A lifelong prankster (we met through a coordinated April Fool's gag back in college) with a gift for skirting the edge of the law, Scott probably has a telephone-book-thick profile dossier at the Effa-Bee-Eye. If there were ever a "Most Likely to Call 2am from Federal Custody" award from my Rolodex, I have no doubt who the recipient should be.
Scott's the kind of friend whose company I greatly enjoy, but would be terrified to introduce to any children I might have. "But Daaaaad! Uncle Scott let me drive his Porsche and told me I don't need to be 16 to get a license!" "Is it true that I can make explosives with ammonia cleanser and iodine?" "Uncle Scott showed me the coolest trick! Uhm - can I get a gallon of gasoline from your car?"
I mentioned on the phone this weekend how ironic that the perfect organization for his talents was shut down days after its creation (or was it?), to which he replied:
"What!?! You think I should have a government job?! Oh HELL no!!"
Oh well. Nation's loss, I suppose.