Statistically, there is a very slim chance that at some point today I will be kidnapped by a bunch of really serious-looking Korean guys. They might pull up alongside me, slide the side door of their white van open and grab me, slamming the doors closed. Then they might blindfold me and drug me and I might come to an hour or two later in some weird warehouse. There is an even slimmer chance, statistically, that they might then force me to run and jump down a Slip N Slide covered in diarrhea. I have no idea why they would do this. Maybe they’d demand ransom money nobody was willing to pay, or ask me for secret documents I didn’t have. You know: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh yeah? We’ll see about that…” Or even worse, maybe it would be a Crocodile Mile covered in diarrhea with a pool of barf at the end of it. Maybe they’d make me run, slide, hit the bump and take a dive, and then I’d get up—in tears, no doubt—and I’d be all covered in diarrhea and barf, probably bruised up from all the pistol whipping, but you know what? If it happened today, I’d be wearing clean socks, and that would make it all a little less horrible because clean socks rule.