*Back by popular demand*

I'm baking a cake in honor of Mr. Lincoln's birthday. Everyone deserves cake on their birthday...even an imaginary dead president living...err...not-living in a haunted farmhouse in the mountains.

No, not a dick cake..not even a real cake for that matter...because after yesterday's attack of heart burn, I'm grounded from the kitchen. But it's not my fault! There should be an alarm that goes off when all the water boils out of the pan. It should whistle like an old fashioned tea kettle or something. They weren't kidding when they said heart attacks were the silent killers. I didn't hear a damn thing as my Pure Romance gel heart burned into a pink pile of ash.

Not. One. Single. Thing.

Pink should make a sound...shouldn't it? Pigs are pink. They make a sound. Maybe my imaginary cake will have pink frosting. I think Lincoln was a fan of pink.

In fact, I'm sure he was. It's a little known fact that Lincoln was the first president in favor of extending the vote to women. He knew women found him sexy, (he was 6'4", need I say more?) and women rock the vote. He even grew his beard in response to a rumor that women would urge their husband's to vote for him with his sexy beard. Oh yeah...Abe was digging the pink, alright.

So, Mr. Lincoln is going to karaoke with me tonight, where we're having an early Valentine's Day party (with lots and lots of pink) and I'll try out some new tunes for him. We'll give his hat some attention, and maybe even coax him into slipping me a few fives...his huge head is splashed across the front of the five dollar bill, you know. Heck, I'll take a nice roll of his shiny new pennies for that matter. I hear there's a big sale in honor of his birthday too. And who can resist a good sale?

So Happy Birthday to my imaginary dead president. We're gonna party like it's 1865 (but we'll steer clear of the theater...ok?)

Until the next time...I'll be doing my best Marilyn Monroe impression as I sing to Mr. Lincoln.