As our valued readers know, the dumbest people in the world are moral underachievers breaking any of just Ten Commandments God set down for us to obey, and breaking them real good.
Wall Street is run by these nut cases. During bull markets, the dumbest people in the world visit M. I. T. and them, hiring the smartest people in the world to help out with the business, but then fire them all when the next Black Tuesday or whatever arrives, and do this market cycle after market cycle after market cycle, which makes you wonder who gets to be the smartest people in the world anyway, and why, and why aren’t they the ones who graduate from community colleges instead of M. I. T. and them.
You’d think the smartest people in the world would manage to keep their jobs through an entire market cycle at least once in a while, but that doesn’t seem to be one of the criteria.
Food service majors, particularly those specializing in one of your faster foods like burgers with medium fries or maybe pepperoni pizza, would seem to have a shot at being smartest people in the world, judging from the jobs news the last couple of years, and maybe automotive mechanics out of the technical schools or somebody like that, based on the maintenance/repairs we’ve bankrolled rather steadily year in and year out as the decades rolled by.
At the NCAA Division II level, we coached some extraordinary student/athletes from feeder community colleges, girls who not only knew what it took to win but how to actually do that themselves, distinguishing the former C.C. student/athlete from just about everyone else on the fastpitch field. Now they‘re out there conquering other fields as well.
Yogi Berra tells us that 90% of 50% of baseball is all mental. Why shouldn’t athletic overachievers be the smartest people in the world? They are in ours, at least the ones with jobs, which is most of them, we‘re told.
Girls had committees of PhD's paying them to play ball for goodness sakes.
Anyway, the dumbest people in the world operate three cons: short-selling, dancing around orders, and muscling investors into losing big. The smartest people in the world think you‘re supposed to use math instead of scams, and try to, and end up getting shorted, danced over, and muscled around just like everybody else. Worse even. Problem there is, the smartest people in the world don’t stop trying until they’re fired or run out of money, as opposed to guys academically challenged enough to have a lot of quit in them already who know what running out of money feels like from a lifetime of dating women instead of bookworms.
Math and precise grammar are what smart guys bring to the table. Well, those and a nice cheese Danish in the morning. Buttered cheese Danish. Math and precise grammar tell everyone the smart guys are smart, like that means there has to be hope for them somewhere in white collar racketeering, and a nice buttered cheese Danish can make anyone mistake the capricious trade winds of hope for a plotted course to destiny charted in the ship’s compass room.
On a day when he was shorting all the positions in his 6 year-old daughter‘s trust fund, Covet Allugots tried to explain why. Over his forty-seven years in the financial rackets, Covet had screwed everyone he’d ever come in contact with, and the Filch & Finagle Senior Vice-President in charge of Family Wealth Planning wasn‘t about to stop now.
"It’s Wall Street;” Allugots clearly believed, “everybody goes down.”
“But she’s only 6 years old.”
“We’ve been whacking widows and orphans ever since gamed-market capitalism began. Haven’t you read the text books? Orphans are little kids too.”
“Little kids without any parents, Covet.”
“Nobody discriminates here,” the Family Wealth Planning Capo huffed indignantly. “Against anyone. Not by race, not by color, not by age, and certainly not by who has parents and who doesn‘t. Everybody goes bust in the end.”
“Do you have elderly clients?” the septuagenarian in the room couldn’t help wondering.
"They get it second. Right after widows and orphans.”
“Get what?”
“Whatever we’ve got going. Today it’s a short.” Covet punched a button on the high tech telephone thingy in front of him, and spoke with forced clarity into wherever the microphone was, “sell 67 million shares of Panda Cub Industries we don‘t even own.”
“Okay,” an enthusiastic voice answered through wherever the speaker was, “and we’ll be sure not to tell the buyers you don’t own them, Covet.”
“That’s right. Nobody wants to know he’s getting the ass end of a dummy accounting transaction when he thinks he‘s buying real Panda Cub Industries common stock.”
“And that you can’t give him any actual shares until you buy out your bogus side.”
“By purchasing those real shares from a second sucker at fire sale prices after we pummel the price down to single digits.” Everybody on the Filch & Finagle floor had a good laugh over that one.
Covet punched a second button on the thingy, the big red button that accessed trading desks at all the Families. He was shouting now. “We’re shorting Panda Cub Industries today, guys. SELL, SELL, SELL, SELL, SELL!!!!!!” Mobsters all over The Street sold 268 million shares more, play shares that none of them owned either.
On the computer screen, the quote for Panda Cub Industries dove from 73 to 1.43567.
"But it’s your little girl’s stock, Covet. Your own daughter.”
“Forget her. I don’t even live there anymore.”
Soon the wire services reported that Panda Cub’s lenders were throwing the company into bankruptcy, shutting down the enclosures, and most of the panda cubs had already taken to the streets, where later bulletins said they all caught the sniffles crying themselves to sleep alone because their mothers couldn’t find them right away.
Their mothers couldn’t find them right away on account of Covet Allugot’s dastardly sneak attack.
Covet made $4,794,810,100.39 on the short, his little 6 year-old daughter lost her whole $7,156.43, other Crime Families raked in $19,179,240,440.87, and the baby pandas ended up giving their moms the sniffles too, making it impossible for the pandas to smell their way back to the bamboo forest any time soon, if ever.
Allugots reached for the Church of Mary, Holy Mother of God, folder. He hadn’t trashed his parish’s Reverent Works Fund in a while. Might as well see if they still had any dough left.
It was time for us to go. We’d seen who the dumb guys are, and why the smart guys couldn’t keep up with them. There’s no hope for smart guys on Wall Street. None. No hope at all, buttered cheese Danish or not. And there never will be.
Clearly, only bloodsucking thieves fit in. Maniacal psychopaths like Covet Allugots.
Arch villain like that should get his butt shorted in the electric chair, if you ask us. Strapped down and shorted with amperes and volts instead of gamed, phony-baloney stock in some dummy accounting transaction.
Panda cubs. His own little girl’s panda cubs stock. What a piece of work.
