This is really good stuff: http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2012/06/18/drunk-texts-from-famous-authors/#.T98863Vl5cM.facebook Here's my offering (sans graphics). Cormac: Whiskey, I asked. Neat or rocks. Neat. Two fingers. Irish? Jack. Hours have passed. My vestibular calculations are askew. Girlfriend: I'm sorry. I don't follow.
Cummings: what, ru up to lo,l Friend: Dude, We've got his big English Lit. exam tomorrow. I'm studying my ass off, and you should be too. Cummings: ihas, beerz, drinking instead
Whitman: Dude, what up? Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat. rofl. X: Do you have any idea what time it is Walt? I was fucking sleeping. Whitman: Time to party man. I celebrate myself, and sing myself. Herez a pic of myself. X: I told u, no more dick pics. Asshole.
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Tom Wolfe: TW: It was an exquisitely adorned bar. All manner of joyful celebration rolled out from within. Such mirth and merriment made me desire the warm embrace of a certain Aphrodite, chestnut haired and slim of figure. Halting me with her beauty, slowing me with her speech. Booty call: Tom, are trying to sext me? TW: If such a temporary departure from reality would calm the desires of my heart. Booty call: Just come over you long winded old fuck.
Michener: Over its brooding surface immense winds swept back and forth, whipping the waters into towering waves that crashed down upon the world’s seacoasts, tearing away rocks and eroding the land. In its dark bosom, strange life was beginning to form, minute at first, then gradually of a structure now lost even to memory. Upon its farthest reaches birds with enormous wings came to rest, and then flew on. X: Jim, did you fall off the sidewalk again?