I was cruising around on Twitter the other day when I noticed an ex-president posting there. No, not Clinton, and no Bush. A little farther back: John Quincy Adams, to be precise.

That's ridiculous, you say. All the famous people on Twitter are fake, you say. Idiots with too much time on their hands pretend to be celebrities, you say. Well, I reply, who on earth would pretend to be John Quincy Adams? I mean, nobody's pretending to be Millard Fillmore, and he's at least got a cool name.

I clicked on the button to follow JQ, and the more he tweets the more I'm convinced he's the real deal.

Last evensong I had relations with a strumpet from Paris. Talk about your Continental Congress!

What a confounding morning. I told Thomas Jefferson that I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Whig and the old fusspot stuck me atop his head!

Correction: it's frequently about the Benjamins. But it's sometimes about the Zacharys and the Chesters, too.

Andrew Jackson brought his wife and three children over to Mount Wollaston for our annual autumnal fete. They're an attractive group, doubtless to say, but I reckon this small green planet shall never see a stranger Jackson 5.

That's a relief: As of 1998, I'm no longer the stupidest president who's another president's son.