Listen, James, if it was up to me, I’d hop on a plane myself and get it done, but I can’t.

You’re going to have to do it. I’m entrusting you, James, with this mission.

Now, I know that they’re your friends and that you like to hang out, but I need you to be a professional here. I need you to stand next to them at the Kenny Chesney show and as soon as they start wiggling and flailing and moving their upper limbs like goddamned used car lot inflatable wind puppets you need to show them.

Do it quickly. Do it well. Show them how to dance at a concert because if you don’t, the brass are going to have my ass on a pike outside the Pentagon and you, me and this whole operation will have failed.

Make me proud, James. School those sloppy shimmy dorks how to really dance. Just stand next to them and blow their fucking minds with that magic you’ve got in those well-oiled joints of yours.

Do it for me, but more importantly, James, do it for your country.

It’s all well and good to have body moves, but never forget that your face is in the game, too. If your face isn’t dancing along with your body, you’re just a person who’s only dancing from the shoulders down.