The Short, Unhappy Life of Elvis Presley
Say I venerated Hemingway. Loved the man. Celebrated him. Honored him. Decided to grow a beard and mustache. Ate lots of food to gain plenty of weight to pack into hunting garb. Took to smiling like Teddy Roosevelt. Drank hard. Wrote short sentences. Or shorter. Became an over-all tough guy. Climbed Kilimanjaro. (Or at least a hill at a local park.) Kicked around Key West. Talked about Cuba back in the day. Generally became quite annoying. It could be done. Easily. And people would see me. And utter: "Asshole."
Presumably, there are people who do all that. And there are probably people who do much more (e.g., have multiple divorces to keep up with Papa; watch Star 80 to view the offspring; etc.). But this isn't about Hemingway. It is about Elvis.
"Elvis?" you wonder. "Did he know Hemingway?"
I don't know the answer. He probably at least heard of the man. Maybe had to read a Nick Adams story in middle school.
But it is about Elvis in another sense. I looked at the official Elvis website. And wondered: "What the hell is that all about?"
Venerating Hemingway. Writing short sentences. Drinking from a flask. Knowing that the rich are different. Running with the bulls. All of this would be normal. That site. No.
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I feel it is my duty to apologize on behalf of web designers everywhere for this terrible website. That has to be the worst flash intro to a site that I have ever seen. And they don't even include an IPIX of the jungle room!