Uh, Anti-Lincoln …. Abe … I was going to have a word with you. Actually, several of us were planning on, well, maybe starting a conversation about, well … it’s kind of awkward. How can I put this delicately? Ah, yes. – got it. You’re a stoned-out, drunken loser-ass mofo. Can we talk?

Yes, that’s right, friends. It’s time for another intervention, this one directed at the Great Un-Emancipator, Antimatter Lincoln, who’s been with us since the day he stumbled out of whatever alternate universe he comes from via Trevor James Constable’s patented orgone generating machine. Seems like so long ago now, doesn’t it? Well, some things never change … and one of those things is Anti-Lincoln’s propensity toward inebriating and intoxicating substances, including (but not limited to) hard liquor, malt beverages, chicken fricassee (with cognac sauce), morphine, hooch, devil’s weed, and marijuana. Oh, yes … it’s time for another little talk with the tall guy.

We thought this would be easier, frankly. I think it was Matt who had the idea of making Marvin (my personal robot assistant) a kind of trustee to Anti-Lincoln, as well as a minder. If he saw the unpresident start to imbibe in a serious way, he was to insert himself between the man and the drink, or joint, or bowl, or whatever he was into. Okay, well … that didn’t work so well. Anti-Lincoln is a bad tempered fellow, as you may recall. His reaction to being corralled by a robot was to attempt to convert said automaton into an elaborate bong for his hashish bender on alternate Saturdays. (Actually, Marvin makes a fairly decent bong, mainly because he has a lot of empty space inside that metallic exterior. True fact.)

Last week was the last straw. Anti-Lincoln took delivery of something like a bale of marijuana. He claimed it was CBD and that he had a prescription for insomnia. I called bullshit because the mother sleeps most of the freaking day as it is. If he has insomnia, I’m Pavarati. (And just for the record, I am, in fact, not Pavarati). Now, I know he’s just stocking up for the holidays. In Anti-Lincoln’s world, when the Yuletide rolls in, it does so with a vengeance. And so before he goes on his holiday bender and starts insulting the neighbors, and the local constables, and the bartender, and the … well, pretty much everyone that comes within his field of vision, we of Big Green need to convene a small group intervention. Old Anti-Lincoln will be scared straight …. or not. (If history is any guide, we will be the only straight ones in the hammer mill by the time we’re done.)