WARTTRG

“Where am I?”

I didn’t get an answer, but I looked around and saw that I was in a field. Alone.

“OK, how did I get here?”

Obviously, there was no one around to answer. Last thing I remember, I was in the Danger Sled with Professor Xavier and Private Hudson and on my way to Pittsburg.

“Something tells me I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

There ya go, Jon. Make with the yucks.

“OK, first thing I gotta do is quit talking to myself.”

Pause.

“OK, that’s better.”

I took another look around me and noticed that I wasn’t just in some field. I was in a field filled with amber waves of grain. And off on the horizon were purple mountains, and off in the other direction I saw fruited plains.

“I’m in America.”

“Of course you are,” said a voice behind me.

I turned towards the voice and looked at the living embodiment of the United States himself. The spirit of America personified.

“Uncle Sam,” I said.

“The one and only,” he nodded slightly in reply.

“Wow. Hey, I just want to say that when I was in the Army, I sometimes called you Uncle Spam. I hope you’re not too offended.”

“No, of course not,” he laughed it away. “America has strong shoulders and a thick skin.”

“So I’m dreaming again, right?” I asked.

“Yes,” Uncle Sam answered. “Professor Xavier was talking about harmony between human and mutantkind and you dozed off.”

“This is pretty cool. I’m not usually cognizant of my dreams, you know. Except for that one time I dreamt that I was a gargoyle. That was pretty cool, I was flying around in the full moon and everything.”

“I brought you here to tell you that you are at the end of you dream quest.”

“OK, but I have one question,” I answered. “WARTTRG. What does that mean?”

“WARTTRG?” My companion looked at me with a furled brow. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Well, I figured that if I put all the names together of the presidents of my dreams, I’ll get their powers like Shazam.”

“Well it doesn’t really work like tha—”

“Wait! Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Roosevelt, Taft, Harry Truman, Roosevelt, Grover Cleveland. WARTHRG. That almost makes sense.”

“Jon, I don’t think that you’re getting th—”

“I got it!” I snapped. “It’s the Oh is Franklin Roosevelt which makes it WART HOG! So all I have to do is yell out WART HOG!”

“I’m trying to tell you tha—”

“WART HOG wouldn’t be my first choice,” I continued. “But I guess it works. There’s the A-10 Warthog and the Ramones song and that one warthog from the Jungle King. Warthogs are kind of cool, I guess.”

“Jon, you’re not getting it!” Uncle Sam yelled.

“What?”

“The names don’t matter,” he said. “They never mattered. “What matters is the knowledge and abilities that are conferred upon you. Washington’s strength, Lincoln’s courage, Theodore Roosevelt’s tenacity, Taft’s justice, Truman’s resolve, Franklin Roosevelt’s Longevity, and Grover Cleveland’s stick-to-itiveness are all yours now. Use them wisely.”

“Oh. OK,” I answered. “I will, don’t worry.”

“With all of these abilities combined,” Uncle Sam continued. “You will be the greatest president this country could ever hope for. Use them and they will lead you to the answer to any problem or challenge this country will face during your term.”

“Cool, so I’m gonna be the best president evah?” I felt the knowledge and the resolve and everything flow through me. It felt pretty good. “This is going to be great. For the country I mean.”

“Of course,” Uncle Sam answered. “There’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to get elected first.”

“D’oh!”

Keepin' the Danger Sled on the Down Low

“Sure is bouncy,” Hudson gulped. “I’m ‘bout to lose my lunch.”

“There’s a hole in the fuselage, gotta keep low,” I replied. “Don’t worry, the autopilot can handle the fly nap of the earth.”

“You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” I replied. “It’s better than I am. I tell you though, this takes me back to my old Airborne days, bouncing around in a C-130, heading to the drop zone at only a few thousand feet. Funny thing is, some of those guys just slept right through all the bouncing. They didn’t care about the turbulence, they just dozed right until it was time to stand up, hook up, and shuffle to the door.”

I know what you’re talking about, man,” Hudson nodded. “Hicks used to sleep through all our combat drops in the UD4L’s. I could never do it. It always felt like the express elevator to Hell. Ha ha, goin’ down!”

“Same here,” I agreed. “I just couldn’t sleep with all that bouncin’… around…”

I suddenly saw Hudson tear away and float off into the sky behind me. Pieces of the fuselage peeled away as well. Soon, I was flying through the air all by myself with nothing around me. Normally, this would seem pretty disconcerting, but I didn’t feel uneasy at all.

“Don’t worry,” came a voice as someone swooped in from behind and grabbed me. “I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me?” I asked. “Who’s got you?”

