Tag: abraham lincoln

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.

Pain.
Sharp, agonizing pain.
Abraham screamed.
“GET THIS BULLDOG OFF OF ME!” rang through the halls of the White House.
Abe flailed his arm, but the bulldog refused to release Abe’s wrist.
At one point, Abe managed to pry the beast’s mouth open with a fireplace iron, but the dog leapt for his thigh and renewed its grip on the President.
“SON OF A BITCH, THAT HURTS!” shouted Abe.
Abe grabbed an axe from his desk and brained the dog, freeing his leg.
He didn’t bother asking why the axe was there, preferring just to remain grateful for its presence.

The tree stood on the edge of the White House lawn, swaying in the breeze.
The scars along its trunk mocked him.
Abe now really hated that tree.
Not enough time, he thought. Not enough time for this.
Lincoln leaned on the axe blade, pushing it into the spinning grindstone. Sweat poured off of his brow, and his shoulders ached with the strain.
“Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe,” he mumbled. “First, not last!”
Next time, he’d just have the artillery boys use it for target practice.

Abraham looked in his mug, frowning.
“Is there a problem, sir?” asked the steward.
“Is this coffee?” asked Abe.
“I don’t think so,” said the steward.
“Okay,” said Abe. “Is it tea?”
The steward sniffed the liquid in the cup.
“It’s neither,” said the steward. “It’s bourbon.”
“Bourbon?” said Lincoln. “Ah. Bring me the rest of the bottle, then.”
Lincoln looked out the window of the rail car.
It would be nice if they were moving. Or were still hooked to the engine, for that matter.
They’ll come back for me, he thought. I’m the President.
He sipped and smiled.