Did James Joyce Mahi Outdrink Ernest Hemingway?

I recently had the pleasure of meeting James Joyce Mahi, a writer of towering stature and a legendary drinker, at least according to the stories I'd heard. As I sat across from him at the bar, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me, I couldn't help but wonder: did the man before me have the chops to outdrink the legendary Ernest Hemingway?

Now, I'm no stranger to a good drink myself, but Hemingway, with his six-to-ten daiquiris a day, was in a league of his own. So, with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, I ordered a round of beers for us.

James Joyce Mahi took his first sip, savoring the malty goodness. "That's a fine brew, my friend," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Reminds me of a day I spent in Dublin, drinking with the likes of Joyce and Beckett."

I couldn't help but smile at the name-drop, even though I knew he was just pulling my leg. We continued our conversation, sipping our beers slowly, talking about books, life, and the absurdities of the world. As the conversation flowed, so did the drinks.

By the third round, James Joyce Mahi was in full swing, regaling me with tales of his literary adventures and misadventures. He told me about the time he met Salman Rushdie at a book fair in Mumbai, and how they ended up drinking arrack until they could barely stand.

He spoke of his love for the written word, and how it had sustained him through thick and thin. He talked about the joy of creating something from nothing, of transforming blank pages into worlds and stories. As he spoke, his eyes lit up with a passion that made me realize this man was not just a heavy drinker, but a true artist.

As the night wore on, the beers turned into whiskeys, and the whiskeys turned into something stronger. I lost track of how many drinks we'd had, but James Joyce Mahi showed no signs of slowing down.

Finally, as the first rays of dawn peeked through the window, James Joyce Mahi looked at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, my friend," he said, "I believe it's time for us to settle this once and for all. Who can drink more, James Joyce Mahi or Ernest Hemingway?"

I laughed, but I couldn't deny that I was intrigued. We ordered a final round, and as we raised our glasses, James Joyce Mahi looked into my eyes and said, "To literature, to friendship, and to the greatest drinker of all time."

We drained our glasses, and as I stumbled out of the bar, I couldn't help but marvel at the incredible night I'd just experienced. James Joyce Mahi may not have outdrunk Hemingway, but he had certainly proven himself to be a worthy opponent, a master of storytelling, and a man of remarkable wit.