2006-11-24 - 2:04 p.m.

MY SON, THE SHEISTER

My kid is a sheister.

He's always planning some type of money-making scheme...or scam, depending on his mood. Today he's outdone himself.

He's taken the sad remains of his Halloween candy, created cost list on a piece of poster board ("buy *TWO* products, you get one, free!"), intending to sell the junk he didn't eat back to the very people who bought it to start with. It was this angle of his scam that gave him the most glee, the double-shaft-effect.

A mother worries.

In a stroke of genius, the boy employed his adorable 5 year old sister, positioning her out front to make the sales pitch. She assaults the innocent homeowners with her cuteness, hypnotizing them with her cow-eyed beauty in order to get their small change in exchange for crappy, reject candy. I secretly predicted they'd fail when the original plan was to sit roadside in the neighborhood and wait for cars to stop...but then the boy took it door to door. They made $1.70!

In other news, I have been dealing for some time with a very bold Panamanian man named Carlos. Carlos owns a very small take-out restaurant in town and did some live commercials on my radio station recently to promote it. Carlos flirted with me mercilessly ad became quite bold in his suggestions. He is Carlos, Man Of Love, and he knows I need his special bRRRand of lovin'. I declined, Carlos got pissed, and now he is on my messenger saying that his business took a turn for the worse upon being advertised on my station.

I am a true professional, because I held my tongue and told him I was sorry he feels that way, knowing all the while that his cooking sucks the left ball of a diseased goat. He'd sent lunches; they were comically bad. Seriously. And it was spaghetti! HOW DO YOU MESS UP SPAGHETTI???????? Soggy white noodles, thick, salty sauce, and meatballs of a consistency more fit for firing at a rioting crowd of militants. The "garlic bread"? Wonder bread with flecks of some sort of green spice and toasted so thoroughly that it was dark brown through and through. T'was burnt toast, dude. The "chocolate dessert"? A rubbery-looking cube of gelatinous brown stuff that I think *may* have been microwave cake. Who knows? I didn't TOUCH it. A bite of bad sauce, a physical struggle trying to bust open a rubber meatball, and I was OUT. I've seen better dinners ejected from the beaks of parenting fowl. Carlos' food sucks it, and hard...

and I might just tell him so. I am TOO NICE.

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