Funny.” He replied. “Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Grover Cleveland, former president of the United States.”

“Nice to meet you,” I replied. “I figured that this was another dream. Do we need to fight now so I can gain your powers?”

“Naw,” he chuckled. “I can just give it to you. You’re worthy.”

“Cool,” I answered. “So what do I get from you?”

“Oh I don’t know. Let’s see, I was the 22nd and 24th president; the only one to serve nonconsecutive terms, you know. You get my stick-to-itiveness.”

“Your stick-to-itiveness?” I asked. “What the heck is that?”

“You know, if at first you don’t succeed, try try again and all that. You know that to be a good president, you’re going to have to stick to your guns no matter what. If you start changing your horses every time you’re in midstream and people don’t like it where you are, they’ll all think you’re wishy-washy.”

“Oh don’t want that,” I agreed.

“Of course not.”

“OK, so I have your stick-to-itiveness, is this the final piece of the puzzle, are you the last president who will visit me?”

“I can tell you this, I am the last president,” he answered. “You are not yet finished with your journey, though. Any other questions?”

“Yes, why are we dressed like this?”

“I don’t know, dude,” he answered. “It’s your dream.”

Back in the Danger Sled

After Batman politely asked us to leave the Batcave (and by politely asked us to leave, I mean threw us out on our ears), Hudson and I got back into the Danger Sled and were soon rocketing across the sky.

“I can’t believe that he kicked us out like that,” Hudson muttered with his arms crossed.

“Well you did kind of desecrate his memorial a little,” I answered.

“How’m I supposed to know?” he replied. “It just looked like some Robin outfit in a big pickle jar.”

“Then you tried on that second one. From the female Robin,” I added. “Kind of tasteless.”

“That was for a female?” Hudson asked. “I thought it fit kinda funny in the chestal area.”

“What about that Bat sports bra you had on under it?”

“That was a bra?” He looked a little bit confused. “I thought it was some kind of bullet proof vest or something.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you ever think before you do something?”

“Of course not,” he said proudly. “A Colonial Marine is trained to leap into action without thinking. See if you stop to think, that’s when you get hurt or killed or hauled away by a giant acid-spewing space bug.”

“Oh look, someone’s trying to contact me,” I said as my communicator pinged. Thank God.

“Ah Jon,” Professor Xavier’s image flickered onto the screen. “I have good news.”

“What is it, Professor?” I asked.

“Good news is when you receive information that is uplifting or positive, but that’s not important right now,” he answered. “What I wanted to tell you is that I’ve gotten a debate scheduled with one of your opponents.”

“A debate with one of my opponents?” This is an interesting development. “Is it Dr. Zaius?”

“Ah no, it’s not,” he replied.

“Professor Monkey Von Monkerstein?”

“No, not him, either.”

“Dr. Smith?”

“He declined as well.”

“Tony Stark?”

“He is not returning my phone calls for some reason.”

“So I’m going on a debate, but not with any of the candidates I’m running against,” I said. “Who am I debating with?”

“Lancelot Link,” the Professor replied flatly.

“Lancelot Link? The secret chimp?”

“Yes,” my campaign manager’s image nodded. “He’s the only candidate who agreed to debate you.”

“He’s the only one who responded?” I asked.

“Well, some of the others did respond,” the Professor shrugged. “The less said about what they sent me, the better.”

“Why am I running against a bunch of monkeys?”

“Just another presidential campaign,” Xavier chuckled. “Since your last press conference didn’t go over so well, you really need to take this opportunity to look charismatic and presidential.”

“Charismatic and presidential,” I repeated. “Check.”

“I am serious,” he warned. “You need to work to disarm any questions about this Emma scandal or your dream quest.”

“Disarm questioners,” I answered. “Got it.”

“Speaking of your dream quest, how it that going?” Professor Xavier asked.

“Well, Hudson and I went to the Batcave—”

“The Batcave run by Batman, not the Batcave where someone sits on your face,” Hudson threw his face in front of the screen and interjected quickly.

“Hello Hudson, of course.” Xavier looked like he was using all of his powerful mental abilities to not roll his eyes at the marine’s comment. “That would be silly, how could someone sitting on your face help you find the answers to this spiritual journey?”

“See? That’s what I said,” Hudson answered with a blank smile on his face. “Paying some dude to sit on your face will never get you the answers that you’re looking for.”

There was an awkward pause as the Professor and I each fought bravely to not engage Hudson any further in whatever he was talking about.

“So, did you find anything out from Batman?” the Professor finally asked.

“Naw, we ran everything through his Batcomputer but it didn’t give me anything that I didn’t know already,” I replied. “Batman did suggest that I talk to Apache Chief about it.”

