<p><strong>Freaking Love</strong></p><p>The pregnancy scare brought us there<br />To that coffee shop table<br />To talk.</p><p>You told me you would have the kid<br />And asked me for support<br />And I balked.</p><p>But I had no choice on the matter—<br />It wasn't my body or my philosophy—<br />So I agreed to be there<br />Both in the child's life<br />And financially.</p>
<p>Welcome back to The Investor's Coroner, an attempt to make both sense and fun of the current global markets and inform you of the happenings in the international marketplace while using hidden messages to help you find the Bush family offshore bank accounts in the Caymans. </p>
<p>From: Scott Handicapper <br />Sent: Thursday, March 12, 2009 1:19 PM<br />To: Nathan DeGraaf<br />Subject: </p><p><strong>Do you need me to go to the ballpark Sat? Did you get my text about having a boy?</strong></p><hr /><br><p>From: Nathan DeGraaf <br />Sent: Thursday, March 12, 2009 1:21 PM<br />To: Scott Handicapper<br />Subject: RE: </p>
As part of my job, I get daily financial market updates from industry professionals and corporations. These updates mainly focus on forward-moving strategies, which is to say, they attempt to predict the future of different global markets. Anyway, every Monday, I receive the CitiGroup equity strategy newsletter.
<p>"Naked, a few seconds after finishing me off, she shows me these pictures of her in one of those magazines that advertises for gentlemen's clubs, swingers clubs and ah... jack shacks-"</p><p>"Jack shacks?"</p><p>"You don't want to know."</p><p>"Were they good pictures?"</p><p>"Would you let me tell the fucking story, already?"</p>
<p>Welcome back to The Investor's Coroner, an attempt to make both sense and fun of the current global markets and inform you of the happenings in the international marketplace while simultaneously cracking half-hearted jokes about the future of America (hint: It's in China). </p>
Okay, so I recently switched gyms. I'll spare you the boring details about why and just let you know that I am slowly being accepted in my new workout hole. Anyway, when I finish weight training, I typically walk on the treadmill for about sixty pages worth of paperback escapism. Every chapter, I move the speed up a tenth of a number, i.e.
<p>I'm too hung over to head out to the bar today and it looks like my neighbors are still giving away wireless internet (they're sweethearts, I tell you) so I will be live blogging or running a diary or getting all geeky with the football action today.</p>
<p>After a few years of listening to this thing over and over again, I have come to some conclusions about the Christmas song <em>Holly Jolly Christmas</em>. And I know you'll be surprised to hear this, but I believe that <em>Holly Jolly Christmas</em> is a ploy by degenerates to get people drunk and taken advantage of. I mean, just look at the lyrics here:</p>
<p>After a few years of listening to this thing over and over again, I have come to some conclusions about the Christmas song <em>The Little Drummer Boy</em>. And I know you'll be surprised to hear this, but I believe that <em>The Little Drummer Boy</em> is a bullshit story. Let's look at the lyrics shall we?</p>
<p>After a few years of listening to this thing over and over again, I have come to some conclusions about Christmas song <em>Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer</em>. And I know you'll be surprised to hear this, but I believe that <em>Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer</em> is a bullshit story. Let's look at the lyrics shall we?</p>
<p>I'm getting ready to walk over to a buddy's house for his annual Thanksgiving feast. I haven't had Thanksgiving at his place in three years.