Lincoln, Abraham

April 21, 2009 at 9:58 am | Posted in Herman the Soothsayer | 1 Comment

Abraham Lincoln was a President of something or other, I think maybe the American Automobile Association. I once stayed in a Lincoln Motor Inn in Gettysburg, so I think that’s it.  Anyway, it doesn’t really matter; that’s not what I wanted to talk about.  I just needed some space in this guide to get my own thoughts down on paper, for Christ’s sake, so I figured I’d “write” and “entry” on someone that NOBODY would ever look up.  I’ve hardly even heard of this Lincoln person, so I figured it was a safe bet.  You see, our over-mighty editors have let it be known that they frown on the inclusion of personal opinion in our entries.  BUT I’M JUST A MAN, I TELLS YA.  I can’t be expected to be constantly censoring my own opinions for the sake of “objectivity.”  I need to express myself.  I mean, I graduated from the Sylvan Learning Center, for Christ’s sake – I don’t need this kind of oversight!   What I need to say, though, needs saying, and if this is the only way I can get the space, so be it:


Poems are stupid.


I mean, totally useless.  What good is a poem?  Can a poem cheer me up when I’m sad?  Can a poem make me see the world in a new way?  Can a poem compare a person to a summer’s day?  Well, wait; I guess it can.  Maybe I’m thinking of money?  No, I like my money; I used it to buy this computer, and a sandwich.  I wish I had another sandwich.  That first one was delicious.  No, no, it’s definitely poems that I hate; so why did I hate them again?  Is it because they rhyme?  No, that isn’t it; some of them don’t and anyway: Rhyming is a thing / I like ding-a-ling.  Oh, yeah, I remember: it’s poets I don’t like, not poems.  Poems are fine.  But poets – those liberal creeps.  Always writing poems about love and peace and hunger and fairies and dragons and hard-line xenophobic nationalism.  Pinko flower-pickers, the lot of them.  Like Ezra Pound.  I mean, what are they, sissies?  Uh-oh.  I better get back to pretending to write the Abraham Lincoln entry.  You won’t rat me out, right?  Just read the last sentence of this entry out loud with a broad sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.  That will help the editors to be fooled and let me keep my entry the way it is!   Are you ready?  Good.  Here goes (remember, big voice, so my editors can hear you!):


And so, in closing, dear reader, truly this has been Abraham Lincoln: a great surgeon, a great spelunker, but an even greater man. – Herman the Soothsayer

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  1. […] flower-pickers, the lot of them. Like Ezra Pound. I mean, what are they, sissies? Uh-oh. I better get back to pretending to write the Abraham Lincoln entry. You won’t rat me out, right? Just read the last sentence of this entry … […]

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