Have A Great Vacation...Oh, By The Way.....You're Fired!



Stay tuned.  The process should be pretty funny and somewhat
good for the monthly free cash flow...



That is basically how the third Monday of August went for me.  Fucking A.  Down the shore, chillin on the beach with the kids and I get an email telling me to dial into the home office at 4:15 for a conf. call.  Fuck.  That cannot be good, I thought to myself.  So bla bla bla, all you need to know is that every morning for the last 5 years I have had to ask the people on our morning business call to be on mute and every mother fucking day I had to interrupt and ask at least one person to hit their fucking mute button because they were broadcasting over something much more important.  Why is this important?  Because I dialed in early, and started breathing really really heavy into the phone before the CEO got on.  I kept breathing heavy off and on during the conference call.  It was painfully funny and hard not to laugh.  Sometimes I kill myself. 



Please allow me to escort you
through the process of getting Obama money!!



I cannot really say anything bad against my former employer for a variety of legal reasons, but I can tell you that having 3 CEO's in 3 years is never a good thing.  Especially when the last one wants to get out of your business.  Rather than rant and sling mud, I am going to take you all through the process of filing for unemployment.  I figure this should be a real fucking eye-opener with a lot of opportunity for content here.  Stay tuned bitches, I'm gettin my Obama money! 

--The Angry Trader.

Karaoke Asshole 1, Nice Guys 0

They say that "nice guys finish last". For the longest time, I believed this was a lie perpetuated by assholes who could only bag drunk skanks. It's not. It's 100% true. The day I began applying "Costanza's Law" to my interactions with females and said the OPPOSITE of what my mother and father raised me to say, I started collecting a lot more phone numbers. I don't look at this as some Faustian compromise of my principles. I never had any principles in the first place. I was just a delusional moron who thought chivalry (a nice-guy euphemism for "pathetic ass kissing") would get me laid. Ladies, if you find this troubling, offensive, or something else that's predictably vapid, tough noogies. Your gender's collective affinity for douchebaggery is well-documented and frighteningly Pavlovian. If it wasn't, "Jersey Shore" wouldn't be a smash hit and Ronnie and The Sitch would be getting paid minimum wage to fill potholes on the Garden State Parkway with asphalt as God intended. But ladies, we men are finally becoming hip to your crazy jive. We are evolving. Into a mongoloid race of impertinent pricks who mug your knights in shining armor, steal their money, and use it to buy you drinks. After we give them swirlys.

Exhibit A: I was at Butterfield 8 last night for karaoke and had just finished singing "Brown Eyed Girl". Better than Van Morrison. Because that poor bastard's career peaked BEFORE the Auto-Tune Era. I get back to my bar stool and as I'm contemplating whether to sing "With or Without You" or "Build Me Up Buttercup" next, this smokin' hot chick sidles right up to me and puts out a vibe tantamout to a big neon sign that reads "Open for Business, Stud". My intrigue is purely academic, however, because I'm dating someone right now and although I am MANY things, a cheater is not one of them. My curiousity is doubly piqued by a quasi-morbid fascination with what I refer to as "Murphy's Law of Female Attraction", which states that "the NANOSECOND a man is off the market, every woman in a 50-mile radius who has ignored, dismissed or rejected him will find him irresistably sexy and desirable". Because women - although far more beautiful, far more intelligent and far better smelling than men - are batshit crazy like that. Men are from Mars, but women are not from Venus - they're from the Seventh Circle of Hell and have been sent to Earth by Beelzebub to torture the male sex for all eternity. Anyway, the following conversation between me and the smokin' hottie ensued:

Hottie: oh my God, I LOVE "Brown Eyed Girl"!
Me: everyone does
Hottie: and you have a great voice!
Me: I know
Hottie: haha, you're funny!
Me: I know that too
Hottie: you're also really cute
Me: you're 3-for-3
Hottie: do you have a girlfriend?
Me: that's none of your business
Hottie: that means you do
Me: whatever you say, Nancy Drew
Hottie: I'm gonna give you my number anyway
Me: I'm not gonna call you
Hottie: why not?
Me: I don't want to
Hottie: just take it...call me if things don't work out with your girlfriend
Me: I have herpes
Hottie: eew, really?
Me: no
Hottie: then why'd you say that?
Me: I just wanted to see if you actually HAVE a limit, woman...congratulations, yours is VD

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