Four Score and Seven Beers Ago...

firejoemorgan.com does this kind of thing better than anyone (and I'll readily acknowledge that I'm not even a homeless man's Ken Tremendous). But I thought, "why limit the FJM model to baseball writing? Why not apply it to other stuff? Why not FJM the hell out of, say, the Gettysburg Address?" And so I did. (*Note: I realize that this is only a loose variation of the FJM model).

Four score and seven years ago

Or six touchdowns and an extra point ago. Or a short-handed goal and five rouges ago. Or a hogshead and a hectare ago.

our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation,

Mexico

conceived in Liberty,

Wait, not Mexico

and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Except for the indians. We robbed those suckers blind! You'd be amazed what they're willing to give up for a bag of fucking beads. Beads. Waterfront property. Beads. Acres of fertile farmland. Beads. Their own goddamn women. Beads, son!

Now we are engaged in a great civil war

[I envision Abe using air quotes around the word "great" and rolling his eyes after saying it].

testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war.

In 150 years, this will be a Stuckey's.

We have come to dedicate a portion of that field,

The Stuckey's portion.

as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live.

To one day eat at Stuckey's in peace. To order their "broasted" chicken without fear. To have the freedom to add onion rings if they so desire.

It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground.

Until Stuckey's gets the ol' a-ok from the liquor board [Abe winks and points to the Liquor Control Board member in the crowd. "This guy knows what I'm talkin' about!" he says]. Then we can hollow the shit out this motherfucker.

The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.

Wait, dead men struggled here? God d*mn, this battle was worse than I thought. [looks over at aide standing near the podium. "Motherfucker, you didn't tell me that we got dead dudes fighting in our army now! Why the hell am I just learning this now? We got motherfucking ghosts in our army?!? Ghosts.... damn"].

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.

Hahahahaha, I'm just fuckin' with ya'll. This speech will be LONG remembered. They'll be reciting this shit for centuries. And you know what? I wrote this shit in the carriage on my way over here. I wrote this shit after drinking ten beers and doing six lines of snuff off the dead body of a Confederate soldier. And this speech is STILL better than that "nothing to fear but fear itself" bullshit you'll be hearing in a few decades.

It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

Honestly, I don't know what any of this means, my fellow Americans. I think it was eleven beers. But it sounds noble, right?

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Again, except for the indians. We have an endless supply of beads. Just saying.