Fourteen guys dressed as Abe Lincoln walk into a bar. Actually, four of them are women. ("We're Babe Lincolns," says the one wearing a short skirt with her coat and tie, stovepipe hat, and fake-fur chin strap. Another has fashioned a beard out of wraparound strands of her own hair.) And actually, they walk into at least a half-dozen bars. These Abes have celebrated their birthday for the last quarter-score years with a drunken spree; this February 12, they're 200 years old.
For the first time, in dedication to the proposition of visiting the maximum number of drinking establishments, the Abes have a big white van. (Designated driver: the skirted Babe.) One thing is immediately apparent upon catching up with the presidential party (several stops into the evening) at the Zig Zag Cafe: Blondes are drawn inexorably, squealingly, to the Abes. "ThatisSOcuteIcan'tevenhandleit!" screams one. "HANDLE IT!" booms back a baritone Abe. One of the Abes theorizes that blondes are accustomed to getting all of the attention, hence they find the Abes threatening. They are compelled to get in on the Abe action: "They always want to wear the hat—they'll take it right off your head every time."
At Alibi Room, a blonde confuses the Lincolns with some sort of work program in which young men, possibly German, travel around the world and, apparently, dress like the 16th president of the United States. (Two Lincolns listen, immensely patient.) At the Can Can, a number of Lincolns do the cancan, backlit in lurid red, on the stage. After a brief snowball fight utilizing leftover ice from the Pike Place Market fish-throwers, it's off to Capitol Hill.
Fourteen Lincolns walk into the Crescent, and the entire place applauds. At Moe Bar, a measure of dignity has been lost; more than one Abe causes the demise of glassware. On the street, a black man: "Can I get a picture with you guys? Because if it weren't for you, I'd still be a slave!"
Like everyone, the last-call crowd at the Cha Cha loves the Lincolns. For some reason, they end up bottlenecked near the bathroom; blondes push in for photos. "What's that poking my back?!" one says. "We got hard Lincoln logs all up in here!" Emancipation is called for.
A rumored group of Darwins—same birthday—never materializes. Another woman (nonblonde) engages a few Abes in debate. "Abraham Lincoln didn't really believe that black people were above white people," she says, swaying. "I mean, equal." "We may have done certain things that were politically expedient," an Abe replies. "We did the best we could." She does not appear to hear at all, continuing: "But that's cool, because you guys look hot as Lincolns!" And she kisses each one on the cheek. 
