First off, I'd high-five Abraham Lincoln for truly understanding what it's like to be tall and gangly. Then, with his own life imminently ending, due to our presence at Ford’s Theatre, I’d fill him in on my little scheme.

“Yo, Bra…ham,” I’d say, “yous and mes are going to go to the one place death can’t find us: the strange island of Australia.”

“Word up,” he’d reply, “that sounds pretty chill. Let me ditch my ho, and then lets get the eff outta this crappy theatre.” He was the president you see; couldn’t swear too much.

Now, this was back in the day. There weren’t any fancy airplanes, or fancy hover boats, or fancy suction tubes to get us to Australia. That’s the way we wanted it too, this way it would be pretty difficult find us, even for death. Plus, nobody wants to go to Australia. I hear it’s full of criminals. So we did the only thing we could. We built a raft based on the buoyancy of the rich zucchini fruit. It worked in two ways: it floated us across the Pacific Ocean, and offered us sustenance along the way.

Some of you may be thinking at this point “now, that’s a pretty stupid idea, building a raft out of decomposable organic matter which doesn’t even taste that good,” but to you I say screw off. It’s my story, not yours. Deal with it.

So we get on our raft and push off from the sunny shores of California. Abe L was the president; he could build rafts and get us to the other side of the country. He could also miraculously do it all well within an hour. He was a kickass president. We set our sail dial to “Australia” and off we went.

Our adventure across the Pacific Ocean is pretty far-fetched. Read Life of Pi to get an idea. There were tigers and zebras and all that usual stuff. By the end, when we finally started seeing birds, we were pretty tired and still pretty hopped up from our visit to the floating island which magically turns into cans of Red Bull at night.

On our last day at sea, we awoke to find strange animals encircling our mostly decomposed raft. They had funny bills and looked pretty dumb. We were near Australia. We danced and whooped, and tried to forget all about the awkward things that sometimes happen between two men when they’re alone at sea for many months.

The Australian coastline loomed nearer and nearer, and we finally set the raft down on a sandy beach. The platypuses followed us the entire way, and made for a delightful feast once we were able to get a fire going.

The remaining years of our lives were spent blissfully under the Australian sun. Abraham went on to discover a unique way to extract toothpaste from a dingo, and I became a famous writer for those cheap porno magazines you find at gas stations. Death found us eventually, but this time we faced it, with the smile of a complete life.