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In honor of America's birthday, we are delighted to celebrate Abraham Lincoln, an icon known both for his contributions to the Union and to the illustrious legacy of facial hair. This coif of beard-with-no-mustache (also known as a "chin curtain") has been an inspiration for thousands of Amish and sexual deviants everywhere (I strongly advise you against clicking that link unless you wish to have your idyllic visions of Mr. Lincoln destroyed forever).

Fun Facts About Honest Abe

Lincoln was born in Hardin County, Kentucky and as such was reputed to be the creator of the "Gettin' Lucky in Kentucky" catchphrase.

At the suggestion of an eleven-year-old girl, Lincoln grew his now-famous beard. She also suggested that he dress all in pink and adopt the moniker "Princess Pearly Pie", but Abe wisely chose to disregard this advice. Less than a month later, he was elected president.

Lincoln was known as a bit of a prankster, even after death. During one of Winston Churchill's visits to the White House, Lincoln's ghost hid all of the prime minister's clothes as he was bathing. Imagine Eleanor Roosevelt's surprise to find a nude Churchill scurrying down the hall to the guest room!

A talented singer, Lincoln sang on the recording for Once More with Feeling, the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

From all of us at ShopWiki, we wish you a happy and safe Independence Day, and a belated Happy Canada Day to our friendly neighbo(u)rs to the north! May your holidays be as glorious as the hair atop Lincoln's chin!

Hi folks,

I'm Michael Gross, but you probably know me best from TV's "Family Ties". I'm here today to inform you about an amazing public service and opportunity for infinite personal gain. Yes, I'm here to speak to you about beards.

You see, friends, I was once like you: tall, gangly, involved in petty gang warfare. The streets of Chicago can be tough, and as an impressionable teenager, I fell into all the usual traps. For years I was without purpose or direction and I myself was convinced that I was forever lost.

Until one day.

Yes, dear readers, one fateful January day, I was walking along the Chicago River in the bitterest of colds. My skin was chapped a severe purple and I was certain that my cheeks would never warm up again. I said to myself, "Michael," I said, "There has to be a better way. There has to be a way to survive this lake effect with dignity."

And so it was this very day that I started growing my beard: the beard that would not only make me a star, but would also save my life. Had I not come to possess this shining beacon of facial hair, I never would have escaped the band of miscreants that had entangled me in their web of crime. With my new beard, I was rejected by these very same scoundrels as a liability: I was now identifiable, no longer just a face in the crowd. Sweet liberty was at last mine!

A few years later, I went on to the hallowed halls of Yale University to get my MFA in drama, and shortly after that, I would find my greatest role as Steven Keaton, patriarch of the Keaton clan on "Family Ties". Look at this photo at the right and I challenge you to see anything other than my glorious beard. Impossible, isn't it?

So if you're looking to change your life for the better, I urge you with all my heart: grow a beard. Do it today. The life you save could be your own.

Sincerely,

Graham waved goodbye to the mailman and then rushed inside and up the stairs. It had arrived! It had finally, finally arrived! Ever since his wife Melinda had turned 39, she had been sulking around the house, overly conscious of the fact that she would shortly be turning 40 and thus entering "middle age". Graham, of course, thought she was absolutely insane: to him, she would always be that wiry 16-year old he had met on his first day at his new high school. Even as white-hot rage flashed in her eyes (following his customary attack of clumsiness and knocking all of her French books out of her arms), he thought she was the most perfect creature he had ever seen.

He had just known he'd have to do something to help lift her spirits - something bold, something romantic, something that would let her know exactly how much she still meant to him after all these years. Graham knew he wasn't the most suave or debonair of men, and so he had enlisted the help of Arnie, his best friend. Surely, Graham thought, surely Arnie would have an idea - Arnie was an ideas guy. He'd been to Vegas. He knew things.

Oh Arnie knew things all right. He had, without a word, pointed Graham to an online store, then left to go meet his latest squeeze at the corner bar. Graham barely noticed he'd left; he sat spellbound, numbly watching the images wash over him. Within moments, he was sure - everything here would be absolutely perfect for Melinda; he needed only to enter his credit card number.

