5 writers who would make terrible flatmates

We've all had them--that roommate from hell. Cloaked in little more than ill-smelling underwear,  cloistered in holdfasts of dirty cups and cutlery, listening to songs you're embarrassed recognize through the walls and you'd just about die if you heard them having sex. 
Whether it's their condescending notes, mid-week bender or the fact they're simply too chatty in the morning, a good coloc can be hard to find. 
Now I know you think you've had it bad, but here are a few American writers who would make any asshat you've ever had to share a bathroom with come away with the Handsome Boy Modeling School seal of approval. 

Oh my god, they're gorgeous!

Gertrude Stein
At first Stine would seem like an awesome roommate, she's this free-thinking lesbian type who can totally get you into all the right parties. You'll meet interesting people, eat well and maybe even pose for a painting or two. But eventually she's going to want to talk at you. You doubtlessly have not bothered reading her best known work, The Making of Americans and not just because she's a woman author. Let's let Amazon open up to a random page for us, the top of 765 should do the trick.

Yeah, now imagine her trying to explain why she's late on the water bill this month. 
A BILL IS A BILL IS A BILL, STINE!


William Carlos Williams
I know what you're thinking--he's a doctor, that'd be cool. Instant med-kit, you just saved money on insurance and might even be able to get your hands on his script pad from time to time. All of that sounds great until you consider he's going to leave you notes from said pad about how awesome the lasagna you brought back from the Olive garden was. 

He knew you were saving that for lunch, that bastard!

William S. Burroughs
Anybody might feel bad for a guy who was trying to buy his way out of a Mexican prison sentence. But do consider that he was on his way there for accidentally missing the glass of gin he planned to shoot off the head of his wife for the umpteenth time ...in front of his son...who would go on to drink himself dead.  Basically, inviting a junky with a penchant for excessively young male prostitutes to share a toaster with you says less about his sense of judgement than it does about yours.


Hemingway
The very definition of an American. Full breasted, (especially in his later years), came of age with the Indians and grew old running rum from Cuba. His major appeal as a flatmate would be how the ladies come flocking like the salmon of Capistrano.  He wouldn't be the best wingman, but he's totally up for taking a hike with you, trekking across some endless vale, spearing a basking shark for your supper and getting you Moldova-level hammered around the campfire that night. Plus, he's got a cat. But when it's all said and done he's the kind of guy who talks women into abortions while they're out on safari and you can be pretty damn sure he'll never think it's his turn to bring down the empties.


Ayn Rand
Let's pretend that she doesn't follow up an introduction as to where she can keep her shampoo bottles by demanding your premises and axioms, just this once. She's still the kind of coloc that will take your clothes out of the washing machine as soon as it's filled up with water and throw them behind the dryer to rot. When confronted, she will spin the sort of rhetoric that will not only give you the distinct impression that she hates women, but also that she finds your lack of faith in the free market system disturbing.  
Plus the shitty waiter from Dirty Dancing read her book. (Yes, the one who put Baby in the corner!!) Do you really want to take to table with that sort of company? 

Great "E" there at the end.
The whole thing is going to look especially cute if she ever gets pregnant.
Not to mention suddenly be twice as ironic.

But take heart, not all American writers would be terrible housemates, 
Robert Frost, for example, knows that fences make good neighbors and when he's not busy appreciating how great it would be to be able to walk down both trails at the fork, he's concerns himself with staying awake and keeping promises. Like a sir. 


You: Hey, Rob--did you get to the d--
R.F: The Dishes are done, man.

And that's about all we have time for. Thanks for stopping by the Post Modern Talko. 

It's so postmodern it doesn't even know it's a taco.

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