Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: abraham lincoln

A Christmas Donald


“What should I call Jake Tapper, who is such a liar and probably a fruit and tells lies about me and Russia, which doesn’t exist and I didn’t do? I got it, I got it. Let’s go simple. Jake Tapper: Impotent? Many people are saying Floppy Jake can’t get it Up. Great tweet, the best tweet. Now I hit send and I’ll go to sleep the greatest president America has ever seen.


“What was that? General Kelly? Where’s my general? General? Melania? Donald, Jr.? Mooch? Anyone?”


“Donald Trump!”

“That’s Mr. President to you.”

“Donald! You know me, Donald! I was once like you! Venal, vain, and vengeful! I lied, cheated, and stole! I was cruel and selfish and evil, and now I wear these chains I forged in life!”


“Who are you? I can’t see you, even though I have probably the best vision of anyone you know. Great, great vision. Step forward so I can see you.”

“It is I, Roy Cohn!”

“Step back!”

“Donald, I don’t–”

“Keep your Ghost AIDS on that side of the room.”

“Jesus, really?”

“President can’t have Ghost AIDS. People look up to me–children, mostly, but also all the adults–and I can’t have Ghost AIDS on teevee. Looks terrible. Ghost AIDS does not make America great again.”

“You’re just as shitty as I remember.”

“Point to all the things in the room you’ve touched.”

“Fuck you, Don.”

“Mr. President.”

“Listen: you’re in for a long night. I was gonna warn you more specifically, but fuck you.”


“That was fake news. Didn’t happen. Complete fiction and a witch hunt. Okay, sleepy-time. Need to rest up. Big day tomorrow. Fox and Friends is talking about me, which is why their ratings are so high. Trump gets the best ratings. No ghosts, no ghosts.”


“What is that? This shithole makes so many noises at night. I wish I was back at Trump Tower in my luxurious penthouse apartment on the 213th floor.”


“Who’s there? Do you have Ghost AIDS, too?”

“No, I…what the hell are Ghost AIDS?”

“Terrible, terrible disease. Possibly invented by Obama, people are saying Obama made Ghost Aids in between basketball games and rap concerts. He made it in his hut.”


“You look like Abraham Lincoln.”

“I am Abraham Lincoln. I’m the Ghost of Presidents Past.”

“Many, many people have said I’m a better president than you, Abe. I gotta be honest. Lots of people are saying it. Not the media, which is very unfair to me and never reports on how much better than you I am. Civil War. That’s on you, Abe. The entire Trump presidency: no Civil Wars, not at all. That’s winning. Someone’s gotta win and someone’s gotta lose, and Trump’s a winner.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“And I don’t like your hat. Not a great hat. Why didn’t you put a motto on it?”


“I believe Hillary Clinton had you assassinated. Maybe that’s why she had those 33,000 e-mails deleted, because they had proof of her evil time traveling.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Also, Abe, gotta say: Melania is much better-looking than Mary Todd. Not a looker, Mary Todd.”

“I’m outta here.”


“Weak president. Only on the five! No one uses fives anymore, a very weak bill. Maybe I should be on the money. Gary? Gary Cohn? Where’s my Money Jew? Gary?”


“Okay, your turn.”

“Nope. Fuck this.”

“Hillary, get in there.”

“Not a shot, Abe.”

“You’re supposed to be representing what could have been.”

“I offered the world myself, and it chose Darth Diarrhea. Hilly is dunzo.”

“There’s three ghosts. That’s how this bit works.”

“Abe, suck my popular-vote-winning dick.”

“Oh, fine. Ghost of Presidents Future?”


“What do you mean, ‘Fuck him?’ Get in there and show him he can mend his ways!”


“It is a cool hat, and I don’t know why everyone is ganging up on me.”

“It’s a stupid hat, Abe.”

“Oh, fuck you, Hillary.”


“I’m awake! I’m awake and the greatest president that’s ever lived. Those must have been the worst dreams in the history of Christmas, which I allowed America to celebrate again.”


