Alas, Poor Lincoln!

My father is 'improving' a typewriter. In other words, he is savagely drilling into the typewriter's (Lincoln's) skull and putting a nameplate from a car right on his forehead. Then he will put a sound chip from a model engine in his brain. I objected to the surgery, but he did it anyway, claiming that Lincoln has to get back to his hot rod heritage. Lincoln lived in an auto- body shop, and came to us for five dollars with paint spatters all over his body and glass keys. He was going to be a parts bank for Margo, but then Darling Father discovered that Lincoln worked. For a while Lincoln was happily tuned up, typed on, and loved. Then Darling Father committed this treacherous crime. I will bring you more news on Lincoln later, but for now, happy mother's day.