I came home one day, and my boy Coleman and his pal Adam were downstairs in the basement playing the Madden football video game. I could hear them dissing each other and whupping it up like a bunch of wild Indians. To my alarm, I saw a pair of Birkenstocks in the hallway. Either Coleman’s mother bought these for Coleman (cause for an immediate divorce) or they belonged to Adam. It really didn’t matter. I grabbed a rubber glove and picked them up (I didn’t want to touch these symbols of leftist lunacy), carried them downstairs, held them up for the boys to see and said: “I don’t care who these belong to, neither one of y’all are ever going to wear this hippy sh#t and become some whiny, pasty white, granola eating, lazy f#ck, dope smoking lard ass.” I then made the boys come outside and ceremoniously threw the footwear on the gas-powered grill in a dazzling display of pyromantics. Folks, this is what leadership is all about. Taking a stand.
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