“You! Little boy! Little boy who is somehow wandering around the White House grounds!”

“It’s me, dad. Donald, Jr.”

“Little boy! Is the Burger King still doing breakfast?”

“I think so.”

“Then go buy me the biggest french toast stick in the store, and if you’re back in a half-hour, I’ll give you a pardon.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Okay, great, wonderful. French toast sticks. And God bless us, but only the Christian God, who is Jesus and the best and only God, everyone. Great, okay, whatever.”

Compromising Positions

Instead, Mr. Kelly, the White House chief of staff, resurrected the debate over Confederate monuments — previously fueled by his boss, President Trump, over the summer — and the Confederacy itself. He called Robert E. Lee “an honorable man who gave up his country to fight for his state,” said that “men and women of good faith on both sides made their stand where their conscience had them make their stand,” and argued that “the lack of an ability to compromise led to the Civil War.”  – “John Kelly Pins Civil War on a ‘Lack of Ability to Compromise’” New York Times, 10/31/17


“Mr. Lee, come in.”



“I prefer General Lee, Mr. President.”

“I’ll call you Bobby Ape-tits if I want, you schmendrick! I’m the goddamned president.”


“Shut the fuck up and listen to me: we’re making this deal. Right now, you and me, in this room today. We are going to make a deal. I won’t have a civil war during my term. You and me are gonna compromise, pal.”

“What’s your first offer?”

“Fuck you. You first.”

“Slavery is legal everywhere including the moon.”

“Why the moon?”

“In case we ever get there. I think you should be able to take your slaves to the moon.”

“But why would you need them?”

“Mr. President, I’d rather have my slaves and not need them, then need them and not have them.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“I open-carry my slaves, man. Gotta protect your rights.”

“Great. Counter-offer: no slavery.”

“At all?”


“No deal!”

“I amend my counter-offer.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll give you the moon. You can have slavery on the moon.”

“And the south.”

“But you don’t keep it in the south, do you? It keeps getting out of your yard and bothering the whole neighborhood. Slavery is a very bad dog, Mr. Lee. And, like a bad dog, it must be put down. And if you will not agree to my terms, sir, then I shall have to loose the armies of the north.”

“The armies of the north?”


“Very mature.”

“The armies are on the march, Lee!”

“Open a window.”

“Had a pot roast sandwich before you got here. They never stop at my stomach, just head right on down to the ol’ coattails.”

“It’s awful, sir.”

“Oh, yeah. I Dutch ovened Mary Todd once and she puked. Listen, Lee: we gotta work this out. Here’s my offer: no slavery.”


“No slavery.”



“No slaveryWAIT.”

“Ahh! You said it! It counts!”

“You tricked me!”

“Still counts. Slavery’s illegal now. You said it.”

“You are like a child, Mr. Lincoln. I have no idea where your reputation comes from.”

“Dude, me either, but people fucking love me.”

“Not where I’m from, they don’t.”

“Well, half the people where you’re from.”


“Okay, here’s my pitch: slavery on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays; no slavery on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

“I think that might confuse the slaves, Mr. President.”

“They’ll pick it up. Everyone will complain at first, but after a month, no one will remember the old way. That’s human nature, General.”

“Yes, sir. So, on Tuesdays, my slaves would be…”

“Non-slaves. Free men and women.”

“Would they be able to vote?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll reschedule elections for Wednesdays.”

“Hmm. What about Sunday?”

“Sunday’s for Jesus.”

“Good for Him. What about the slaves? I need ’em on Sunday.”

“You make your slaves work on Sundays?”

“Well, I’m not going to cook my Sunday dinner, am I?”

“They don’t get any days off at all?”

“What about the word slave are you not understanding?”

“Okay, okay. Sundays are slavery. Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are for slavery; no slavery on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

“I don’t know if I could sell this to the Confederacy.”

“General, if you cannot, then nothing awaits us but the doom promised us by our tolerance of America’s original sin. Blood shall water the grass of Kentucky, the rocks of West Virginia, the swamps of Louisiana. Even your own beloved Virginia shall be blown away by the awesome wind of God’s breath. Can you hear it, Lee? Listen carefully.”

