Ernest Hemingway, legend has it, wrote the following story:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
:( A baby died before it could wear shoes. The parents are so poor they have to sell the shoes for food and rent. They can’t even afford a decent classified ad. That’s so powerful. :(
Well... Maybe the parents are doing OK, financially. Not living large, but not sweating the occasional night out either. Here they are just like, “Sucks that the baby died. Still, we should get something for the shoes. Should I take out the ad or do you want to?”
Nah, that’s not it. The baby is basically fine, just born without feet. Parents are like, “Shoes would be a pretense.”
No, hold on…. OK, I get it—frickin’ baby has really, really big feet. Baby shoes just won’t cut it, so the parents have to buy it grown-man shoes. Maybe the six-word title to Hemingway’s six-word story, unknown till now, was, “The Eight-Pound Baby With Size Thirteens.”
Wait! Fucking baby has FINS. YES. Moms popped out a fishbaby. Dad's all “Tell you what: I’m ‘a sell these shoes and buy fishbaby a goddamn tank with all the ca$h that transaction brings in. Next, we learn his ass to swim—like, now—and he’ll be in the Olympics before he turns three!” Then he stares out into space and pictures the headlines:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
:( A baby died before it could wear shoes. The parents are so poor they have to sell the shoes for food and rent. They can’t even afford a decent classified ad. That’s so powerful. :(
Well... Maybe the parents are doing OK, financially. Not living large, but not sweating the occasional night out either. Here they are just like, “Sucks that the baby died. Still, we should get something for the shoes. Should I take out the ad or do you want to?”
Nah, that’s not it. The baby is basically fine, just born without feet. Parents are like, “Shoes would be a pretense.”
No, hold on…. OK, I get it—frickin’ baby has really, really big feet. Baby shoes just won’t cut it, so the parents have to buy it grown-man shoes. Maybe the six-word title to Hemingway’s six-word story, unknown till now, was, “The Eight-Pound Baby With Size Thirteens.”
Wait! Fucking baby has FINS. YES. Moms popped out a fishbaby. Dad's all “Tell you what: I’m ‘a sell these shoes and buy fishbaby a goddamn tank with all the ca$h that transaction brings in. Next, we learn his ass to swim—like, now—and he’ll be in the Olympics before he turns three!” Then he stares out into space and pictures the headlines:
FISHBABY VICTORIOUS!
China’s “Octopusman” Wins Silver
China’s “Octopusman” Wins Silver
Man, it is amazing how much can fit into six words.
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