Had dinner with Abe Lincoln at The Barn Door in Kermit, Texas. He was upset with his wife. She kept spitting out half chewed bit of steak, complaining about its consistency. He exclaimed, “Dammit Mary, at least use your napkin so the retards don’t see you.” The waiter asked if there was a problem. To her complaint the waiter explained, “You ordered well done. When you order well done, we ruin it like a cat’s liver.” I asked the president if he could recommend a local shop for good artisan breads. He wasn’t too familiar with Kermit. As we were leaving, I wished him a happy birthday and a happy President’s Day. I explained the creation of the holiday and that just pissed him off. “Everyone thinks they have to tell me about President’s Day when they come back. What do you want me to say? Thanks for the bull shit! I didn’t ask for this. Fuck you, man. Fuck you!” This is where we parted ways.