The Important Matter of GHETTO FABULOUS

During the trough of the 2002 market decline, a broker at an old firm (reputable, internationally recognized investment bank) of mine came dressed to work in basketball jerseys and slippers, whenever the fuck he felt like it. No kidding, this fucker was out of control, mainly because his dick swung low, doing massive monthly production, thanks in large part to his short only book and gangster ways.

As every other broker had his balls buckshot monthly, he’d just short 300,000 shares of some stupid internet stock and make 50%. He walked around the firm, as if he owned the place, followed by 10 peasant idiot cold callers, dressed in Chinese delivery man business shirts and money ties. They were the lowest of the low. My cold callers looked like JP Morgan and Gus Levy, compared to these losers.

A friend of mine, who was in the most unfortunate position of supervising him, would get into fierce battles with this man, solely based upon his egregious work attire, which consisted of terry cloth sweat suits, gold chains and Nike high tops. In all hilariousness, the firm was so desperate for production, with investment banking shut the fuck down and most brokers in the soup, they let this maniac run wild throughout the firm, as if it were his personal basketball court.

The prim and proper types looked at him with contempt, even DISDAIN, as he barged through the office with his entourage of goons.

At a time when the firm’s top producers were lucky to break 30k per month, this bastard was bangin’ out $300,000. It got so crazy, he even forced out a broker in the office adjacent to his, in order to make room for more cold callers.

Good times, indeed.

The secret to his success, you ponder?

Often times he’d just yell and shout at his clients, in a very belligerent manner, as if they were adolescents who got caught playing hooky from school. One time he was overheard saying “YOU KNOW WHY I CAN DO THIS? BECAUSE I AM GHETTO FABULOUS, THAT’S WHY!” To everyone’s astonishment, that phone call resulted in a new account.

Obviously, he was a man with great honour [sic] and respect— for the streets. To this day, people who were there are still amazed by how much money he raised, using that sort of tone and unprofessional manner. After all, who the fuck relates to a guy who claims to be “ghetto fabulous”?

My take: it didn’t really matter what he said, since he was right on the markets. He could have went to his clients mansions, dressed in a fucking banana suit, and still raise $10 million dollars, providing he made them coin.

The story of Mr. Ghetto Fab ended badly, as you could imagine. However, before it did, two assistant branch managers resigned, due to Ghetto Fab’s insistence on wearing NY Knicks jerseys and sandals to work— on a Wednesday or Thursday—no matter. When the assistant branch managers asked Mr. Ghetto Fab to dress in a suit with tie, polished shoes, he’d reply: “go fuck yourself. I don’t take orders from you”—naturally.

How did the story end, you ponder?

He was caught smoking a fucking blunt, filled with marijuana, with his staff, in the front of the office building (very prestigious NYC landmark), at around 1pm. When confronted by the CEO, he replied “yeah I did it, now get the fuck out of my office.”

Shortly thereafter, kindly, he was asked to leave.

So goes the story of Mr. Ghetto Fabulous.

Two companies have chips that can detect the Swine Flu within hours.

CBMX, STM

[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBBu71HbFeU 550 400]

Indeud.

“The Fly” is triumphant. Let me say it once more: NEVER, and I mean NEVER, doubt my market hand again. You little shits come out of the woodworks, like small gremlins with toy pistols, whenever the market moves against me. I told you before, I will tell you again: “The Fly” wins all the time, even when he appears to be losing badly.

Let it be known, the glorious PPT has been printing fiat currency for its fortunate subscribers. People who listened, very quietly, to what Plutonium Petey— and his sidekick friends— had to say on iBC are now blessed with unearthly profits, almost as grande and prestigious as being an occupant inside of the famous, and distinguished, Gretzky House. Almost.

Over the course of this weekend, “The Fly” will spend time roaming his office, reminiscing over the weeks gains. In addition, he shall eat large quantities of mutton and guzzle down sweet ambrosia, housed in clay jugs.

My position is a winner. My gains today were “gicockulous”, spearheaded by massive NGAS purchases and a wildly successful PCX position.

CRE and the banks no longer lead the market. If you want to get in the market, and quit being a fucking loser, look to the commodity names for respite and oasis.

As for me, I shall continue to press the hot blade of death upon those who bet against me, with fierce virility. For those of you who followed my instructions, go eat a 2 1/2 inch thick rib eye—heavily salted, lightly peppered— in my honor. For the rest of you garbage eaters, fuck off.

I sold out of my entire position, around $7.80, for a 40% 1 week gain.

Indeud.

I bought 10,000 [[NGAS]] @ $2.10.

Fair Warning: An oldy and an assholes stock.

I bought 25,000 [[SD]] @ $8.85ish.

Disclaimer: If you buy SD because of this post, the government will force you to buy a shiny new Fiat. And, you may lose money.

Oil and other commodities are upticking hard here, while Treasuries are tasting hot metal. Without a doubt, investors are starting off the month of May, leaning heavily in the “welcome to the new Weimar republic” camp.

With this in mind, I find little motivation to sell out of my burgeoning PCX position, which is bursting at the seems. In addition, I will not sell out of WRES or ERX either. As a matter of fact, I will take some of my reserves, in order to add to depressed commodity related names.

As for my other holdings: for now, I will leave them intact, while I search out new commodity related investments.

NOTE: TBT is looking might fine now, if I might say so myself.

UPDATE: I sold 20% of my CDNS position and all of my CECO.

Fucking Fiat is going to save Chrysler? Please. Those fucking meatballs couldn’t save walking pigs, dressed in tuxedo suits, from jumping off skyscrapers. How the fuck are those toy car makers, most readily found in the narrow streets of Turkey, Egypt and ancient Rome, going to appeal to Americans, who like driving tanks to work?

President Obama: you Sir, are an asshat.

Aside from that, I’m digging on this Swine Flu outbreak. It really makes me believe in conspiracy theories, with regards to distracting the American idiot from the larger picture, such as: fucking wholesale fleecing of you bitches fine gentlemen for all of your coin.

Let it be known, my tax attorney is very good.

[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-swlx9z2O0 550 400]