“Apache Chief?” Xavier seemed surprised. “That man hasn’t worked in what, 20 years? I think Batman was just trying to give his friend a little action, you know?”

“Oh that’ll cost him,” Hudson replied. “Believe me, if you want action, you’re gonna have to pay for it.”

WARTTR

“WARTTR, WARTTR?” I thought out loud. “What could it be?’

“Water? Oh heck yeah, I could use some water, too,” Hudson answered from the copilot’s seat. “I’m hella thirsty.”

“Not water, W-A-R-T-T-R,” I replied. “I just had another dream, this time with Franklin Roosevelt. I put all their names together and I get WARTTR.”

“Maybe you’ll get the power to talk to fish,” Hudson suggested.

“Why would I need that?”

“Aquaman can talk to fish,” he shrugged. “It’s pretty awesome.”

“Yeah but why would I have a dream quest with dead presidents giving me the power to talk to fish?” I asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I dunno. It’s your dream.”

“Well I think I know who I could go ask,” I said as I lifted up my finger triumphantly.

“Who?”

“Not who,” I corrected. “What.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” I said. “We can go ask the Batcomputer. It’s the best computer in Gotham City, maybe the whole world. Setting a course for Gotham.”

“Uh, OK,” Hudson shrugged. “So where is Gotham, anyway?”

“I dunno,” I answered. “I guess I’ll just set the autopilot. Now, the Batcave’s location is top secret and nobody can know where it is, so I’m going to have to knock you out.”

“How are you gonna knock me out?” Hudson laughed. “Punch me? You couldn’t punch me out on your best day.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I conceded. “Hey, you said you were thirsty right? Here, have some water.”

Hudson took a drink of the drugged water I handed him and fell immediately unconscious.

“I should have done that long ago,” I chuckled to myself.

The Autopilot quickly flew the Danger Sled with Hudson and I in it to the outskirts of Gotham where I quickly located the Batcave and landed the space plane within the massive cavern.

“Wow, this place is cool,” a groggy Hudson said in awe as he looked around Batman’s headquarters.

“What are you doing here?” a voice boomed at us. It was Batman’s, of course.

“Hi, uh, look, I’m Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator and this is Hudson and I, uh, wanted to know if we could use your Batcomputer, for a while. Please?”

Wow, he’s even more imposing in real life than I could ever have imagined.

“I know who you are,” he answered sharply. “No one is allowed in the Batcave.”

“Well what about Superman?” I asked. “I bet he’s here all the time.”

“Superman, yes. But no one else.”

“What about the Creeper?” I asked. “I have it on good authority that he’s been in here also.”

“Fine, it was just that once.”

“And what about the Outsiders?” I asked. “They totally hung here all the time.”

“When this was the team headquarters, yes.”

“Oh yeah, and I bet you bring Wonder Woman here a lot, hubba hubba!” Hudson chimed in.

Batman gritted his teeth and glared at the Colonial Marine.

“What? Hey, it’s not like you can park the Invisible Jet at a drive in movie,” Hudson pressed.

“Alright, alright, fine.” Batman put his hand on his head as if he was getting a headache or something. “Jon, are you here to find out about who posed as you in that photo?”

“No I, wait, you know it’s a fake?” I asked.

“Of course, it’s pretty obvious,” he answered. “When you look at the eyes.”

“Wow, right, right,” I said. This guy is impressive! “Yeah, Professor Xavier and I are still working on that. What I want from your computer is anything that I can find about my dream quest.”

“Dream quest?” he asked.

I quickly explained how I had been having dreams featuring physical combat with former presidents and how they are giving me their powers via this quest. I finished by telling him the names of the presidents: George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Howard Taft, Harry Truman, and Franklin Roosevelt, how I believed that the key was their name, and how it was like Captain Marvel saying the word “Shazam” to get his powers.

“Hh,” Batman replied. “I have to admit that your story is intriguing and I think that you’re on the right track. But I am not sure what the results the Batcomputer will be as it is more of a crime fighting tool, but we can certainly run this through and check it out.”

Batman fed all the information into his computer and after several minutes of running calculations, it came up with information that I expected.

“Using all the information that it could get on the subject plus the data from you, the Batcomputer concluded that it is a dream quest and that you are very close to the end of it.” Batman showed me the results.

“So when I complete the dream quest, I’ll get all these powers and then become a super president or something?” I wondered aloud.

“I don’t know if it really works that way,” the Dark Knight Detective postulated. “I could get you in touch with a Native American hero like Apache Chief. He would most likely have a deeper understanding of what is going on with you.”

