Category: Abraham Lincoln

Abraham Lincoln enjoyed quiet weekends at the farm. They were so much better than his weekdays in Washington, plotting the country’s destiny and writing stacks of letters to the parents of dead soldiers.
So much death, and so little time to escape from it.
But not today.
A shriek shattered the air. Then, a sickening thud.
Abe ran to the barn, looked down at the dead skunk, and sighed.
“What kills a skunk is the publicity it gives itself,” he said.
“Bull,” said the farmer. “I upped and smacked it with my hoe. That done kilt the varmint, I reckon.”

Abe went back to his office and slammed the door.
The press had nailed him.
Again.
“SECRETARY!” he shouted.
His secretary crawled out from behind his desk and clutched a notebook, trembling.
“Yes, Mister President?” mumbled the secretary. “Problems?”
“What did we discuss yesterday?” growled Lincoln.
The Secretary flipped through his notes. “No man has a good enough memory… to be a successful… liar,” he read.
“Which means…”
“You need me to keep track of your lies?” said the Secretary.
“EXACTLY!”
The Secretary nodded. “It will never happen again, sir,” he whimpered. “Ever.”
But one hundred and ten years later…

The carpeting swirled, the walls breathed, and the air sparkled with energy.
Abe laughed.
“There is nothing true anywhere,” Abe said to the three-headed cyclops with bat’s wings for arms.
The three-headed cyclops smirked. “Go on,” it said.
“The true is nowhere to be seen,” said the president.
“Maybe,” said the cyclops. “Your perception is most strange. Is there more?”
“Yes,” said Abe. “If you say you see the true, this seeing is not the true one.”
“That’s very deep,” said the cyclops. “But I’d like to remind you that I warned you not to eat those brownies, Mister President.”

“You must eat!” cried Mary Todd. “You’re wasting away!”
Abe kept his mouth shut. He knew the “Make Abe talk and stuff food in his mouth” trick all too well.
So he communicated by notepad:
I WILL NOT EAT THIS SLOP
“But I made it myself,” pled Mary Todd.
THESE CARROTS SMELL LIKE THEY WERE BOILED IN SEWER WATER
“How about a nice juicy steak?” said Mary Todd.
Abe scribbled quickly:
DOES GENERAL GRANT KNOW THAT THAT YOU SLAUGHTERED HIS HORSE?
Mary Todd ran from the kitchen, weeping.
Abe grinned, grabbed his whiskey bottle from under the sink, and drank.

Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be, thought Abe, and he sat in his chair and smiled.
“I am very happy,” he said to his wife.
“Any particular reason why you’re happy?” asked Mary Todd.
“Because I have decided to be happy,” said Abe. “I have made my mind up, and I will be happy.”
Mary Todd smiled.
“Why are you smiling?” asked Abe.
“The voices in my head have stopped screaming,” said Mary Todd. “They’re now reading the newspaper aloud.”
“Let me know when you get to the sports section,” said Abe.

Abe walked over the hill and saw a circle of robed priests, chanting at a naked man.
Every five seconds, the man leapt into the air and fell back down to the ground.
“What are you doing?” whispered Abe to an acolyte.
“We are helping our master leap to the moon,” said the priest.
Eventually, the naked man was too tired to jump anymore.
While the naked man rested, Abe took his place. He was happy to help the chanters, and it had been at least a week since he’d been naked in public.
“To the moon!” he shouted, leaping.

Abraham stared at the machine, letting his eyes wander across the contours, wires, gears, and pistons.
“What the hell is this thing?” he said.
“We’re not sure,” said the best of his advisors. “But we think it has something to do with chickens.”
Abe shrugged and stuffed a chicken in one end.
Lights flashed. Smoke belched. Gears ground.
A bell rang.
“It’s done,” said the advisor.
An egg rolled down a chute.
“The possibilities are endless,” said the advisor, smiling.
Seventy-three eggs later, Lincoln fired the advisor and made a very large omelet for the troops on the West Lawn.