Guest Blogger: Abraham Lincoln

One of the oft asked questions that echoes through the marbled halls of the athenaeum of American politics is the debatable subject of whether or not my wife Mary might have actually taken some small crumb of enjoyment from observing the play that she and I attended on the evening of my assassination. I can state here and now quite baldly that she did not enjoy these entertainments. Indeed, I consider it the height of grossest impertinance that anyone should even suggest that my wife could take pleasure from such third rate, melodramatic waffling as the unfortunate audience was forced to witness from their uncomfortably upholstered seats at the Ford Theater that infamous night: Our American Cousin? More like Our American Theatrical Shame. How ignominious for me that I, the most important of American Presidents, should have been shot and killed during the pitiful performance of this tawdry piece of poorly constructed and inadequately rehearsed nonsense.
Events would have been much different, of course, had I been assassinated while engrossed in the first act of a play by the young Harold Pinter, even a staged reading of something by Athol Fugard would have been acceptable to my family's dignity. But no. The fate's are cruel.

Comments

[DarkoV]

You are so bad.
And that's why your blog's so good.
Will JFK soon be a guest blogger, commenting on the pluses and minuses of convertibles?

[Fcb]

"He only said he felt like shooting himself, you IDIOT!"

[Mary Lincoln]

I wanted to see "The Vagina Monologues," but Mr. "four-score-and-I'm-always-right" insisted on ruining our night out, as usual.