Book him.



The difference between falling up and falling down is merely one of direction. How's that, Lincoln? Not pithy enough? All right, I'll keep trying.

Oh, hi. Didn't notice you there, peering at me from the other side of this flat screen monitor I live in. Hope all is well at home. I'm just hanging out here in the delightfully abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, having a little chat with our old friend Lincoln, who was carried here from yesteryear through the magic of Trevor James Constable's orgone generating device a year or two back. (That's a long way of saying hello - I know.) What are we chatting about? Funny you should ask. The usual topics that come up around here, like how many hammers were forged here, how long this place has been abandoned, and HOW THE HELL ARE WE EVER GOING TO MAKE ENOUGH MONEY TO GET A DECENT PLACE TO LIVE. (That last one's a bit of a sore spot. Not sure if you can tell.)

Well, we've had a lot of ideas tossed around over the past few months. But recently it occurred to us that we are not using our own home-grown resources to their best advantage. After all, we have space creatures, a mechanical man, a giant sentient potato, and one of America's most revered presidents (as well as his evil doppelganger) in our entourage. Why not exploit them more fully? That is why I'm working with Lincoln today. I've suggested that he needs to leverage his reputation as perhaps our greatest president by publishing a book of some sort - I have suggested a collection of aphorisms, something like what Yogi Berra may have published. Witticisms, as it were. Or as they are. Or as we were. (As you were!)

Hmmm. That last utterance took on a decidedly militaristic cast - my apologies. As I was saying, I and several others - though certainly NOT Marvin (my personal robot assistant) - have been tossing around possible entries for Lincoln's upcoming work. Why does he need our help? Well, friends - he may be an excellent commander in chief, a clear-minded leader with nerves of steel, a visionary... but aside from speeches written hastily on the backs of envelopes, his writing for mass audiences leaves a bit to be desired. Far too flowery, too prolix. Goodness me, Lincoln! Take a page out of your evil twin's playbook. Economy! For chrissake, it's a rare thing indeed when Anti-Lincoln writes anything longer than a two-word phrase that ends in "you." (Say what you like; at least he keeps the focus on "you.")

So anyway. Here's one from Mitch Macaphee. Never invent a deadly laser you wouldn't aim at your own mother. Still nothing? Work, work, work.

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