On the night of November 18, 1863, Abraham Lincoln reportedly received a visitor at the White House who was described as “a large dusky skinned gentleman who radiated pure light” and whose presence was “accompanied by a chorus of angels.” According to observers, this mysterious visitor seemed to “float when he walks” and was long considered to be an angel. Finally, now, after the events of the last few weeks, we can safely deduce that this mysterious angel was none other than The Great Willie Young. The proof comes from this account of the following day’s events. It has been long since sanitized and cleaned up for the good of the general public – a misguided attempt to be sure since what is more pure and beautiful than truth? – but this is a true and accurate account, lovingly transcribed by my great, great, great, great grandfather and handed down through time until it landed in my hands. I have been entrusted with a great responsibility and I do not take this lightly, and so here now, for the first time, I present to all of you the real Gettysburg Address. Enjoy.
Four score and seven years ago, which is, like 87 years – who wrote this shit? - our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Except for Ohio. Those people are animals. Did you know that some of them poop in coolers during tailgates? Yeah, apparently, those degenerates are too uncivilized to use a proper latrine.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, as the people of Michigan and Ohio continue their ancient blood feud, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. Thankfully, a friend has told me that in the end, those degenerates from Ohio shall be humbled. Not only will their awful Cincinnati Bengals be profoundly beaten, but those vile degenerates from Cleveland will fall in defeat to the Detroit Lions.
(Holds for applause)
Yes, yes, a great day in our nation’s history indeed. Anyway, we are met on a great battle-field of that war. It’s true. Most people don’t know that on this field here in Gettysburg, my friend Willie personally slayed a legion of Cooler Poopers. He scalped those motherfuckers and left them rotting under the sun. I told him, “Willie, that wasn’t very Christian of you,” but he just scoffed and said “Abe, baby, those cocksuckers from Ohio were an affront to God. I was doin’ The Lord’s work.” Anyway, we have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live and so that everyone in that nation might understand that Ohio shall be forever subjugated to the might of the great state of Michigan, particularly through the game known as football.
(Crowd murmurs in confusion.)
Everybody, shut the fuck up! Listen! I’m talkin’ here! I’m the goddamn President!
(Abe pulls out a baseball bat and the crowd hushes.)
That’s better. Now, my friend Willie tells me that football is destined to be the Great American Game. To hell with baseball, he says and I believe him. He even showed me something he called a “tape” of the most recent game between his Detroit Lions and those despicable Cleveland Browns. He did this using a device attached to another device which showed moving pictures and was powered by electricity run through cables, and . . .
(Crowd begins to murmur. Someone shouts “He’s a witch! Burn him!” Abe makes a subtle motion with his head and the man is dragged off. His screams of pain can be heard throughout the rest of the speech.)
Anyone else have something smart to say? No? I’m the President, goddammit, you people have to trust me on this shit. Anyway, this game was pretty awesome. There were dudes smashing the shit out of each other, throwing oblong balls all over the place, and my friend Willie told me “Shit, Abe, this is nothin’. This is just the preseason. You should see it when shit really gets wild.” I don’t know if I could, to be honest with you. I mean, there was one fellow, who Willie informed me goes by the name of Nate Burleson, who caught a ridiculously thrown ball by a gentleman named Stafford, who Willie tells me is a reformed Confederate from Georgia. It was fuckin’ amazing, people. And you should have heard those assholes from Cleveland howl with displeasure. Their misery tasted delicious.
(Crowd cheers.)
I know. I know. Even though Willie tells me that it was only an exhibition game and therefore meaningless, is it ever really meaningless to whip up on those cocksuckers? I think not. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this, therefore, because we should stop to dedicate this field to Willie and his friends, and remember that they are the warriors who keep the righteous natural order of things in place. Without them, all of our borders would be overrun by deranged Ohio hooligans, mouth breathing simpletons who spend their days jacking off in libraries and their nights buggering family pets before drowning them in Lake Erie.
(The crowd shouts in outrage.)
Indeed, my fellow Americans, they are a heinous people, and that is what makes the courage of Willie and his Detroit Lions that much more commendable, that much more worthy of praise and honor. And so we are here today, to honor them, to dedicate this great battlefield to their collective sacrifice.
(Holds for applause)
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. I mean, my God, Mikel LeShoure may never play football again. He gave his life – well, his knee, but fuck it, what’s the difference? – so that his brethren could be victorious. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, because the world is full of assholes who would rather watch shit like Whore Island or reality shows about midget hookers or Kardashians, who Willie informs me are a race of insatiable famewhores, closely related to the mysterious Yeti, than to pay attention to anything the fucking President has to say, but it can never forget what they did here. They can never forget the stand that was taken both on this field by my dude Willie or on that field in Cleveland by him and his compatriots. 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. We all have to be vigilant. If you see a cooler, make sure it has not been shat in. If you see a library, make sure that is not infested with a swarm of Ohio degenerates, jacking off like zoo apes simply because the site of the written word frightens them terribly. If any of you encounter an Ohioan, pick up a book and open it. Begin reading and they will fall to their knees and weep, their brains turned to mush by the simple act of transcribing the written word. They will claim that you are a great sorcerer and will slink back to their hovels to hide in abject fear.
Indeed, it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead – for Mikel LeShoure and Mike Utley’s poor, poor legs, for Reggie Brown and Nick Fairley’s foot, for Erik Andolsek, who literally gave his life trying to stop a runaway truck which was rumored to have Ohio plates - we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion, which is, of course, that Ohio is a cesspool of scum and villainy that must be stopped at all costs -- 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, that good shall triumph over evil, that Michigan shall forever remain superior to that terrible and godforsaken state known as Ohio -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, a government that righteously understands that the Detroit Lions are the team of the future and that when they win, we all win, shall not perish from the earth. Also, in closing, Ohio, you ain’t shit. Now let’s all get hammered.
(Wild applause)
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