Greetings, beer drinker. It’s your amigo Tiny Abraham Lincoln, here with an interesante story for you. Did you hear the one about how I met Mary Todd? Okay, so this is before my political career. I’m a struggling musician who’s pulling shifts at a local ale house, and one night, boom, in walks the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She orders a Dos Equis, we get to chatting, which was frowned upon at that time outside of marriage, but hey it’s the 1890s, I’m a modern guy. She asks what I do, I can’t say I’m a musician, so I say ‘I’m the 16th President of the United States’. The most impressive job I could imagine. She seems suspicious, so I say my nickname is Honest Abe. Good save, right? We hit it off, arrange a date for next weekend, but I’m in a pickle. I have one week to become President. But hey, wouldn’tcha’ know, there’s an election next week. So I print off a whole bunch flyers, make some speeches, and a week later I’m President. She never knew the difference, Man, that was a really weird week.
Greetings. Beer drinker. It is I, Tiny Abrshsm Lincoln, here with an interesante story for you. I just got back from Mexico, and man, that place is fun. The shrimp tacos, Mmm mmm mmm. I know, you probably thought old Abe was kind of a snooze. But buddy, I was part of the Whig Party. And it was called that because we’d put on wigs, get some Dos Equis, and just hang, ya’know? Me, Danny Webster, Truman Smith and Tommy ‘The Tornado’ Brown. We’d play corn hole on the front lawn, write legislation, and blast music by the White House pool. They called me Wild Abe. Our reign lasted only five years or so, then Marty Van No-Fun took over and I grew this beard and got real serious. But maaaaan, that was a fun political party. Hey, you want my har beer? Pretty neat, huh? Wild Abe’s Still got it.
Greetings. Beer drinker. It is I, Tiny Abraham Lincoln, here with an interesante story for you. Okay, so it’s about…mmm, three-score and five years ago. Ulysses S. Grant and I are traveling through the south, campaigning. And that guy…was…a character. So we’re at some ale house enjoying ice-cold Dos Equis, and Grant keeps going on and on about why don’t they serve chicken fingers and oh, if we were in Washington, they’d have chicken fingers with a cornucopia of dipping sauce, and oh Washington is so great, yada yada. Talking about what a great rapper he is, all his sick rhymes. And he’s going on and on, and all the locals get all riled up. So one guy challenges General Grant to a rap battle, which was big at the time. Grant offers the guy $5 if he can beat him. Which would be equivalent to about $200,000 today. And he chokes spectacularly. Tried to rhyme beat with beat. That’s not a rhyme they’re the same word! Embarrassing. He doesn’t have the money and we bolt. The whole town is after us. Had to run back to Washington, grow this beard, lay low for a while. Ironically, I am now on the five dollar bill. Yeah, pretty nuts.