“That’s not a bad idea Batman,” I agreed. “I’ve been trying to figure this out the high tech way; maybe I need to go native.”

“Hey Batman! Hey Jon! Check this out!”

The Caped Crusader and I looked over to where Hudson was yelling and saw him wearing a Robin uniform.
“Check this out!” he grinned. “I am state of the Batman art. I’ve got everything in this belt, Batropes, Batarangs, Bat thermal nuclear missiles, Bat sharp sticks…”

“Hudson,” Batman growled.

“What? I just saw the thing sitting in the glass tube over there,” he said innocently. “I figured since no one else was wearing it, I could try it on. I don’t see how Robin can run around in this thing, boy are these tights uncomfortable.”

“Hudson!” Batman clenched his fists and growled. “Hudson!”

Runnin' Down a Dream

“Oh my head hurts.” I could smell the alcohol sweating out of my pores. Probably not very presidential of me to get all liquored up for Halloween, but I just can’t resist a party hosted by Germaine Gregarious.

“Oh yeah, me too.” Hudson rubbed his head. “Man, I must’ve had a dozen wine coolers.”

“You drank wine coolers?” If I wasn’t in such pain, I might’ve laughed. “Do they still make those?”

“Yeah they do,” Hudson replied as a matter of factly.

“And you chose to drink them all night?”

“Yeah I did.”

“What flavor?” I laughed. “Lame-o berry?”

“You don’t get it do you?” Hudson replied. “See when we first got there, someone handed me a wine cooler. If you know anything about drinking, you know that you shouldn’t mix your drinks. So I had to drink ‘em all night.”

“So you got that from your Colonial Marines Survival Manual?” I asked.

“No I got it from going out and drinking,” he answered. “Ever been on shore leave on Arcturus?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Well, when you’re out as much as I am, you’ll pick these things up,” he said with a grin. “If you don’t want to get sick, you stick to one drink.”

“Except for one thing, Hudson.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“You’re hung over. You’re more hung over than I am.”

Hudson looked at me silently for a moment.

“Someone must’ve slipped me something,” he mumbled.

“Right,” I nodded.

“I’m serious, man,” Hudson insisted. “Someone must’ve spiked my drink.”

“I don’t even want to talk about it.” I crossed my arms and closed my eyes. “The Danger Sled’s on autopilot, I’m gonna try to sleep off this hangover. Don’t wake me unless we’re crashing.”

Hudson may have replied, but I was already out of it. I’ve always insisted that the major difference between adults and children is that adults want to take naps. I don’t get to take them often, but boy when I do they feel great, don’t they?

You know, I feel better already. I guess my hangover’s gone, huh?

“Hold there, son,” said a voice. “You shall go no further.”

“Huh?” I looked around but couldn’t see the owner of the voice.

“Right here.” I turned around and there sitting in front of me was a man in a wheelchair. “You may have bested my contemporaries in single combat, but you must beat me for your next test.”

“No way, I’m not fighting some guy in a wheelchair,” I replied. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Well then I’ve got a New Deal for you, sport,” he grinned at me. “A new deal of the sole of my boot!”

And with whooshing that sounded like a giant denim sail rustling in a stiff breeze, the former president leaped high into the air and aimed his foot square at my jaw.

Quickly, I blocked his leg with my right arm and followed up with a chop of my left to the side of his leg right at the knee. He spun down to the ground and quickly rolled with more flapping sounds then was instantly back up again with bo staff in hand.

I quickly grabbed mine and held it up in a defensive position. Roosevelt pressed the attack, swinging his weapon in short, powerful chops. I defended them all with mine. Each blow of his cracking against mine sounded like a thousand branches crashing in a thousand forests.


I waited until I felt the time was right, then with a spinning back kick, I sent the former president flying off into the valley. He crashed there with the sound of a hundred cement trucks each filled with one hundred cinder blocks crashing into one hundred brick walls during one hundred rainstorms.

“Haaiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Roosevelt attacked again. This time, by hurling his body high into the air, then aiming it straight towards me with his fist leading the charge. I quickly leaped out of his way and rolled across the ground, I then snapped back onto my feet, but he was already upon me again.

I grabbed his hand with mine, then twisted my body once again and threw him a second time far into the same valley. This time, I didn’t wait for him to recover. I dashed quickly to where he landed. He wasn’t there, though.

“You are worthy,” he said from behind me. “You have earned the Longevity of Roosevelt.”

He disappeared into a puff of smoke in front of my agape mouth and wide open eyes.

“Good thing I didn’t earn his paralytic illness,” I mused.

