Kick 'Em In The Balls, Lee

I've always liked Lee Iacocca. Once, in the summer of '86 when he was a lot heavier and had more hair, I encountered Mr. Iacocca walking through O'Hare International Airport. He's that kind of down-to-earth fellow, dragging his own luggage through the crowded airport.

When I saw him his assistant had just stepped into the duty free shop, so I ran up to him, kicked him square between the legs as hard as I could, and screamed, "Take THAT Jerry Falwell, you Nazi!"

He dropped like a sack of potatoes, moaning, "Why? Why?" as he coughed up blood on his lime colored Polo shirt and rolled back and forth on the tile.

Needless to say, after I was tackled by airport security and hauled off in handcuffs, I felt terrible for kicking Lee in balls. After all, I have the highest respect for him and his accomplishments, and I told him so at the trial. Fourteen months later I was on parole, back in O'Hare, and found myself staring across the Admiral Club's lobby at Jerry Falwell's holier-than-thou smirk. I didn't do anything, though, just in case it was really Lee Iacocca.

Memorable anecdotes aside, read this excerpt from Iacocca's new book, "Where Have All The Leaders Gone?" Talk about kicking them in the balls. Bush is going to need to put a cup in his jockstrap for this one.