Tag: abraham lincoln

Lincoln stood on the cliff, plywood wings strapped to either arm.
The idea had come to Abe in a dream, and he’d spent the night scribbling up plans and sawing wood into crude airfoils.
“I can only trust in God I have made no mistakes,” shouted Abe, and he ran toward the cliff.
Up in Heaven, God watched the scene unfold.
“He’s early,” said Jesus.
“Then let him bounce off of a tree or something,” said God. “Or a gust of wind blow him back.”
“What if he tries again?” asked Jesus.
“Then screw him,” said God.
They watched, laughing.

Abraham Lincoln looked at the recruitment rolls and smiled.
Then, he look at the longer list of deserters and his smile turned into a scowl.
“Why are so many of our fine boys fleeing their posts?” he asked General Grant.
“Newspaper editors, scaring them silly,” growled General Grant, taking a swig from his flask. “But there’d be more if we didn’t shoot deserters.”
“Must I shoot a simple-minded soldier boy who deserts, while I not touch a hair of a wiley agitator who induces him to desert?” asked Lincoln.
“No, Mister President,” said General Grant. “I’ll shoot them for you.”

Abraham Lincoln stood before the prisoners of war and scowled. “You Virginians shed barrels of perspiration while standing off at a distance and superintending the work your slaves do for you,” he said.
“So?” said a Virginian soldier. “What of it?”
Abe walked up to the soldier and whispered in his ear: “How do stay smelling so fresh?”
“We cover ourselves with pumpkin pie,” said the soldier.
Abe leaned in close, took a whiff, and then licked the neck of the soldier.
“It is,” he said. “Delicious!”
For the rest of his days, Lincoln covered himself with fresh pumpkin pie.

Disturbed by mounting casualty figures, Abraham Lincoln asked for a census count.
When he had the numbers, he was in for a surprise.
“We have more men now that we had when the war began,” said Abe.
“Yes,” said the statistician. “But gender distribution’s gotten unbalanced.”
Abe noticed that there were many more women than men in public these days.
“It’s the same for the South, too?” asked Lincoln.
“I believe so,” said the statistician.
Lincoln chuckled and rubbed his hands together.
“I don’t think Mary Todd will be having any more headaches if she knows what’s good for her.”

The war had not gone well, and Lincoln was glad to see 1861 come to a close.
“I do not feel like celebrating, but we might as well ring in the new year,” he said.
“Drunks!” growled Mary Todd. “Nothing but drunks out there!”
“If we take habitual drunkards as a class,” said Lincoln, “their heads and their hearts will bear an advantageous comparison with those of any other class.”
A drunk stumbled up the steps of the White House, groaned a “Happy New Year” and promptly keeled over, dead.
“Their horribly abused livers are another matter entirely,” said Lincoln.

It was the night before Christmas, and Lincoln’s Cabinet was heading off to their various churches for services.
Lincoln sat alone, making paper dolls with scissors and war dispatches.
“Aren’t you going to church?” asked Salmon Chase.
“No,” said Lincoln. “I am not a member of any Christian Church.”
“Which church are you a member of then?” asked Chase.
Lincoln took a long needle from his stovepipe hat, licked it, and stabbed it through a paper doll.
Chase fell to the floor in agony.
“Any more stupid questions?” asked Lincoln.
Chase groaned “Merry Christmas” and crawled out of the room.

Lincoln walked out from the telegraph office and silenced the curious reporters with a sheepish grin.
“I have no comment at this time,” said Lincoln.
“But… but…”
“Well, gentlemen, there is a little woman at our house who is probably more interested in this dispatch than I am.”
Lincoln strolled back home, where Mary Todd was finished preparing the evening’s meal.
“Did you win the election?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” said Lincoln. “But I think Thumbelina will want to know that they’ve found a Borrower community in Oregon.”
He stuffed the telegram into the hole in the wainscoting.

Throughout the city, the Founding Fathers were rising from their graves, walking around the town in their tattered rags.
Abraham Lincoln was overjoyed.
“What do they think of my handling of the current conflict?” asked Lincoln. “And what do they think of their beloved Constitution now?”
“We don’t know,” said Stanton. “They keep moaning ‘brains’ and eating people.”
Lincoln frowned and picked up a shotgun. “I guess we’d better take care of this quickly.”
Bill Seward grabbed Lincoln’s sleeve. “You can’t possibly be suggesting we attack the Founding Fathers?”
Lincoln pointed the shotgun at Seward. “Maybe you’re one of them…”