“Are you listening?”

“I don’t know what I’m listening for.”


“For fuck’s sake, Lincoln.”

“No, that was God. Can you smell God’s breath?”

“Holy shit, I think you’re rotting on the inside.”

“God’s breath smells like cold pot roast. What a coincidence.”

“The window! Dammit, man, the window!”

“Slavery on Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays; no slavery on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

“The window!”

“Shake on it, Bobby Ape-tits!”



“That’s why they call me the Great Compromiser.”

“The window!”



“I love when you read to me, Gampa.”

“I love reading to you, Slugger. And now you know the story of the Civil Compromise.”

“It’s a good story.”

“And the moral is: compromise is always the best option. No matter what the subject is, you should always compromise.”

“I will, Gampa.”

“Now go to sleep and get your rest. Tomorrow’s Wednesday, and you know what that means.”

“We’re slaves.”

“Right. Good night, Slugger.”

“Night, Gampa.”

I Don’t Wanna Make Nice; I Wanna Fight

Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant, to step the Ocean, and crush us at a blow? Never!–All the armies of Europe, Asia and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth (our own excepted) in their military chest; with a Buonaparte for a commander, could not by force, take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years.

At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of free men, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.

They were the pillars of the temple of liberty; and now, that they have crumbled away, that temple must fall, unless we, their descendants, supply their places with other pillars, hewn from the solid quarry of sober reason. Passion has helped us; but can do so no more. It will in future be our enemy. Reason, cold, calculating, unimpassioned reason, must furnish all the materials for our future support and defense.–Let those materials be moulded into general intelligence, sound morality, and in particular, a reverence for the constitution and laws: and, that we improved to the last; that we remained free to the last; that we revered his name to the last; that, during his long sleep, we permitted no hostile foot to pass over or desecrate his resting place; shall be that which to learn the last trump shall awaken our WASHINGTON.

Upon these let the proud fabric of freedom rest, as the rock of its basis; and as truly as has been said of the only greater institution, “the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

My Old Friend, Abraham


“You’re not gonna thank me?”

“Get out, Abe.”

Fightin’, Illini

Lincoln fucked us. Douglas, too, but mostly Lincoln. The Lincoln/Douglas debates were like the moon landing: they set an untouchable American standard that can only be used as a sad comparative. If we can put a man on the moon dubble dubble wubble.

There were seven meetings between the two men: they were running for Senate in Illinois, kinda (the House used to appoint Senators, but people would also campaign; it was complicated) and discussing slavery, which was of interest at the time. It was a big deal, and papers sent stenographers who would wire back the full text, which was reprinted in full; this may not seem like such a big deal, but what else could they have done? They used the telegraph, they printed it in the paper, and later they compiled all the debates into a book and sold that, and that’s it; that’s all the technology they had.

Anyway, Lincoln and Douglas met at a college and aimlessly wandered around a stage giving either robotic semi-answers to questions, or threatening to jail their opponent.


Oh, right: that’s the nightmare that is today.

Still better than 1858.

You’re right!

It was a trap!

Ha HA! But seriously, here’s why: last night’s debate was not on the topic of owning other human beings, with one of the participants advocating the practice, and that view being culturally acceptable.

Yes, what occurred on television and the innertubes the other night facetiously called a “debate” was like watching the last ten minutes of Old Yeller, but with the part of the dog being played by America, but slavery wasn’t up for discussion.

Also, the Lincoln/Douglas debates were incredibly boring: one talked for 60 minutes, then the other for 90, and then the first rebutted for 30; plus they stood at podiums and comported themselves with a little dignity. No good memes at all.

Our Greatest

The past 24 hours remind me of something Lincoln once said:

You can grab all of the pussies some of the time, and you can grab some of the pussies all of the time, but you can’t grab all of the pussies all of the time.

And that’s why they called him Honest Abe.

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