Yuppie Douchebag Chronicles (Tasers ‘R’ US)

New York, NY - Alright, gather round you impoverished imbeciles, and I’ll fill you in on the latest doings of your Hero, the one and only Charles Festerbottom. I’d apologize for being out of touch for so long, but I don’t owe you fucks a God damn thing so I won’t. Besides, I’ve been busy reclaiming the money my dear old Gran left to her gold digging shit-bag of a Nurse. For Chrissakes, just because the bitch spent the last twenty years of her life caring for Gran doesn’t mean she’s entitled to a chunk of her money. I mean shit- just because she’s got a few medical bills and her kid needs glasses we have to cut her in on the deal? She said herself she’d go weeks at a time without seeing the little brat ‘cause of work'; she barely knows him. And that kid isn’t going to need glasses washing dishes at that job I got him at the Club, now is he? Fuckin’-A, some people…

Anyway, any of you morons who tune in to CNBC between reruns of Leave it to Beaver know that there’s been some pretty interesting action lately in a little stock called Taser International (they make stun guns and shit like that- Captain Freakin’ Kirk indeed)- TASR is the ticker. This fucking thing has gone from 40 to 130 and back in three months, but the really interesting moves have been in the last few days; 35 point swings in a matter of hours, just like the glory days of the late nineties. You also may recall that we have a very strict policy on our research department about sampling products of companies we invest in (eg. Vivid Video, EZ Wider), so naturally we got a hold of one of these things.

Chip Rottencrotch, our Head Analyst (he picks stocks; nothing to do with anal sex you homos) and I fucked around w/ the thing for a while around the office. We shot random shit while drinking Twisted Spoke Bourbon- printers, fax machines, etc., but it got a little boring, so I told him I’d bring it out to the country and try it out on our gardener this weekend (what the hell, I pay him enough) and slipped the thing in the pocket of my cashmere topcoat on my way out. I make my way over to the bar at the Hudson Hotel, where I check my coat and meet up with my dealer and the Hooker du Jour (senior at NYU, acting major; enough said).

We knock a few back, doing bumps in the corner when the wait staff wasn’t looking, nothing too special, when I get up to take a piss. I’m walking past the coat check on my way to the men’s room when I hear a woman scream. Curious, I head over to the coat check and peek in. There, lying on a pile of coats at the back of the room, is this Mexican dude, who is twitching and clutching my Taser! Apparently he was rifling through my pockets, found it, and thought it was some new funky cell phone or something! Dumb fuck must have turned it on himself not knowing what it was! I’m laughing my ass off, standing over him, screaming at him that it serves him right, the dumb immigrant. The chick takes off running for help as the guy's starting to come out of it.

Then it hits me- this guy’s probably got a bunch of stuff on him from other coats! I go through his pockets, and yessiree- about two hundy in cash, a nice little fold of white powder, a brand new camera phone, and a bag o’ weed, which I needed anyway! I took everything but the camera phone; took a picture of the dumb douche lying there with the taser and left it for him to see. So you see kids, don’t fuck with YD, or you’ll get yours. Now- back to your battle stations! It’s fucking earnings season- and you can bet your sorry ass I’ve got the numbers already and need to put out a few shorts! Get stock loan on the horn, pronto, or I’ll hit you with this cattle prod next!

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