"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Sunday, March 18, 2012


This actually spawned from a conversation with my mom. Not necessarily like this, but she thought Lincoln had a weird spelling. I thought people only named their kids Lincoln because they had a weird president fetish. C'est la vie.

198 words


            “Lincoln? Who the fuck names their kid, Lincoln?”
            “Stop. He’s a nice guy and isn’t just someone to one-night-stand.” Rolling her eyes as she drank she glanced around the bar, taking in the availables, the couples and the creepers.
            “So when you two fuck, do you ask him to sign your Gettysburg Address?”
            “Or do you make him wear a tall hat and fake beard?” Nearly choking on her drink, she swallowed painfully, eyes shut.
            “The Gettysburg Address was a speech; didn’t you take US History? And no, we don’t reenact the President and his wife screwing in the 1800s,” she shook her head.
            “Well, I’d make him wear the hat at least,” Grace said, shrugging as she busied herself with her drink.
            “Or reenact as President Lincoln’s naughty intern he needs to punish,” Brie added. “Oh, Mr. Lincoln, I cut down that cherry tree and need to be punished,” she said, a sudden southern lilt to her voice. “Just bend me over your office desk and—“
            “Shut the hell up! I will date whoever I want!” She slammed her short glass on the tabletop. “Fuck you both.” Dropping some bills on the table she stormed off.

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