Hello. My name's Bob O'Brien, and I'm An Asshole.
"Hello, Bob."
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I have received a number of outraged emails over my handling of the Easter Bunny Confessions piece, with sanctimonious avisos and warnings and such. Some people don’t seem to find it appropriate for me to demonstrate any sense of humor, primarily because I believe that it renders their ability to denigrate me impotent. But, I considered the input long and hard, and in the spirit of helping all who come to this site to read my blog, I felt it was only good and right for me to level with the reader, once and for all.
First of all, let’s clear something up. Many of those on the hedge fund side of the fence think I am an asshole. They have full time basher teams working the NFI and OSTK boards round the clock in an effort to demonize me.
So I figured I would help them.
I am an asshole. I admit it. Have been for as long as I can remember. I can recall even as a child, my parents would give me looks that clearly said, “What a little asshole he is.” I would wager that I am one of the most inveterate assholes of all time, fully dedicated to creating new levels of assholeishness every day. My mere presence on the planet raises the absolute density of the asshole factor significantly. Ex-girlfriends, co-workers, restaurant service staff, valet attendants, even those whose interactions are limited in the extreme, will nod in agreement when my name is mentioned in conjunction with the asshole descriptor. Relatives who despise me (all of them) will gladly expound on my objectionable qualities, and confirm that I was born an asshole - been that way all my life. I revel in it, enjoy being one, savor the various nuances of being one as a connoisseur savors the bouquet and aroma of a fine vintage wine – “I detect hints of clove and tobacco, current, plum, and….hmmm….asshole.”
Those that think I am particularly bad tend to be connected with the market – they are brokers, and hedge funds, and regulators – you name it, anyone that makes money from stock trading vocationally, or is involved peripherally in that industry – and especially the press.
Apparently they don’t like being mocked, and particularly dislike my tone and style – it is patently offensive to their self-important sense of gravitas.
My average critic is usually a message board basher, a captured journalist, or a bought-and-paid-for blogger. To whom I have the following thought experiment to suggest – a question everyone asks in their heart of hearts, as they read these dolts’ words: Which exhibits less intelligence – someone who spends their life criticizing the Easter Bunny, or a bag of rocks? I’ll help out with a visual, so that they can understand the question:
Some argue that I am not taking this seriously enough, and that I need to demonstrate appropriate decorum or the message of the market reform movement will be somehow harmed, or diminished, or otherwise impacted to the negative.
That’s OK. They can all bite me. I don’t really care – after all, I’m an asshole.
They claim that I am inaccurate, or that I lack supporting data for my statements, or that I am generally bad in unspecified ways. Same response – bite me.
Some, like a certain has-been writer turned blogger, adopt a smugly superior tone, while misrepresenting my statements. To which I reply, well, bite me.
Others take a cautioning stance, or dismiss my work as gibberish. Bite me works in these instances as well.
Given the threats and danger involved with being an asshole and angering the financial powers-that-be, I have enlisted the assistance of a full time bodyguard – a relative of mine – Jack.
The bashers on the Yahoo board are also suggesting that I am somehow compensated by companies to pump them, or advance their agenda. Let me put an end to that speculation. I am not, nor have I ever been.
But I'd like to be.
Large sacks of unmarked bills would work well, the higher the denomination the better. Bearer bonds, precious metals, anonymous Austrian passbook accounts, untraceable ATM cards, safety deposit box keys, bullion, gem stones, foreign currency, exotic cars, private planes, deeds of trust, luxury yachts, virtually any sort of high value item should do the trick nicely. And don't be shy about amounts - this is not the time to be cheap. The larger the buck, the bigger the bang, so dig deep. Anyone that says you can't throw cash at the problem is a moron - of course you can, just make sure it is really large amounts - and like voting in Florida, do it early and often. No need for any coyness, straightforward wire transfers are just as good as the keys to a bungalow in the Bahamas with a floor safe filled with surprises. Get creative. More is more.
It is not inexpensive to keep a harem of hotties on tap, and the Bangladeshi boy I am supporting as an organ donor for me is a constant struggle to afford. So lest anyone think that I don't have needs, think again - a few million only goes so far, but if you want round the clock pumping for your latest scam, please, don't shortchange your latest larcenous undertaking with substandard help. Buy cheap, buy twice, is my motto. If you are going to make billions, be prepared to spend millions - and the Bunny Bank is taking deposits, wink wink...
Now back to the topic of what an asshole I am.
It's not that I believe that most of my adversaries are cretins or buffoons. I mean, they are, but that isn't my over-riding reason for being an asshole. It's more that I am not genetically programmed to be nice to them - I have the equivalent of a gag reflex when I try, which is, uh, never, actually, but I'm sure that if I did I would have one...
So for all my detractors, I have a suggestion: Get a frigging life. You are working over the message boards 24/7, trying to convince everyone that will listen that I am the anti-Christ. Guess what? I enjoy it. I like the free publicity. I love every article, every shocked revelation, every contrived bit of faux-outrage. Because I am an asshole, and invite you all to bite me. That you are so dumb that you don’t understand that you are being played like a fiddle makes it even more amusing to mock you. I enjoy torturing the dim and the slow. The feebleminded idiocy that is your life’s work makes it easy to mock you, and you just don’t seem to get that you are being herded like sheep. That seems to annoy you no end. Which I don’t particularly care about, as I wipe better than you off the bottom of my paw on a regular basis. Can I possibly be any clearer?
So, in summary: I’m an asshole, and you can all bite me.
Any questions?