The answer is nothing, well nothing you can figure out unless you've found your twenty. Twenty, yes, as the number. What's your twenty? It is the answer to the question you are too scared to ask yourself. What is that, you ask? You ask a lot of questions eh. The password is the answer of defining your twenty which you get by solving the puzzle — what is the one thing you're missing in order to that 10/10 version of your immaculate fucking self besides starting, you sassy little Prince of Maine, you King of New England?

WHAT IS YOUR 0 ?
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Six Word Poems
Ernest Hemingway at his typewriter, drink in hand

It is said that someone challenged El Colonel Ernesto once in writing, criticising him that all his stories were always so short. HAH. Ernesto downed his whiskey (the challenger’s first mistake; never challenge the boss once on fire). Mr Hemingway looked this punk straight in the eye, or a bit off perhaps depending on how many whiskys he’d had, and said: “Luckily enough for you, your shrimp, it ain’t about length”.

The bar broke out in wild applause and two ladies threw their bras at him (needs fact checking). The punk feeling the heat of the Dragon, tried to uno reverse this statement: “Well then, since you’re so sure, give the shortest story you can then you drunk.”

Misstake number two; Ernest was not a drunk. He was a top-tier professional alcoholic. He asked the shrimp to pick a number between 1-10. The challenger spat out: 6.

Ernest sucked out the last drop of whiskey from his glass, cleared his throat and spoke:

For sale:
baby shoes,
never worn.

The bar erupted in ecstasy, one girl orgasmed right there on the spot and the art of the Six Word Poem was born.

Source: Mostly stories and a vague Wikipedia source we’d rather not reference.