure that I could fix it.
I had René get a bowl of milk for him and René held him and caressed him and Willie was drinking the milk while I shot him through the head. I don’t think he could have suffered and the nerves had been crushed so his legs had not begun to really hurt. Monstruo wished to shoot him for me, but I could not delegate the responsibility or leave a chance of Will knowing anybody was killing him…
Have had to shoot people but never anyone I knew and loved for eleven years. Nor anyone that purred with two broken legs.
Кот и его любимый Эрнест Хемингуэй
Котеизм до добра не доводит... мир знает его из других историй
Эрнест Хемингуэй и какой то мужик
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