[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

“Fried or scrambled, eggs is eggs.”

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[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

I keep my emotions bottled up.

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[via Pulphope]

Trying to remember how to draw R2-D2 while waiting on some pasta last night. Realized I never looked at him very closely.

Paul Pope doodling Star Wars? Nerd heaven.

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I can’t stop watching this video.

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Only geezers think it’s too late.

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[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Don’t hire them; they’re too short.

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[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

I am a Web-Centurion, presiding over the dominion of OL. My assignment is to patrol the rusty, corroding gates of this kingdom. Not only am I responsible for determining who may or may not enter the realm, but I can also prevent subjects from leaving.

Today, a wild-eyed elder tried to make a speedy exit. I hopped off of my turbo-bike and delivered a swift boot to his midsection. When he finally regained his faculties, I asked him who he was. What his trade was. Why he was trying to leave the lands of Caffeinated Wonder-Bliss.

He explained that he was a narrative-alchemist. That he had come up with a powerful elixir, a curative concoction that could help countless folk. I didn’t want to believe him, as I generally distrust old people. But the way he described his new potion, the earnestness with which he spoke, made me less violent. Strangely, I found his message endearing.

I let him pass. Even though I should have killed him. I sincerely hope his formula for a “comick” sees the light of day.

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[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

It’s just not in me anymore.

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[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

The typewriter gave me writer’s block.

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[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

They forgot a stamp. He died.

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