Nobody likes to talk about it, but there is an organized crime world run by children. I'm the sap in the windowless office who has to track them down and root them out. They have rock-solid rackets, and they leave a trail of tears and throw-up. They own the West Indian nannies. They own the pediatricians. They own the au pairs and the party clowns, and that's only the tip of the iceberg. Yes, they're cute. They wear funny costumes and they waddle and they say adorable things such as, "I wuv you," and "Him's my fwend." But how many times have I had to listen over the wire, as one of my agents gets cornered: I make you laugh? I'm here to fuckin' amuse you?
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