With all of the big names who have left the industry over the past few years, it is good to see a legend rise out of retirement and jog back on the playing field. All of you guys know Julian Robertson by name, but many weren't far past diapers when he was one of the rulers of Wall Street. To many of you, he was just a big name from yesteryear.

All of that will change this week as this legend of the game becomes your contemporary. The near 80 year old Robertson, returns to take the helm of Forstmann Little & Co., the private-equity company co-founded by Ted Forstmann, who died November 20th.

Over the past few weeks, I have been dealing with a very annoying neighbor. She can't shut up, moans, bitches and whines about every damn thing, but she's a good lay so I tolerate. It got me thinking about the workplace and how terrible it is to deal with annoying co-workers. You know what they say "co-workers, can't fuck'em, can't kill'em."

So many of you guys are putting in 80+ hour work weeks, dodging hipster turds on your way to work and getting the doormat treatment from your MDs, already. Can there be anything worse on top of that than a pain-in-the-ass colleague?

So after talking about some nasty shit for Thanksgiving, today I would like to discuss how we show our gratitude. There is nothing easier than saying "thanks" and pretending to care. Actually showing that you are humbled by what you have and giving back is truly admirable. Earlier this week, a once in a lifetime good guy did just that.

According to local news reports, a man in Sydney, Australia left an Italian bistro called Café Marco and left behind a suitcase with roughly $1.28 million in $50 dollar bills. Now, let's look past our own grizzled, sarcastic views and focus on the positive. So what if I haven't seen a $50 bill since 1/8ths were peddled hand-to-hand in plain views of Times Square. So what if carrying this amount of cash in a suitcase reeks of ransom, extortion, bribery or whatever vice, bunco squad related activity you can think of.

Happy Thanksgiving boys and girls. As we all know and should remember, there's a lot more to be grateful for, than there is to be whining about. Still, some of us moan and bitch 'till the morning light. That's just how it is. You never know what you've got 'till it's gone.

With that thought in mind, I am going to share a Thanksgiving day story from my past, with you. Please keep in mind, some parts will get nasty and severely inappropriate by societal standards. If you have butthurt tendencies or the skin thickness of a hymen, please do not read any further. For the rest of you, please enjoy and don't try this at home...

Wouldn't it be great if we could go back to being kids? Or at least, if we could bring the wild imaginations we all had. You remember how it was. Picking up a water gun made you a cop, a blanket around your neck made you a superhero and some chocolate smeared all over your grill qualified you for the toilet inspector, but all of that changed. You grew up.

Luckily, some people are still dreaming big. A great example is our buddy, John Mattera, the Fort Lauderdale man who ran a fake hedge fund. John is proof that Democracy still exists in America and that you don't need to be a Wall Street insider to Madoff the shit out of people.

Ok, so you guys have read me ranting on the subject of physical labor and commodity related endeavors for a while now. For those who do not know, I prefer the outdoors and manual labor to the white collar world. For the better part of the last American century, this sort of career choice would have placed me in the proverbial panting and pussified 99% of today.

Things have changed greatly over the past few years, however, and it does seem that working hard in the field is once again becoming the average guy's best chance at striking it rich.

Few stories better encapsulate the phenomenon than that of James Dinnison, a 25 year old high school dropout banking $200,000 a year running drills in underground mines.

So I did a good bit of traveling this past year, specifically over the summer months. One hot ass day I was sitting in the gazebo of a Mediterranean beach house trying to enjoy the waves, the wine and the women...but something was impeding my relaxation.

It was the television and the ass clown on it. It was one of those slow motion car crash scenarios where you know you'll regret looking later, but just cannot help to stare right then and there. I went online and tried to find the program but I couldn't so take my word for it...or don't.

It was an hour long biography of world famous Chef Mario Batali and certainly an interesting prelude to his recent comments about bankers. In the bio, Batali talks about spending some formative years in Spain, hanging out with the Spaniard youth's crème de la crème.

It's pretty safe to say that not a damn thing surprises me, anymore. Open outcry communism markets trading heavy volume on the streets of America. Gender swapping toddlers investing in collateralized divorce obligations before they're old enough to buy Sunkist. Multimillionaires comparing themselves to indentured cave servants at the onset of the Bronze Age. We officially have it all in America, today.

So I guess the fact that a gang of nuns has taken to managerial consulting and snagged Goldman Sachs as a major corporate mantle piece, is just business-as-usual.