It's not chronologically-relevant at this time, but somebody remind me to post the "Palumbo" story. It's surreal.
Never had WB. My dad bought the Colliers for us as kids plus "The Compact Edition of the Oxford Dictionary" 2 volume set, each about 3" thick. Came with a magnifying glass the print was so small.
I left a NY bank desk gig in FX Majors under suspicious circumstances to take the FSO exam (FSOT) as most/all of my family was involved in govt. All those issued some level of sec-clearance are given a GETS card (for life?) regardless of their current clearance-status.
What made you post this "looking for appreciation journal"? Can you link the argument that made you start it? Just for context.
OK, so we'll get to all of the debauched/quasi-legal/illegal sht in due time... but this is a chronology of trading themes. So I am a senior at Chicago doing a dual-degree thing which was basically pre-Med and PHYS. Hardest class was essentially cosmo and a little linear-alg. It was basically a minor. So I rent a house on Ouilmette Ln (intersects with Willmette Av) with John F and Linc W. One was my roommate at Chi and the other was working for one of the Big Three. We rented a five bedroom house from Buddy Guy's manager who owned/rented a lot of homes on the North Shore. Imagine three kids renting a 4K SF suburban home in a tony lake suburb surrounded with lawyers and ibankers. The house was amazing; marble, wool carpet. I was trading my final year of undergrad on my dad's JBO as I was under 21 and it was going well. We were getting a rep locally and had something like $700K in OPM, all family and friend's parents. I had a couple Quotreks and we were riding the post-crash vol. We had a roulette wheel and 21 table in the house. I was the only one of the roomies that could spot a counter (counted with Revere APC) so I was the automatic on the 21 table and John would spin roulette. So one weekend we had a real head banger. We cleared about $8K in table winnings and the cops came to clear it out which cost us $1500. Anyway, i went to bed after 10-12 cups of Vodka and Hawaiian Punch. John wakes me up at 8am to clear the house of drunk/nakeds and I realize that the room is spinning. Now, realize, that this house is pristine... cream wool carpet that was probably $80/yard in 1990. I tell John that I don't feel so well and I need to get to the head before I blow... and he knows the risk is palpable as I had puked inside his Saab 9000 that Summer. He lunges for the wastebasket but it's too late. About a gallon of Hawaiian Punch and undigested pizza is projectile vomited on John, his GF, and about 144SF of $80/yard wool carpet... (to be continued)
... the room looked like we'd done some Kosher butchering. The Punch-puke was vile. Unnatural blood red and saturating/destroying the wool carpet. We figured we had about a month before the attorney/Buddy's manager made it upstairs to see the damage. $3000 security deposit. We try everything to get the puke stain out of the wool but all we accomplish is making the entire room a bleached shade of pink. Wall Street had come out in '87 and ofc we worshipped Stone and the film. I am cursed with eidetic memory so I would be prodded to perform scenes from the film. Linc was a silver spoon douche who would tell you and anyone within ear-shot about the family's wealth. Couldn't stand the dude. So the Sunday night after the party we're watching the movie and it's getting close to Midnight when he askes me about the "suck his fcking skull" scene about the BlueStar deal leak. He's certain that I am wrong about the quote, so I flip the switch and recite the scene, verbatim. John had one of the microcassette recorders and we recorded it. The bet? $10K. Now, I didn't have the $10K as the money tied up in the JBO was not going anywhere and my dad would have disowned me for wagering on something so incredibly stupid. So I had to win the bet. My boy John throws the VHS on and ffwds to the scene and we listen and play back the recording on micro. I got it to the letter and now Linc owes me ten large. I know that the dude is an entitled prick and has that in his box at Northern Trust but no way he's going to honor it, so I agree to his double or nothing. He bets me that I cannot recite Pi to 100 digits. We negotiate back and forth and agree to 60, IIRC. I am stone cold sober now and know that regardless of the outcome he's not going to pay, so it's riskless. Someone sources Pi and I start after a cup of coffee. I hit 60 w/o fail and go to 100. He owes me $20K. I call it a night and Linc is nowhere to be found at breakfast. John says he went to work early and took a suitcase with him. I assumed that he was going to leave the rental and we chatted about finding another third. Knock on the door and I answer and it's Linc! He tells me he knocked w/o entering as he's no longer our roommate and he's already called the owner to report the carpet damage. He hands me one of those fabric bank pouches with two stacks inside. Parlay time!