John Glover popped up into my vision, sitting

John Glover popped up into my vision, sitting at my desk. "Hi, Lex! I found ya, Lex! Lex! Leeeeex! Leeeeeex!" "What, dad?" I asked, exasperated. "You're bald, son." He smiled.

"Well dad, you dress like idiot." My dad looked like I'd slapped him. "Hawaiian shirts? Cargo shorts? Flip flops? We live in OHIO not Miami? You are not a beach boy!" My dad choked

up on the bat. "Now listen, son, and take your face out of iSpace for a moment. Dayton is not that far from Miami, and I didn't raise you to be a controlling punk jackass." A tweet

from a yellow-breasted chat let me know that dawn was near. The Day of Reckoning was upon us. If we weren't in Dayton by noon, survival was unlikely. I looked at my son and he was

red fuzzy all of the sudden. I was seeing spots and starting to sweat like a Kirstie Alley at a WW meeting, all of the sudden, my body collapsed & I'm on the floor. The fries! It w

as the freckled kid from the fastfood joint. After years of waiting, he took his revenge for my mocking his freckles by using spoiled grease to cook my french fries. Darn him and

and his delicious cooking. The freckled kid was wasting his talents. My contacts at the Ministry of Food were useless as the freckled kid refused to

consider going pro, insisting instead on random posh potlucks with the newest Food Channel groupies. It was about my limit, sitting there each evening listening to their gustatory

gossip. I might have seemed gullible, but grateful I was not. Enough was enough, I had decided... And now after all that talk of food, I think I need a sandwich.