"Look, I'm well aware of how knock-kneed I am, okay? It runs in my father's family," Bigsley said. "I'm just a little disappointed that you would allow something so shallow to prevent us from being friends. I thought you were different from the other birds, I really did."
Bernadette informed him that his feet are sillier looking than his knees.
"My feet? What's wrong with my feet?"
"They're kind of crooked, don't you think?"
"All the better to hold on with, Baby! Besides, some of the most famous birds in all history had disturbingly crooked feet."
"Like who?" asked Bernadette.
But Bigsley, who had never performed well under that kind of pressure, felt his bird brain freeze shut and all the confidence drain from him. "Abraham Lincoln," he blurted because it was the only famous name he could access under such strain.
Bernadette felt that maybe it was better not to point out that Abraham Lincoln was no bird.