Spam by Ernest Hemingway

This evocative short piece arrived via email a few weeks ago, submitted by a regular Popwell visitor. It was recently discovered in the bottom of an old cigar box in Key West, Florida, inside a manila envelope labeled Secret Sp. Story. When opened, the envelope revealed a childishly scrawled, previously unknown short story by none other than Ernest Hemingway.

Though a note inside clearly indicated that Hemingway didn’t want the piece published, he’s been dead for some time now, so his wishes simply can’t be allowed to supercede the needs of commerce and/or art. We here at Popwell also feel that the story finally provides the missing link between Hemingway and Monty Python, who clearly shared many of the same passions as the original “Big Poppa.” Without further ado, we’re pleased to present Ernest Hemingway’s lost short story Spam.

The old man sat at the wooden table that had splinters sticking up around its middle. It was early but already the sun shone brightly. The old man was looking at a piece of spam. It was all he had to eat. It was all he’d had to eat yesterday, and too many days before that to count. It was all he’d have to eat tomorrow.Life was nothing but spam, the old man thought. It was spam, and a spam he knew too well. Some danced through life escaping this knowledge, but it was spam all right. It was spam and spam and then still more spam.

Much of spam. The old man stopped thinking of this for a minute and scratched his face. He had a sudden impulse to laugh out loud, and his booming voice carried far across the deserted forest.

“Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaaa!!!! It’s all for the best — I know!

The old man ate the spam.

 hem2

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