I’ve just taken up a new hobby: spelunking. It’s me and four tourists wandering through the caves, when suddenly, we realize we’re lost. The creepiness builds up; we’re seeing pale, wormy, multi-legged things, eyeless fishes eeling through pools of water, and every now and then, a pair of glowing eyes that vanish when we try to get a closer look at them. A voice echoes through the dark: “GRAM-MAR!” “Stop!” I whisper, causing them to halt. “What the HELL was that???” We hear it again: “GRAAAAAAAM-MAR!” Followed by a sinister, childish giggle. The tourists are freaking out, when suddenly one of them grunts and says, “Something just—HOGODPLEASEHELPME!” I see a flash of his terrified face as he’s yanked off his feet and swept into darkness. The three others start panicking and running. One runs into a low-hanging rock, knocks herself onto her back, then I hear her screaming as she’s quickly eviscerated. The other two are shrieking; I can’t tell anymore whether it’s from fear or pain. One last hope: I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. Suddenly, in the middle of the cave, I see Ernest Hemingway reading a book by lamplight, a flask of whiskey by his feet. In the sallow glow of that lamp, I can see the dripping maws of dozens of Grammar Nazis. They are all middle-aged shadows of men, all bespectacled with the wispy strands of a Charlie-brown comb-over on their heads, and most tragic and horrifying of all, with tiny, TINY (we’re talking grapeseeds here) micro-phalluses poking sadly from their groins. Hemingway takes a swig of his whiskey, casually reads another line from his book, mouthing it to himself, smiles, then claps the book shut. He takes another swig from the flask, and gives the Nazis a steady look. “So. This is where they spawn you freaks: In the deep, dark asshole of the earth.” He takes another swig from his flask and says, “Come at me then.” They charge him, screeching and howling. His eyes bulge furiously as he takes in a giant, enormous swallow. Just as the first one is about to pounce on him, he flicks a lighter up to his lips, then sprays flaming whiskey over the horde of monsters. He whips back his greatcoat and unsheathes two laser-limned katanas. He goes to town, destroying these unholy creatures with sweeping slices, wheel-kicks, and jump-spinning roundhouses. Dual-wielding ninja Hemingway: Because why the hell not, right?