“Quiet you!” he roared at me from a puff of smoke, then disappeared once again from whence he came.

Dream on! Dream on! dream until your dreams come true

“WART!” I exclaimed. “WART!’

“What?” Professor Xavier looked at me with a confused look on his face.

“WART,” I repeated. “It’s an acronym for Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Taft. It’s like SHAZAM like I said, get it?”

“I see,” Professor X rubbed his chin. “Actually no. Why would it be WART? Surely there could be some other grouping that could be used.”

“I don’t know, that’s just the order in which I got them,” I shrugged. Then I looked at my fists. “But I’ve totally got the Strength of Washington, which is totally awesome.”

“I don’t think Washington was really known for his physical strength,” the Professor commented.

“Well, I don’t think it’s literal,” I shrugged again. “It’s more like his strength of resolve or something. It’s mine though, like the Sense of Justice from Taft. Why would I get that when he was more known for his exceptional appetite and for playing golf? That’s how these spirit quests work, I guess.”

“Indeed,” the mental giant agreed. “Have you heard anything from Fluke’s end of the campaign?”

“Last I heard, he was in Alaska giving a speech,” I shrugged a third time. “I hear he’s really working the crowds well.”

“I’ll give Fluke credit,” the Professor nodded. “He really does have the ability to get on a crowd’s good side. People really respond to him.”

“Plus he also knows how to spell potato,” I added.

“Yes, though I’m not sure that he knows how to pronounce it,” Professor Xavier replied.

“Jon! Jon! Are you alright?”

It was the Professor; he was looking at me strangely. More so than usual, it would seem.

“What?” I started to feel myself back where I was again. “How long was I out?”

“You were only gone for 15 minutes,” he replied. “At first I thought you were just ‘spacing out’ as the kids like to call it. But then I noticed that there was a change in your brainwave patterns. You had another one of those dreams, didn’t you?”

“I did,” I answered. “I battled Harry Truman. We fought from Louisiana to Berlin. Our blows were thunderously loud, as if a dump truck full of ball peen hammers was dropped onto a cargo ship full of nitroglycerin.”

“Interesting simile, Jon.”

“Well, that’s what it sounded like to me,” I shrugged once more. “In the end, he gave me a new deal: the Resolve of Harry Truman.”

“Very interesting,” Professor X replied. “You have gained the abilities of one more president.”

“Aw, this sucks,” I said.

“What is that?”

“Well that totally blows my whole WART theory out of the water. Now it’s WARTT.”

“That could still work, Jon,” my mutant companion tried to assure me. “It’s just an extra T.”

“Yeah, but no president is going to spell wart with two T’s. Not even the current one,” I shook my head. “No, this won’t work. I don’t know where I’m going from here. I just have to make sense of it all. I just have to… determine… my course of action. Humans… by nature… are an inquisitive species. I! Am! Kirok!”

“Great Captain Kirk impression you devolved into there.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I replied. “I haven’t done that in a while.”

Dream a little dream with me

Under Professor Xavier’s recommendation, Emma Frost was quickly flown in to the Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator for President of the United States Headquarters to monitor my dreams.

“Now that you are comfortably dressed in that tight fitting body suit, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, you can now put on this monitoring device and prepare to sleep,” the mutant telepath said.

“I feel kind of ridiculous in this,” I said as I put the headband on. “Look at this thing! I look like I should be in Xanadu or something.”

“Oh you look fine,” she assured me. “Now, all you have to do is lie down here and the sensitive instruments connected to the headpiece and your tight fitting body suit will scan your dream and your body’s reactions during it. Are there any questions?”

“Yes, how do you keep those things up?” I asked.

“How do I--?” Frost looked down at her chest and then looked back at me. “I don’t feel that I have to answer that. Do you have any real questions?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “Do you know that your toe is showing?”

“My what? No, my boots cover all of my toes.”

“No,” I answered. “Your other toe.”

“Once again,” she signed. “I don’t think that it’s appropriate for us to discuss this now. Do you have any questions that pertain to what we’re doing here?”

“No, but I do have another question,” I said. “Do you think that it’s appropriate for a female character in a medium written primarily for adolescent boys to dress in an overtly provocative and sexually suggestive manner? Do you think someone who dresses like this would actually be a strong character and female role model or just something that aims for the lowest common denominator?”

“I don’t feel that I have to answer that, either,” she answered bitterly. “Do you have any questions pertaining to what we are doing right now?”

“No, I was just askin,’” I answered.

“Fine, just lie down and go to sleep,” she growled.

