About: UnBooks:The Shortest Book In The World

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An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

They had just finished their third game of strip poker, when the most hammered of them all, also the biggest prick, stood up on the table. Bottle in one hand, and pen in the other, he blurted out, "Hey. Hey guys. I bet y'all I kin write a fecking amazing book in six words." There was shouting and protests all around, the loudest from the guy who's hand the prick was stepping on. "Ey, f*** you, man!", said one of the writers. "I'll bet you my underwear you can't do it!" The man gestured to pair of white briefs lying fifteen feet away from where they should be, over his crotch.

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rdfs:label	UnBooks:The Shortest Book In The World
rdfs:comment	They had just finished their third game of strip poker, when the most hammered of them all, also the biggest prick, stood up on the table. Bottle in one hand, and pen in the other, he blurted out, "Hey. Hey guys. I bet y'all I kin write a fecking amazing book in six words." There was shouting and protests all around, the loudest from the guy who's hand the prick was stepping on. "Ey, f*** you, man!", said one of the writers. "I'll bet you my underwear you can't do it!" The man gestured to pair of white briefs lying fifteen feet away from where they should be, over his crotch.
dbkwik:uncyclopedi...iPageUsesTemplate	dbkwik:resource/BOXy3UrccY0i94Tb_C6LKw==
abstract	They had just finished their third game of strip poker, when the most hammered of them all, also the biggest prick, stood up on the table. Bottle in one hand, and pen in the other, he blurted out, "Hey. Hey guys. I bet y'all I kin write a fecking amazing book in six words." There was shouting and protests all around, the loudest from the guy who's hand the prick was stepping on. "Ey, f*** you, man!", said one of the writers. "I'll bet you my underwear you can't do it!" The man gestured to pair of white briefs lying fifteen feet away from where they should be, over his crotch. "I'll bet my car!", said the other. "I'll bet my sister!" At this, all the others told that guy to shut the fuck up, 'cuz his sister was ugly. So it was set. The prick pulled out a napkin that was stuffed inside his pants, and started scribbling as fast as he could, on that dirty, semen-stained napkin. The pen flew over the wet piece of paper like it was possessed by something else. For a second, he was no longer a drunken prick tricking his only friends out of their worldly possessions, but a drunken prick who was tricking his friends out of their stuff and also happened to be good at writing. With a flourish, he turned that napkin over with as a triumphant look as a man could make with a blood alcohol level of .23%. At this, all three of the other writers swore, because they were way too hammered to come up with any arguments against it. The First writer tossed the prick his underwear, the second writer, the keys to the car outside, and the third made a call to his sister, "Susan, you're going to have to leave Michael and the kids, for a very long time." he said. At this, the prick smiled a great big grin, and threw up. And that prick was later known in life as Ernest Hemingway.

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