be technically bankrupt.”
“True,” Jocko agreed, “plus the politicians in Washington are mostly anti-Wall Street; enacting strict new regulations designed to kill the goose that lays the golden egg. The Dodd – Frank Reform Act is 2,200 pages long and creates an alphabet soup of new agencies to oversee our business.”
“The Ten Commandments is only 179 words long.”
“Wall Street will never be the financial powerhouse it once was.”
“What hurts Wall Street hurts Main Street,” Tuck said, “don’t those Tea Party activists realize that?”
“No, they don’t; ignorance is a virtue in some parts of this country.”
“I can’t argue with you.”
“Tough times require heroic leaders but our tone-deaf politicians are more interested in holding onto their jobs than doing their jobs. Instead of making the hard decisions and facing our problems head-on, they kick the can down the road to saddle the next generation with even bigger problems.”
“And they’re all crooks and betraying the public trust,” Janet said, “a day doesn’t go by without a politico being arrested for bribery or for sexting pictures of his pickle to college coeds.”
“That’s true.”
“We don’t live in a Democracy anymore, the USA has deteriorated into a KLEPTOCRACY where our elected officials are all on-the-make and robbing the country blind.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Jocko said.
Tuck chewed on an ice cube, trying not to gawp ravenously at the deep cleavage of a blonde standing nearby. His oral fixation created an overpowering tremor in his hands to reach out and stuff both her magnificent breasts into his mouth at the same time. “I’m thinking if Wall Street publicly apologized to the American people for screwing things up, then Washington might go easier on us.”
“You mean like what the Japanese did when Toyota fucked up?”
“Exactly. Get the CEOs of the banks and investment firms to go in front of Congress and the TV cameras, make them bow solicitously and say they’re truly sorry for the awful mess they made of the American economy.”
“It would help if a few of the bigwigs took out sharp knives and disemboweled themselves in public, Tuck, committing seppuku as Jap officials often did in World War II.”
“Boy, Jocko, that’d be a sight to behold in living 3-D color.”
“Yeah. The scalpers would have a field day.”
Janet glowered. “My son is graduating from Vanderbilt University next June and he asked me if he should come to Wall Street for a career. “
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him to forget it and go suck on the Government teat just as all the other freeloaders are doing in this country; to go work for the Post Office instead. He’d have more job security sorting mail and can retire in 20 years at 85% of his full pay.”
Tuck took another sip of his whisky. “My oldest daughter graduated from NYU last year with almost $80,000 in student loan debt; she still hasn’t been able to find a job and is living at home, driving her mother crazy, while waiting tables at a local diner in Short Hills for nickels and dimes. To make her loan payments, she’s been selling off her personal stuff on Craigslist.”
Jocko belched again. “I say the best thing to do is to live high on the hog and let the good times roll; borrow all you can, spend as if there’s no tomorrow; eat out at the best restaurants seven nights a week and dance your ass off at the trendy clubs; take luxurious trips to Asia and Europe, ski in Aspen, visit the spa in Baden-Baden, and lease a yacht to sail the Mediterranean in style.”
“But what happens when the bills come due?” Tuck asked.
“DEFAULT! You renounce your debts like Russia and Argentina did a few years ago; you walk away like all those homeowners are doing today in California, Michigan, Florida and Arizona; you file bankruptcy like GM and Chrysler did, there’s no social stigma anymore.”
“Your credit rating will be ruined?”
“Screw my credit rating! I’m not going to be buying any more houses or cars; I can’t even afford the ones I already own. Who needs a fucking credit rating?”
“Hmm.”
A nerdy, young guy in a tie-dyed T-shirt with long greasy hair and a scraggly goatee strutted by the group and nodded at the potbellied man. “Howdy Doody, Tuckeroo.”
Tuck scowled at him as he passed.
“Who’s the hippie?” Jocko inquired.
“Fred or Ted, some such name; he’s a new hire at my firm, a Quant.”
“Another Rocket Scientist.”
“Yeah, he’s got a Ph.D. from MIT in Quantum Theory or String Theory, way-way-out shit. It’s all above my simple mind.”
“Me, I had trouble with fractions in school.”
“Apparently we’re paying him a gazillion dollars to create mathematical models that will predict the ups and downs in the stock market.”
“The black-box guys got their heads handed to them in 2008,” Jocko said, “their supercomputers and models failed miserably.”
“True, however, this kid is supposed to be another genius like Einstein.”
“Einstein lost money in the stock market when he was alive, Tuck, I read it in his biography.”
“Tell my Senior Managing Director to read that fucking book.”
Jocko grimaced. “You can’t apply scientific reasoning to fluctuations in the stock market because human behavior is impulsive and illogical.”
“You’re right.”
“The fallacy is that scientists think risk is a measurable uncertainty.”
“Well, Jocko, isn’t it?”
“It is when you’re talking about known unknowns, Tuck, the risks we are all aware of.”
“Hmm.”
“The difficulty arises with the unknown unknowns, the risks that we don’t even know exist.”
“I think I’d need another drink, Jocko, to understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
“Does this kid know a lot about the securities business?”
Tuck made a face. “Nada; my cat knows more about it than him.”
“Then a clairvoyant with a deck of tarot cards would be of more use to your firm.”
“You betcha, Jocko, and much cheaper too.”
“It’s
