(in a flash of smoke, a bearded robed prophet addresses smoking teens)
Nostradamus: Behold, I am the soothsayer of the ancients, and I come with predictions of the misty future yore.
Boff: Did you predict a shave, Sparticus.
Nostradamus: Never heard that one before! No, really
Thud: What’s up Joaquin Phoenix?
Nostradamus: I’ll assume that’s funny
Thud: You’re cutting into our recess.
Nostradamus: Ok…I see a future, where men will ride in electric buggies
Boff: You mean cars?
Nostradamus: C-ar, right. In the future, the skin will be cleansed with the suds form the ground
Thud: Soap? They had soap in your day
Nostradamus: And the ground will 18th day of the new million in the lands of Marco Polo
(People look at Indian kid)
Kid: He’s talking about china. I’m Indian, guys. Ok, yes it happened, but O only know because my parents are also Indian and therefore knowledge taskmasters
Nostradamus: Ok, do you have flying platforms?
Nostradamus: Minstrel boxes? Light emitters? Snack cakes?
Nostradamus: Ok, smarty pants, a time travelling device. Got that? No! So shut up!
Kid: Wait; are you predications because you’ve travelled through time? That’s cheating!
Nostradamus: I’ve said too much. To the Nostramobile!
Nostradamus: Look, whatever man. I’ll predict you’ll be hated by your peers.