So, here it was early on a Friday morning of the employment data, in a week that was epic in rally. As if I haven’t done enough to pad the bonus pool gross of the street all year, and what crops into my inbox?If truth be told, I have been reading this noise for a years (ex the celluloid sabatical) and am quite appreciative of my man Dopey, capped off by an epic read Thursday. I figure it’s the least I can do, since I can’t take another day of Al Vs fabulous humor. Speaking of Al V, we have all worked with the guy whose skin was so thick, that we he would outlive a nuclular attack. Al V, cock roaches and Twinkies would be the only survivors of a nuke. And were he alive during dinosaur times, and the big asteroid hit (oddly right where the Macondo BP well blowout hit), he would be the only survivor and Speilberg would have not made Jurassic Park, but Jurassic Veoli. Anyway, enough on Al.
Speaking of Dinosaurs, I figured as a late stage unwired buy-sider, i would recount a story of one of the more interesting creatures to ever roam a trading desk. Since he has since passed from our shores, and is off in the great desk beyond, i figure enough time has passed.
As you all know, the business , here after referred to as, “the business”, whether buy side or sell side, has characters that could never ever be recreated for a TV sit com. There is just something about the way that things break in a testosterone filled environment that makes them incredibly funny in situ, but beyond the reach of the typical Dancing with the Stars or Boning a Kardashien viewer. They tried it with the pathetic “Boiler Room” years ago. Didn’t work. Couldn’t work. Moreover “back in the day”, stuff went down that if it happened today, the ACLU, HR, and every muff attorney in the world would be on line one, line two, and line three of your turret and some intern would own the firm from the settlement.
Today we go back into the archives for one of the episodes of the old reality show, “As the Desk Turns”. I could begin with the guy that was supposed to be on a “client dinner”, but rather was out banging his “trading assistant”, when the building the slave lived in caught fire, and they had to run downstairs in towels, only to have his wife watching Channel Five news LIVE as they pan in to show the two of them shivering for his wife to see in real time. It’s 10 o’clock, do you know where your shrinkage is?
Or the time that a trader missed coming home on time because of a night of debauchery, only to find his front door had a steak stuck to the front door with a Rambo sized kitchen knife, and a note that said “Cook it yourself. Happy Anniversary, asshole”.
But the coup de grace had to be the evening that this seasoned vet, who we’ll call Ricky, was riding shotgun with a desk mate (who we’ll call Vinnie) out with “clients”. The boys are of course incapable of standing steady, it’s pouring rain, as they walk a few blocks, trying to catch a cab. Problem, running mate has to take a massive dump, so they run into the bus station, and stumble into the men’s room, only to find (remember, this is pre Mike Bloomberg, 1970s NYC) the entire place is inch deep in water from a broken pipe, and all the toilets have the seats ripped off and are filled to the top with piss water. And one, only one stall has a door. That bowl is full of a marinating large 8lb. 9oz. baby cobra shit … and no seat.
Our Vinnie remember has to take a massive. You know what that’s like, when the 28oz. Porterhouse from Steak and Brew is causing you to crown. He runs into the only stall with a door. “Ricky”, he says, “cover for me, in case someone comes in”. As our boy hangs his jacket on the hook, assumes the position on tip toes (inch of water on the floor), trying to keep his pants raised holding the pant legs up, without sitting on the seatless bowl, (like your girlfriend at a Kiss outdoor concert port-o-let in West Virgina), he is bent over in perfect balance.
Problem.
Our boy Vinnie is so wasted that he cannot do anything but sway. Vinnie says, “Ricky, give me the vial and the spoon, i need to straighten up with a blast of chop or I’m gonna fall into this shit filled bowl. Our boy Ricky reaches under and hands him the vial and spoon, to save the day. JUST as Vinnie takes a large hoot, in comes a 6’6” plus 300 lb. recently released Rikers convict looking man of color who himself is breathing fire. Before our hero, Ricky, can even TRY to block Youseffus (not his real name, to protect the innocent), he turns in the inch deep sludge, chooses the only acceptable stall with a swinging door, and kicks the door so hard that our poor friend Vinnie is smacked on the head and knocked ass over vial into the cobra coil, shit filled seatless stank bowl and knocked unconscious.
The worst part? The vial flies into the next stall and fills with water on the floor. The convict, turns to Ricky and says, “Who the fuck is that in MY stall. That boy your friend?”
“Nope”, says Ricky. “Nope”. After 10 minutes of blood, reviving and cleanup, our heroes head home. Walking in the pouring rain, figuring, it’s the only way to get the stank off before seeing the wives.
Missed some openings, never missed a close.
The names were changed to protect everyone. True dat.
-Priapus