“Can I get a drink of water?” I asked.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Then get to sleep. Do you want to participate in this or not?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I just don’t feel that tired right now. I don’t think that I can-zzzzzzzzzz.”

I must have dozed off for a second, but then I suddenly I snapped back awake and looked around the office. Everything seemed normal, but something just didn’t feel right. Then I felt a tremor.

And another.

“That’s odd,” I said to myself. “I wonder what that tremor could be.”

I felt another tremor, and it felt close, closer still. I looked out the window and I saw a giant creature with an ominous handlebar moustache staring through it at me.

Without a second’s delay, I leapt into action, springing through the window itself, shattering the glass into thousands of tiny glittering shards. The noise of the glass breaking was like the crashing of a cymbal by the gods themselves. My momentum carried my two feet right into the jowls of the giant man-creature who took the full blow and fell back from it, crashing to the ground with an earth shattering noise that sounded like a steel suspension bridge collapsing into a rock quarry.

“Whoa whoa! I say there,” the thing rumbled. “Stop your attack at once, I say!”

“You!” I answered. “You who stalk me in my dreams, you who stand before me in the form of this giant creature now beg me to stop?”

“Yes yes,” he answered, then shrunk back down to a less unusual size – which was still pretty big. “I am William Howard Taft and I have come bringing you a gift.”

“Are you going to make me fight you for it?” I demanded angrily. “I have already bested Washington, Lincoln, and Teddy Roosevelt and I’ll beat you, too!”

“No, no,” he shook his massive head. “I don’t wish to do battle with you for it. I feel that you have already earned it. I will now give to you Taft’s Sense of Justice. Use this wisely.”

“Really?” I asked. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Yes, of course you can have it,” he answered. “This was my greatest strength and now I bestow it unto you.”

“OK, I’ll take it, thank you,” I said. “Are you sure that you’re the right candidate to give me this though? No offense, but from what I understand you were rather bored as president and would rather go golfing than attend to your presidential duties.”

“This is true, yes,” he conceded. “But less than a decade after serving, I was called upon to become Chief Justice of the United States, and that’s where the Taft Man shined, baby.”

“Uh, OK.”

“That was my true calling,” he answered just a little wistfully. “Of everything that I did, I felt that I made the biggest difference serving my country its greatest voice of justice, and now it is yours.”

“Ok, cool,” I said. “Thank you very much.

“Use it wiselyyyyyyyyyyaaabbbbbbllllbbbbllllaaaahhh!” he said and then faded to nothingness. Everything around me faded as well and I soon found myself waking up feeling refreshed.

“How was that?” I asked as I looked over at Emma. She was she was standing over a monitor with a dazzled look on her face.

“Unbelievable…” she mumbled.

“So, what kind of readings did you get?” I asked. “Can you confirm that this is a spiritual quest?”

“I hope so,” she answered. “Otherwise you’re just going around beating up on dead presidents. It’s either a spiritual quest like you say or you’re going absolutely crazy.”

“Maybe it’s a little from column A and a little from column B,” I muttered.

A third dream!

Another dream? I thought. This is getting rather silly.

I found myself at the base of a hill in a place that I have never seen before. It seemed nice. It was warm and tropical outside.

“Ahoy, Jon!” A man walked up to me wearing an old and beat up uniform. “I’m Theodore Roosevelt!”

“Of course you are,” I said as I showed him my fists. “I you’re looking for a fight, then I’ve got a little Washington right here and a little Lincoln right here.”

“Oh ho ho, certainly I am not spoiling for such a thing,” the former cavalry officer laughed. “Though it would be grand, I am instead challenging you to a race.”

“A race?”

“Yes,” he smiled and gestured towards the hill. “Do you know what this is?”

“If I were to guess, I’d say it’s San Juan Hill,” I said while squinting up at the incline.

“Precisely, my boy!” Roosevelt roared. “And I challenge you to a race up it!”

“A race?”

“Certainly,” he laughed. “If you want to gain the Tenacity of Roosevelt, then you’ll accept this test.”

“OK, you’re on,” I answered.

“Ready! Go! Chaaaaaarrrrge!” Roosevelt thundered up the side of the mountain but I was fast on his heals.

Halfway up, I felt my lungs begin to burn and my legs felt like they were running in sand, but I kept up the pace. The ghostly Roosevelt continued his charge up the hill with his sword drawn.

Three quarters of the way, I could still feel the pain of the run, but I saw my opponent falter just a bit. Mustering up all of my will and strength, I made my way to the lead, first one step, then another. Soon, I was several yards ahead of Roosevelt and at the top of the hill.

“Yes!” I yelled as I threw my arms up in victory.

