Don’t slip up. Unless you want to. In which case, I will totally slip up with you. To be clear, I’m not talking about drinking a bunch of hummingbird food and going out joyriding in a stolen golf cart until the cops attempt to take us down in a hail of bean bags, but that only spikes our hummingbird strength and we high-jump a bunch of fences and retreat to our safe house on the south side and play cornhole with the cool free police bean bags we got but then you turn out to be an undercover operative and turn me in and we don’t speak until I’m on my deathbed and you come visit me in the prison infirmary and we play one final game of cornhole and I make a winning shot before gasping one final breath and you say “Goodnight sweet prince” and the camera pans up to “heaven” or whatever your interpretation is and the credits roll and the movie wins an oscar. No, I’m talking about the glorious act of wearing slippers…all the time…everywhere. That’s why I always keep a spare pair of slips’ (that’s street for slippers) on my person. I know what you’re thinking: “Who is your person?” Well, it’s kind of a long story, but he’s from Kansas by way of Munich and he loves line-dancing. Seriously, though, I’m trying to start a movement here. Imagine a society of fulltime slipper-wearers. No more clicking heels, no more sore feet, no more boring track and field events where the athletes AREN’T tripping every five steps because they’re wearing giant bunny slippers. So join me. Or don’t. No, do.