"Aight commie" Andrew Jackson said, hauling his gun over his shoulder, ripping it from the strap and holding it in his right hand by the barrel "You listen and you listen good." The president assumed a heroic stance, his chest puffed out. His muscled seemed to be tensed as if to show more definition- as if he were showing off. "The name's Andrew Jackson! Bane of the Brits, annihilator of the Indians, beater of banks, and leader of this fine ol' country of U, S, and A! Folks here call me Old Hickory. See, here in America, we got a game called football; and you see, I gots the home field advantage."

Andrew Jackson hurried to a street corner, and with his left hand, drew his sword. In the same motion, Jackson cut a small wedge into a telephone pole, then another on the other side. "We got another game here too. It's called baseball- country's favorite pass time" Jackson said, sheathing his sword. "Can't say I'm too good, but I can step up to the plate."

The president grasped the barrel of his gun with both hands and assumed the position of a baseball batter. Waving his gun around like a bat, Jackson gave a hard swing at the telephone pole, knocking it towards Abe.