“Bully for you. You have beaten this old Knickerbocker to the top,” he huffed as he rumbled up next to me. “I have neglected to mention one thing, though.”

“And that is…?” I asked. Do I really want to know?

“You have to beat me to the bottom as well! Charrrrrrrrrge!” Roosevelt ran down the side of the hill, but I quickly overcame him. Faster than you could say “Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator is my candidate of choice for president of these United States” I had pushed myself to quite a bit of a lead.

All of a sudden, from behind me, where the first American to be awarded the Nobel Prize should be, a deeper, more ominous rumbling began to rumble. First it was low, but like a crescendoing drum roll on a tympani, it picked up until I had to look back at what the noise was.

To my horror, the noise was caused by Roosevelt, but he wasn’t in the form of a man that I am most familiar with. He was the size of a giant boulder and rolling towards me, gaining momentum until the rumbling sounded like a semi trailer filled with garbage cans filled with smaller steel cans and lead pipes rolling sideways down a hill.
Did I mention that he was gaining?

Laughing the whole time, the boulderized Theodore Roosevelt rolled right behind me, uprooting trees and crashing through cobwebs and anything else in its path.

Finally, I reached the bottom of the hill and dove out of the way of the giant boulder resembling the face of the man who so famously said “Speak softly and carry a big stick.” The enormous rock rolled past me as I tumbled to the side.

“Ha ha ha! That was a splendid race, Jon!” the now human looking Roosevelt said.

“Thanks,” I huffed, looking up at the man beside me. He reached his hand down and easily hauled me up to my feet.

“You now posses the Tenacity of Roosevelt,” he laughed. “Use it wisely!”

Whoah, another dream!

I stood before the Lincoln Memorial, staring up in awe of this statue of one of our greatest presidents. But how could my journeys have led me here? I wondered. Why am I standing before him now in this powerful thunderstorm with the lightning crashing around me and the thunder thundering around me like a loud thundering noise?

“Oh, Abraham Lincoln!” I cried out. “Why am I here?”

“You have come a great distance, my son,” I heard him call back. “But you must travel a great deal more to be a great president.”

“How do you mean?” The rain matted my hair flat and glistened off my forehead.

“You have the Strength of Washington,” he said. With a crash of thunder, he was standing beside me. “But you do not yet have the Courage of Lincoln.”

“The Courage of Lincoln?”

“Of course,” Lincoln nodded with a slight smile. “You need the Courage of Abraham Lincoln to lead the great country of ours. It took courage to lead a divided nation and it took courage to take a bullet to make it whole.”

“You took the bullet to bring the country together?” I asked. “But then you knew John Wilkes Booth would shoot you?”

“Of course,” he said. “But I wasn’t afraid of that washed-up actor. I was only afraid that he might get on stage and start doing Hamlet. Ugh what a ham.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” he nodded. “Should you become president, keep your eyes out for the likes of Jimmy Fallon or John Stamos.”

“OK, thanks for the warning,” I nodded. “So how will I get this Courage of Lincoln?”

“Like this.” From out of nowhere, the sixteenth president sucker punched me and sent me flying. The fury of his punch sounded like a semi truck full of steel I-Beams crashing from a thousand feet in the air into a warehouse filled with 50 gallon drums.

My body arced across the night sky and through the raging tempest until I crashed into the balcony of Ford’s Theater. At once, Lincoln was beside me again. He spun me to the railing and pushed my face in an attempt to throw me over to the floor below. I underhooked his arms and arched my back, throwing us both over and plummeting onto the seats below.

I landed on top of Lincoln but he quickly threw me off and sent me sprawling to the aisle between the rows of seats.

“Have you heard from the chairman yet?” he asked. With a popping of bolts, he pulled a row of the black metal framed with red cushioned seats off the ground and swung them at me.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to unseat you!” I called back. I then grabbed the row of chairs, drove them into the ground and flipped the other end up over me, catapulting Lincoln through the air. He crashed into the far wall but I was quickly on top of him. Another punch sent the man who delivered the Gettysburg Address up the aisle and through the wall where he crashed to a stop within a concession stand.

I was quickly on top of him again, but he was just as quick to defend himself with a tray full of soft drinks and one of those hot dog things with the rollers that you see at concession stands and convenience stores.

I collapsed with the impact of the cooker, but I quickly recovered and grabbed a shelf full of candies and threw that at him. As Lincoln dodged the assault, I followed up with squirts from ketchup and mustard bottles. He retaliated by grabbing me and throwing me into a display of cotton candy. I retaliated against his retaliation with a quick sidekick, but he was suddenly not in front of my foot.

