Agatha Christie: “I bet I could murder them and get away with it.”
Ernest Hemingway: “For sale. Two testicles. Never used.”
George R. R. Martin: “Hold on, I’ll tell you later…”
Cormac McCarthy: “The man stands. Jaw slacked and mouth opened black and round like a charred spider’s egg. Posture twisted. Hair claggy with gel and sweat. The man does not carry the fire.”
Ernest Cline: “They probably don’t even know what PO-024 Field Repair E-Frame is; such a poser.”
Mary Shelley: “Definitely not a real goth. SMDH.”
Ralph Ellison: “Oh god, not them again—quick, hide!”
Jack Kerouac: “Even I think this guy is a bit much.”
Maya Angelou: “When they were asking me about my book, I’m pretty sure they were confusing it with We Bought a Zoo.”
Leo Tolstoy: “I have many thoughts on this person and the matter at hand. Some of which I wish to discuss presently, some I will supplement at a later date in time. For the present moment, I will cede I haven’t put enough thought yet into the exact rhetorical method of presenting such information and impressions, but still I do feel it is important to contribute my voice to the proceedings. What is there even to say but [character limit reached].”
Charlotte and Emily Brontë: “He has no clue which one of us is which.”
Gabriel Garcia Márquez: “Welp, there goes my solitude.”
Vladimir Nabokov: “I’m their favorite? Yikes. Red flag.”