Hands shaking with anticipation of Melinda's inevitably delighted reaction, Graham tore open the cardboard shipping box and pulled out the delicately-wrapped package. Gift in hand, he tore down the stairs and ran into the darkened room in which his wife was watching her stories. She cocked her head slightly in recognition of his presence. "Pumpkin," Graham breathed, trying to contain his giddiness, "I have a gift for you."

"Huh." Melinda's eyes were still glued to the screen.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" he asked, dangling the package in front of her face. She grabbed at in annoyance and started picking at it when the commercials came on. "Honey, I remember how much you loved studying French in high school, how much you wanted to go to the City of Lights, to Paris, France. Well today, Sugar, I brought a little of Paris, France to you!"

Melinda had gotten through the wrapping paper and was staring blankly at her gift.

"Sweetie, that there is an eye mask with the words of the Marquis de Sade on it," Graham said triumphantly. "He was French!"

What happened next was a blur, but when Graham came to, he had a black eye and the eye mask proclaiming the words of Sade, "Treat me like the whore that I know I am" shoved in his mouth. Melinda was nowhere to be found.

One of the most beautiful facial hair stylings around is arguably the goatee. From the French Fork and the Musketeer to the Van Dyck and the soul patch, few 'dos have the capacity for not only a nearly infinite number of variations, but also for complete versatility. I daresay there is a goatee to go with every outfit, hairstyle, and moral persuasion known to man (and woman, should she be so lucky!).

When it comes to the most memorable personality-related goatee of all time, two examples run practically head to head: Star Trek's Evil Mr. Spock and Garthe Knight, Michael of Knight Rider's evil brother. Just look at the passion in their eyes - do you think that's pure coincidence, my friend? The same dedication that goes into their facial coiffures is in direct proportion to the fire that exists in their souls, such that even Vulcan emotional suppression cannot contain it.

Now, I'm not saying that wearing a goatee necessarily makes one evil, but if you're looking to stand out from the rest of your goody-goody, clean-shaven family, it's certainly a cheap and easy way to do so. Additionally, it inevitably helps eliminate the embarrassing rooftop scenario of some wild-eyed, gun-toting ingenue shooting the wrong twin by mistake - I think we all know how priceless that can be!

So the next time you've forgotten to shave for a couple days, consider making the goatee your new best friend. But beware: not everyone may be able to handle the new lust for life it offers. Will you be ready?

As we've said previously, you're nobody until you're honored on a commemorative plate or an iron-on heat transfer. This week in memorable commemorative items, we celebrate the lighter side of crime's seedy underbelly.

Sure, Pete Rose may be the Major League leader in hits, games played, at bats, and outs. More importantly, he's a gambling man: the kind of man we can all get behind, and the kind of man of which Kenny Rogers dreamed whilst crooning the classics.

Dishonored by allegations he bet on baseball games and then tried, convicted and imprisoned for tax evasion, Rose is truly the stuff of legends and is a welcome addition to the world of commemorative plates. Snap one up while you still can, and check out your local Christmas Tree Shop for additional plates in the series (including but not limited to The Spirit of John Gotti Regarding His Family From Above, A Michael Vick Halloween, and Backstage with JonBenet and the Ramseys).

Sunday is my birthday and I'm sure you're all dying to know how I'll be spending my weekend. Well, look no further, friends. Welcome to heaven - learn how to party it up in style.

Nothing screams birthday like a case of fortified wine. I personally prefer Mad Dog 20/20, but have been known to dabble in Boone's Farm if I'm feeling sassy.	I had Sweet Valley High: The Board Game when I was a kid but it got sold at a garage fair. Luckily, my friend Christina was able to track down a new one for me. They'll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands before I ever give it up again.	A karaoke CD featuring Michael Bolton and Bryan Adams. When I meet the man who will duet with me to these songs, I will marry him. Lord help him if he's also a Céline Dion fan; I won't be held accountable for my actions.

Laurence Tureaud one fateful day was born:
The youngest kid of twelve, and surely blessed.
Athletic from the start; you would have sworn
He'd dazzle young and old with his success.

