Kill Hemingway as fast as I can, because I have no wish to be immortalized in his ego stroking wordpiles. Sleep with Kafka and have an enjoyable time. And marry Tolkien, and be contentedly happy in his vast world of imagination.
Dumas had like forty mistresses or something, and I'd feel bad killing Tolstoy, so kill Dumas and marry Tolstoy. And I guess I'll be grossly indecent with Wilde.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
[if she had a glass, she'd toast him for it.]
no subject
The Marquis de Sade doesn't count, I have standards.