Is there anything this man can't do?

not be a pussy and live

have a vagena

On a bright and shimmering morning a few rotations of the earth prior to this day, I was promenading through my abode in my dressing gown and considering what the answers might be to a great many literary questions, when suddenly it dawned on me in a moment of enlightenment, a question so great it could only be rhetorical: is there anything that David Foster Wallace cannot do? I sat down on the reading chair in which I had spent so many rapturous hours partaking in such flawless and brilliant masterpieces of literature as the infinitely deep “Oblivion”, and his insightful book “Consider The Lobster”, and began to consider the question again in my head. Surely, the answer was beyond a doubt: yes, yes of course it was true that there was simply nothing David Foster Wallace could not do! As the shimmering light of truth illuminated my face, I smiled, cheered by the answer, wondering how I could have doubted it for a second. I decided to celebrate this revelation with a ceremonious re-reading of my home-printed transcript of “This Is Water” and a mouthwatering bag of succulent dorito chips, however, just as I was lowering myself down on to the well-worn cushion of the familiar armchair, my expression soured, and my face fell. Of course there was in fact one thing that David Foster Wallace could never do, and the thought of it made my heart sink like so many shipwrecks of legend. Alas, David Foster Wallace could never, nay, my sweet prince would never have the divine opportunity to feel the soft surface of the mouse nor to press upon the well-worn keys, 4, C, H, A, and N, nor to feel his stomach flutter as he pressed enter and saw the lavender screen before him, nor to see all the fresh content of the day laid out like a feast before his eyes by his fellows in intellect, sophistication, and brilliance. Though my soul weeps, I confess that I know it to be true: David Foster Wallace can not make a thread on Veeky Forums…

think

Take breath into his lungs. Have skin, organs.

write

T H I C C
H
I
C
C

Well meme'd, my friend!

Breathe

>Have skin,
>[Have] organs
what

He needs a lot of help with tying his shoelaces

He was cremated.

write or think

loosen his belt up

You're autistic aren't you?

I'm the guy who asked him and no, fuck you, at least from him I learned some fun trivia today.

It's irrelevant as an insight into DFW's character unless you can confirm it was done at his request.

Sign your book.

True, but to be fair even DFW is irrelevant as an insight into his own character, so it really kinda fits with the whole shtick around DFW.

Well played.

I heard that, before he could walk, his mom used to dress him up as a different farmyard animal every day.

He can't think, he can't write.

He ain't got no alibi, he dub-ewe

kek

"Why are you doing this to me mama"
"Why not?"
*lets out strange animalistic noises* (in his head: "Why *not* not then, if the best reasoning you can contrive is why not?")

I actually had to read Flight to Lucifer for a fantasy course I took in college. The day we were scheduled to discuss it the professor's first question was, 'OK, now, how is Bloom's novel different from the fantasy novels what we've read so far?' A bunch of people raised their hand and answered but none of them seemed to be saying what the professor had in mind. He kept saying, 'Yeah, what else?' Finally nobody had anything to say and he waited a few seconds before saying, 'Well, let me phrase it another way. Was there something in Bloom's novel that eluded you?' Silence. 'Something, perhaps, that you would have liked to see, but didn't? Something that was either absent, or hard to detect?' Ah, of course! My hand shot up. 'Yes, user.' 'Talent,' I said, 'There was no discernible talent!' The professor and I broke out into hysterical laughter. 'You couldn't discern any talent!' 'None!' he shouted and started rolling around on his desk like a turtle on its back. My face was red and I was wiping away tears. We laughed for about five minutes before it died down to nothing but brief aftershocks of giggles. 'Oh man,' he said. 'Good lord. All right. Remember to read the rest of it for Tuesday, and (shouting over everyone packing up) see if you can discern any talent!' And he pointed at me. 'This guy,' he said. 'Woo.'

Get into Amherst College without being a legacy and youth tennis star.

This Kong has a funny face.

The devil took DFW and he's forever trapped in hell, writing a novel that will surpass Infinite Jest and only Satan himself will be able to read it. If it isn't good enough by his standards then he has to start over.

Sorry but this pic makes me think and i have to ask......was he black?

Pontificate

Ah, there's a nice word