Mohawk inspir'd by fighting rogues abroad,
Gold chains around his neck and jew'ls abound.
In sight of such great will, Stallone was awed;
The role of Clubber Lang to T was crowned.

You are somebody - not somebody's fool.
From him we learned the way to treat our mom,
To drink our milk and always stay in school:
All that we need to get a date for prom.

To Mr. T we send our deepest love.
So strong and tough, yet gentle like a dove.

Are you a frazzled parent struggling to properly clean your house? Have your children gotten too comfortable with their pampered existence? Why should they have it so good, anyway? Look at them, sitting there, watching reality television and gobbling down snacks while you ruin your knees vacuuming up crumbs and cat hair.

Why, when you were a kid, you had to walk 10 miles to school - in the snow, uphill both ways, and barefoot. Those ungrateful little bastards should be thankful they even have these microfiber cleaning slippers attached to their fat, privileged little feet. As long as they're walking that well-worn path to the refrigerator, they might as well pick up a few dust bunnies along the way.

Break the cycle. In the end, they'll thank you for all that character they've developed.

♪ Oh, I'm picking out a thermos for you
Not an ordinary thermos for you
But the extra-best thermos I can buy
With vinyl, and stripes, and a cup built right in
I'm picking out a thermos for you
And maybe a barometer too
And what else can I buy, so on me you'll rely
A rear-end thermometer too! ♪

Sincerest apologies to Tiny Tim, but never has a ukulele player looked this good. Steve Martin as Navin R. Johnson in "The Jerk" was the absolute pinnacle of idiot savant hunkitude and remains the romantic icon for all but the most cynical of intellectuals.

Every time I meet a potential suitor, I find myself comparing him to Navin. Would my date defend my honor against a snooty waiter attempting to pass off garden snails as an appetizer? Would he take a stance against the horrible practice of cat juggling? Would he let me throw knives at him in support of my artistic endeavors? The results are inevitably dismal, and I am forced to call things off.

Yes, the world can be a lonely place, but I refuse to lower my standards. So until that day when I find my very own Twinkie-eating, weight-guessing, special-purpose-having, oil-can-saving, Optigrab-inventing, no-rhythm-possessing hunk of man, I guess I'll be picking out my own damn thermos.

Sigh.

Much like our dear hunk JRR Tolkien, I too have a crippling tea addiction. Though we're supplied with plenty of tea at work, I always keep a box of Twining's Irish Breakfast in my desk because office stock depletes quickly and I don't trust that there will always be an acceptable option. The last time we ran out of soy milk, my preferred flavoring accent, I started hyperventilating and crawled up into one of the heating ducts until the office manager shooed me out with a broom.

The other day, to enable both my tea addiction and my affinity for all things British, I was looking for the classic Brown Betty English teapot. Steeping tea in a mug just seems so very plebian, and I love nothing if not a great deal of pretension. I typed in my search on the ShopWiki main page, and imagine my complete surprise to find the product at right (minus my hackneyed censoring job) come up in my results: Betty Beauty Dye (possibly NSFW). Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that product is a dye specifically designed for maintaining your nether regions.

What started as a testament to the horrible power of addiction, thanks to the power of serendipity, turned out as one of the most magical searches I've ever done. I have this friend, let's call her Myrtle, but I can't count the number of times in a normal day I've - I mean she! SHE!! - wondered, "Am I as fancy as I could be today?" Poor Myrtle, something was just always missing; there was a tangible ennui that all the Jordache jeans and body glitter in the world couldn't cure.

Thankfully for Myrtle, my addiction led me to this fateful search. If it weren't for the fact that I mainline tea, I wouldn't know that Betty Beauty Dye not only exists, but also comes in a variety of colors. Including HOT PINK. My dear friend now has a skip in her step, a twinkle in her eye, and a betty to suit her every whim.

So the next time you're pouring yourself a piping hot cup of Earl Grey, ask yourself this: are you as fancy as you could be today? Is something missing for you too?

Dedicated to Myrtle, who dared to dream.