Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Andrew Jackson: Psychic President

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, President Jackson?”

“Someone needs to go to Austria in 70 years and buy a man named Adolf’s paintings!”

“Sir, are you having another psychic moment?’

“So hard!”

“Austria, paintings. Got it. Anything else?”

“Never count the Patriots out unless they’re playing the Giants.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Me, neither. These psychic powers are vague and unreliable. Wait! Who’s Franz Ferdinand?”

“Sounds like a foreigner.”

“We must protect him!”

“I’ll get right on it, sir.”

“Someone’s going to do something terrible to the Cherokee!”

“Who?”

“I can’t see. Someone. Definitely someone. Damn these psychic powers of mine!”

“Damn them, sir.”

“Jenkins, you will make sure to burn all of these notes when I die, right? The future must never know that I, Andrew Jackson, had abilities belong the ken of mere mortals.”

“No one will find out, sir. Of course, we’ll have to include your powers and predictions in the Presidential Book of Secrets.”

“Oh, of course, but I’m not worried about that. Presidents can keep secrets.”

“I’m sure, sir.”

1 Comment

  1. I’d say it’s unbelievable, but it’s not.

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