Ernest Hemingway spent his life beating the shit out of fish. Also, books.
Ernest Hemingway was a man's man. He pretty much invented the standard for which we measure manliness today. His favorite activities included boxing, shooting stuff, drinking beer, and winning wars. When he wasn't writing classics of American literature (which he would usually do drunk) he partied with other famous authors, like F. Scott Fitzgerald and James Joyce.
Hemingway liked to party, and party hard. He once killed a polar bear using a broken beer bottle and pure malice. He lived by the rules of the road:
1. Choose your words carefully.
2. Grow a beard
4. Party Hard.
Hemingway would often wake in the morning to discover that after he'd passed out James Joyce had drawn dicks all over him with a magic marker. James Joyce then high-fived F. Scott Fitzgerald (who was high off his tits on cough medicine all the time).
"Heh heh. Dicks. Holy fuck I'm high as shit."
When two world wars and a life of excessive drinking and hunting can't kill you, it's time to take matters into your own hands.
Hemingway died because he was paranoid that other people would drag their nuts all over his lips, so he shot his head off.