I looked around for my adversary, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Where’d ya go?” I growled.

With a flash, I too disappeared from the concession stand, only to reappear in front of the Lincoln Memorial once again.

“You are worthy of the Courage of Abraham Lincoln, homie,” his voice rumbled then trailed off like thunder rolling away from the city to another city.

Man, I had a dream

I was running through a field, because of course these dreams always begin with running through a field when all of a sudden the visage of George Washington appeared before me.

“You cannot be president!” the giant Washington ghost boomed at me.

“Why not?” I asked. “I couldn’t be any worse than what we’ve had the past couple decades.”

“That one joke will carry you only so far,” Washington warned. “I say to thee that thou hast not the Right Stuff to be president.”

“Well, I don’t have an Ivy League education, if that’s what you’re talking about,” I answered. “But neither did many of the great presidents like Lincoln or Jefferson. Wait, The College of William and Mary isn’t Ivy League is it?”

“No, it is not,” Washington’s images shimmered in the light. “But that is not why I am here before you.”

“What is it then, President Washington?” I asked.

“If you think that you can be president, you must first best me in the field of battle!”

“What? Fight you? I can’t do that, you’re George Washington, the father of our country.”

“Then you will perish!” With a snapping sound, Washington roared into the air. His colonial vestments tore off with a thunderous crash and were replaced by, uh, I don’t know, it was lion taming gear or something. The ground shook as his feet crashed back down to it. He looked at me with a glint in his eye and smiled. The smile made a sound something like a blade being unsheathed from a scabbard.

“I said I don’t want to fight you!” I yelled out loudly, but it felt like the wind was rushing past my ears and the first president was quickly in front of me and swinging a colossal roundhouse right.

With a crashing sound resembling that of a mountain being dropped on top of a garbage truck filled with anvils, the man who is honored on quarters and one dollar bills sent me flying with a mighty punch from his meaty fist.

I flew backwards for what seemed to be miles (or at least this version of me did, for this was all a dream – or was it?) until I landed in the National Museum of American History. Washington was quickly on top of me though and sent me hurling through the walls and into an exhibit containing Dorothy’s ruby slippers from the Wizard of Oz.

“If you don’t pay attention to history,” he warned. “You will be his, you will be his, you will be history!”

“Alright, that’s it, old man!” I kicked myself up onto my feet and retaliated with a powerful punch of my own. Washington flew through a wall and crashed into an exhibit featuring the Star Spangled Banner.

“Come one!” he urged with a wicked smile. “Bring it!”

“I like what you’re saying, but you’re a little off -Key,” I said as I smashed him into a sousaphone and bass drum. “Get it? Off-key as in Francis Scott Key, author of the Star Spangled Banner!”

“I like it,” Washington wiped a dab of blood from the corner of his mouth. “But you’re doing too much talking!”

“You’re not going to do much talking when I’m through with you,” I growled as I punched him in the jaw. A wooden tooth flew out.

Washington dove into me and we both flew from that exhibit and into a bookcase filled with dusty texts. Books tumbled from their shelves and crashed on top of me.

“Looks like this beat down is long overdue,” the hero of the revolution said smugly as I lay there covered in books. I didn’t stay there long as I rolled away from Washington’s foot stomping down on me and spun back to my feet again.

“You fight pretty well now,” I said. “Too bad you couldn’t fight this well at the Battle of Brandywine and the British garrison at Germantown.”

Washington howled in rage and sent us both flying once again, this time we landed on a small boat on the icy waters of the Delaware River.

“Perhaps you should take a swim,” Washington growled as he pushed my head down in the water. Icy fingers of cold and pain stabbed at my face, but I managed to reverse our positions with a twist.

“You’re the one who’s all wet,” I said as I tossed him into the water.

All was quiet for what seemed endless minutes. I scanned the surface for any movement or signs of George Washington. I shrugged to myself as I saw none, but my attempted shrug was too soon as an arm snapped out of the water and hauled me in.

I felt myself floating to the bottom with Washington floating serenely in front of me.

“You have done well,” he said. “You are worthy.”

“What?” I yelled back through the water.

“I said you have done well!” he shouted. “You are worthy!”

“I still can’t hear you!” I shouted.

“Oh for crying—Here!” he sighed and then snapped his fingers. In a flash, I found myself in the field where I began at the beginning of my dream. “I said that you are worthy.”

“OK, cool,” I said, breathing heavily from the ordeal. “What am I worthy of?”

“You are worthy of the Strength of Washington,” our first president said and an energy leapt out from him and entered me.

I felt the Strength of Washington surge through my body. At least, my dream body because this is all just a dream, isn’t it?