For reasons of pure villainy, Ernest Hemingway and Sylvia Plath have been raised by the dead by two Nietchzian cults for what one witness calls a “Celebrity Death Match.”
When asked as to the purpose of such a match, a black-clad adherent of the nihilist ways responded, “Nobody knows, and nobody cares.” He then lit a cigarette, ashing and igniting a nearby tree on his way across the parking lot to the Har Mar mall. “If you’ll excuse me, we have a serious schedule of standing outside under trees looking spooky,” he said.
A copy of the Necronomicon was found on top of a Cub foods garbage can, near the trees where the nihilists hang out and smoke. The Necronomicon had no comment.
Further probing (we asked his mom) revealed that while Mr. Hemingway and Ms. Plath are indeed flesh again, they too seem apathetic as to the outcome of the match. Upon inquiry, Plath seemed far more interested in expressing distress at the rapid disappearance of honeybees.
Hemingway refused an interview unless compensated with Viagra.
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