If you haven’t yet heard, Chancellor Becky Blank released a statement confirming that she will not yield to BIPOC students’ requests to have the Abraham Lincoln statue that sits atop Bascom Hill taken down.
This is a controversial decision—on the one hand, Abraham Lincoln never believed in equal rights for black people, he ordered the deaths of 38 members of the Dakota tribe resulting in the largest mass execution in U.S. history, he signed multiple anti-Native treaties including one that allowed Ho-chunk land to be stolen and eventually acquired by the university, and the statue was donated to the university by known racists. On the other hand, the poor little students wanna rub his toes for good luck and sit on his lap to take pictures in their graduation gowns like everyone else got to do. You can see how the choice is a tough one for Becky.
My opinion? Fuck Lincoln! The guy’s clearly not worth having a statue for. And he probably doesn’t even appreciate the pleasure of these students touching him so intimately—I can see it on his hardened face that he doesn’t. It makes me sick. If anyone should be having their toes rubbed, it’s ME, and my lap is much, much warmer and more comfortable than a piece of bronze.
Unlike Lincoln, who only allows graduating seniors upon his lap, I’m not picky about who gets to sit on mine. Freshmen through seniors, hell, even senior citizens, can imbibe in the raw sexual energy that fills anyone who dares sit upon this throne. And guess what? On my lap, you can wear what you want; you can still don your graduation gown, or you can opt for casual attire, pajamas, a fursuit, or nothing at all! Sure, your parents can come and take pictures of you atop my thighs to send to your friends and family, but I cannot guarantee that I won’t be wearing a face of pure ecstasy in them and that you won’t be doing the same.
He might be a hunk of metal, but I’m a hunk with a medal—a gold medal in lovin’, that is. And there’s nothing I love more than someone sensually rubbing my lil’ piggies. So un-velcro my Barefoot shoes, peel off my toe socks, take a handful of my Dr. Bronner’s organic patchouli-lime lotion, and just go to town on those bad boys. I’d love to feel your fingers interlaced with my toes—like two lovers holding hands, but one of those hands is a foot. It’s beautiful, really.
So forget about Abe! Let’s get him taken down and replaced with someone who represents all UW students. In the meantime, fill that void by enjoying MY lap and MY feet. And if me and Lincoln have one thing in common, it’s that if you keep on rubbing these toes, you might just get lucky.