Look, it’s kind of a shame they had to break this out on GW Bush, because Bush is a decent guy, but all things considered I think it might be a positive contribution to global political culture.

Somewhere between the namby-pamby bow-tied Western punditry, and blazing carbines, there has to be an outlet for speech with a bit of bite to it but still within the mores of civilized society.

Leave it to one crazy A-rab to show us a better way.

I just think, during all those Loudoun County Board of Supervisors meetings last year, when there was so little being accomplished and so much BS emanating from the dais, rather than sitting there on the benches biting our tongues … how satisfying it would have been if we could have had a small bag of footwear with which to pelt them. I’m not talking Doc Martens – this is the suburbs after all – maybe just some kids Keds would have been nice to have. So when one Supervisor or the other announced another plan to “study” approaches to illegal immigration, we could have all clapped politely and rained baby sneakers down on them. Nothing violent, just a sprinkle of little canvas sneakers on their noggins to get the point across.

I, for one, will be saving our old shoes in a box in the garage. The box will be labeled “Love Letters.” And I plan to hit the Goodwill now and then to cull the nasty shoe repository of singles and woebegone pairs – items no one wants anyway, but which could be put to good use sending messages to our elected officials.

Therefore I call on all of you to keep a bag of old shoes in your car, and when you happen upon a disgarded piece of footwear on the sidewalk please, for the environment, save it from the landfill. There will be plenty of opportunities, many of them impromptu, to toss a handful of Buster Browns at an elected official or other blathering public personality.

I foresee a calmer, gentler era in which public conflicts are settled not by shouting and noise and fisticuffs, but by the showering of shoes on the heads of our opponents, the muffled “plunk, plunk, plunk” of footwear rapping them about the heads and shoulders.

I envision public meetings and political conventions at which the body politic arrives lugging lumpy brown grocery bags, forlorn, perhaps, brows furrowed as a result of economic or social pressures, but unbowed, ready to throw a handful of shoes at the hint of a disrespectful or dissatisfying word. I have personally had to take a step back from politics, but when I return, I tell you now, I am bringing the shoes.