Oh my god. Warning: falling bile. Okay, first of all, it's not just "in the Keys," it's in Key West, so just say "Key West." It's only the most famous Key, and when you visit Key West, you drive past the Hemingway house like five times a day. Second of all, I've visited this house, and it's not made of brick, because you can accuse Hemingway of a lot of things, but "being dumb enough to build a brick house in a subtropical climate" isn't one of those things. It's stucco, people. STUCCO. No bricks. And third of all -- hi, it's a museum. It's a landmark. It's not a crumbling manse in the middle of nowhere; it has a preservation committee and a full staff. Everything's roped off and guarded, and you can't even go all the way into most of the rooms, much less stroll the grounds with a chisel and break yourself off a piece of literary history. I mean, they have signs everywhere: "Do not touch walls." "Do not touch books." "Do not touch fountain." "Do not pet cats." "Do not pick up cats." Again, I've visited the house (and I petted a cat illegally, if you must know), but really, it's not difficult to find these things out even from the comfort of a Los Angeles apartment. The writers could have learned all of these facts in exactly six seconds by using a newfangled gadget I like to call "the Internet." And fourth and lastly, why the hell would Joey bring Dawson a brick from Hemingway's house anyway? Hemingway didn't make movies; Hemingway didn't take pictures; Hemingway never lived on Cape Cod, to my knowledge. Hemingway lived in Europe and Idaho and Cuba, and he wrote books. Maybe they've heard of a couple of them. Dear writers: You don't write well enough to make up for stupid shit like this. Do your goddamn homework. Signed, everyone. PS: If you must work in a Hemingway reference, why don't you pay him homage by shooting yourselves in the head?