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Tuesday, March 28, 2017
Ten Authors Walk Into a Bar - Top Ten Tuesday (March, 28, 2017)
Top Ten Tuesday is an original feature/weekly meme created by The Broke and the Bookish
March 28: Top Ten Authors I'm Dying To Meet / Ten Authors I Can't Believe I've Met (some other "meeting authors" type spin you want to do)
I had a rather wild idea with this one. I’m taking a small liberty, but it’s about authors meeting authors: Top Ten Authors who might accidentally bump into each other in a bar, and cause an uncomfortable, awkward, humorous, and tempestuous scene. I’m just going to start writing and see where this goes.
We start at the Eagle and Child Pub, where Professors C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien are want to discuss, linguistics, etymology, mythology, theology and the like. They are enjoying a nice warm English Beer, and their pipes, when Ernest Hemingway makes a grand entrance. He saunters up to the impeccably dressed British Gentlemen, in his wrinkled linen shirt and Bermuda shorts to ask,
What’s the best drink in this bar boys?
Lewis: it’s a pub my good man.
Hemingway: They serve booze?
Lewis: Of course.
Hemingway: Then it’s a bar. Hey, ain’t you the brains that write about leprechauns n monsters?
Hemingway: Whatever, let me try the brew, eh Mate? He grabs Prof. Tolkien’s glass, takes a long draught, and spits it out cursing profusely.
Hemingway: Barkeep, double martini, extra dry, EXTRA cold, or I’ll cut your throat.
Tolkien and Lewis begin speaking Latin to one another, hoping Hemingway will leave them, but it is unnecessary as at this time, Evelyn Waugh and George Eliot walk into the pub. They are hailed by the shouts of regular patrons:
Allo Evelyn; evenin George.
Hearing the name Evelyn, Hemingway thinks it sounds hopeful and he strolls up to the two newcomers.
Hemingway (to Eliot): Allow me to introduce myself Evelyn – Ernest Hemingway, world famous adventurer.
Waugh: Yes, I recognize you old man. Allow me to introduce you to my friend, (Waugh winks), George Eliot.
Hemingway: She’s George? Who are you?
Waugh: Evelyn Waugh ole bean, I thought you recognized me.
Hemingway, visibly baffled: Brits are nuts. Barkeep, where’s that martini?
Next Jack London staggers in, sees Hemingway at the bar and shouts:
Hemingway, turns angrily and growls, Jack I told you never to call me that.
London: Take it easy Papa, I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll get this place going.
This quiets Hemingway for a bit until Virginia Woolf enters. London whistles a long cat call on spying her, immediately piquing Hemingway’s interest. He saunters toward her and says
Evening ma’am, Ernest Hemingway, world famous adventurer.
Before she can respond, a tall and sinister figure emerges from a dark corner, pulling gently on a glowing cigarette. He takes Woolf’s arm, gently, and says to Hemingway,
I beg your pardon, Mr….what was it? Adventurer? Just because the lady’s name is Woolf does not mean she keeps their company. Then he turns to Woolf and begins: Allow me to introduce myself Ms. Woolf, I am…
Woolf: Yes Mr. Fleming, you are known to me.
Ian Fleming: Not half as well as I will be. Virginia – be a lamb and ask the barman for a dry vodka martini, Russian vodka if they have it, very dry, shaken not stirred. And get yourself something too – something strong.
Woolf: Can’t you walk to the bar Mr. Fleming?
Fleming: I’d rather watch you make the trip.
Meanwhile, Hemingway knowing he was outdone, had rejoined London at the bar. Malcolm Lowry crawls into the pub, literally crawls, and calls out:
Hem! Jack! Help!
They rush to his side, and ask,
What is it Malcolm, what’s the matter?
Lowry: I needa gedoo the bar.
When they get him to the bar, they meet a jovial young dandy, bit of an idler, telling jokes and buying rounds. They are entertained, and Hemingway asks,
So, what’s your name then mate?
The idler: Jerome
Hemingway: Last name?
The idler: Jerome
Hemingway a bit annoyed: First name?
The idler: Jerome
Hemingway, squints, wrinkles his nose, and then punches Jerome K. Jerome in the mouth.
A glorious row ensues, with Hemingway and London fighting all comers. Malcolm Lowry helps himself to some unattended glasses, Ian Fleming subdues several patrons, nearly spills his martini, and then leaves via back entrance with Virginia Woolf. Evelyn Waugh and George Eliot are content to watch, as is Jerome K. Jerome, though he makes notes of the entire debacle, while holding a cold cloth to his split lip. Tolkien and Lewis do not notice the to do, as they are entirely engrossed in the old English etymology of certain modern English conjunctions. Eventually, the din dies down, the patrons disperse, and the pub prepares to close. A last lone denizen, unnoticed and alone in a dark corner, leaves quietly and says goodnight to the barman,
Goodnight Thomas. Says the barman to Thomas Pynchon.
Oops - that was eleven.