I’m not holding back Dow Jones’ hair while he vomits

July 28, 2008

In addressing the recent problems in the stock market, President Bush said that “Wall Street got drunk.” What he didn’t tell you is who got Wall Street drunk.

That would be us.

We all started off down at the bar having beers, me and Wall Street. Then Mikka rolls in and orders a margarita, which makes Wall Street want one because it looks pretty. And while Wall Street’s on his second fishbowl-sized margarita, Anonymous Doug shows up and orders a couple rounds of shots for us.

How we ended up at Swashbuckler’s strip club, I’m not sure. What I do know is that Wall Street sees the pirate wench waitress with the tray of Jaegermeister shots on it and he’s got his wallet out. I ask him if he can afford all that alcohol and he says it’s okay because he’s buying on margin. Or at least that’s what I think he said. I was busy having a girl with a pegleg grind against my thigh.

Wall Street eventually gets us thrown out of the club around 1am when he pukes on one of the dancers.

“Fuck you asshole!” Wall Street yells from outside the club after the bouncers toss his ass out. “Don’t you know who I am? I’ll maul you like a bear market, man!”

Mikka tries to calm Wall Street down, but Wall Street is belligerently drunk and almost gets into a fight with him. We get Wall Street to back off by telling him we’re hitting a karaoke bar next. Wall Street loves karaoke, but karaoke does not love him.

“This is my song! This is my song!” Wall Street slurs into the microphone as the beginning notes of AC/DC’s “Back in Black” start playing. When it’s time for the lyrics, Wall Street actually does sound like Brian Johnson, if he had suffered a stroke and had fallen into a kiddie pool of acid.

Last call sends us on our way and Wall Street has to throw up again, but this time it wasn’t the good throw up where you vomit and feel better (Puke and rally!). No, this is the bad debilitating throw up where you puke and cry.

“The only people who love me are soulless monsters!” Wall Street howls in between sobs and projectile vomits. “Why do I keep getting used?  Why can’t I find someone who loves me for who I am, not for what I can do for them?”

This is so embarrassing. Correction: this is embarrassing for us because this happening on the side of the road in someone’s bushes. We have to hide Wall Street’s cell phone so he doesn’t call up his ex-girlfriend The Free Market and blubber to her.  Eventually we get Wall Street back up to his feet, carry him home, and throw his passed out ass on the couch to sleep it off.

The next morning Wall Street wakes up and oil is over $140 a barrel, banks are in danger of going out of business, and people are losing their jobs. This makes me feel a lot better about writing “I gargle cum” on Wall Street’s forehead and drawing a hairy ballsack on his chin with a Sharpie marker.

But at least Wall Street didn’t go home with that twitchy strung-out woman with the track marks and harelip. But Anonymous Doug is turned on by desperation.




  1. ‘Or at least that’s what I think he said. I was busy having a girl with a pegleg grind against my thigh.’

    Well we cant blame a man for that, who can resist an amputee stripping.

  2. that’s what wall street gets for drinking with the big guys

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