Supper Mario Bankali

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.

The crucial part came when the carrot topped pork chop gleefully talked about his dreams of becoming an investment banker. I can't tell you exactly what motivation he claimed, but I do recall him being as excited as a prospective monkey dreaming about his days of self flagellation and indentured servitude at the feet of some BSD.

He wore the sort of shit eating grin you can only see on a fat man's face when cake is anticipated. His doughy face stretched wide and with a frosted glaze in his eye he talked about his dreams of jets, powerboats and opulence. Then he snapped out of it and remembered that he had nowhere near the academic chops to come near the field. Mind you, this was the mid-to-late 70's when Wall Street's barriers to entry were far lower and a magna-sum-cum-lately from H/Y/P was nowhere near necessary.

I am telling you this quick little tale because Batali's pathetic onslaught on Wall Street reminded me of the true motivation behind much of the anti-industry rhetoric of the past years.

There's no doubt that Wall Street both attracts and creates some grade-A jack offs. There have been a myriad of insightful points on why bankers should be corralled. Hell, I have even made or two myself.

This, however, should not move the focus away from what much of this anti-Wall Street bullshit is really all about.

As a good friend of mine likes to say: "life is really just the high school cafeteria, we may graduate, but we never grow out of it."

True enough, the world has reached and surpassed its supply levels of the kid that couldn't get laid, the chick that didn't get asked out and the outcast who always blamed society for not fitting in.

To me, Batali is just a fat kid. Lame, sad and lacking the confidence necessary to thrive in life.

Now, you may say that being a master cheese maker like Paulie Walnuts and owning successful restaurants is equal to thriving in life...I respectfully disagree.

In Batali's comments I see the same fickle blindness supposedly reserved for the common man.

Perhaps more so than any industry, the luxury restaurant space in New York City has literally been fed by Wall Street for decades. People love to analyze the freshness of the food and the subtlety of its blends, but none of that shit matters if a monkey ain't ready to shell a few C-notes for it.

I thought about blasting off on this lardy concoction but he's really just a reminder of the high school cafeteria. Though it may surprise some here, I was never the bully. I can't kick guys like Mario Batali because they are so worthless, they will always be at the bottom of the barrel.

The measure of a man goes a lot further than his bank account, I think that's one point a lot of you here should accept (if you haven't already) sooner, rather than later.

I would simply and kindly suggest making a note of bypassing Batali's establishments and reminding your friends in the industry to do the same.

Since so many are so sure that Wall Street is their problem, perhaps it is time that Wall Street stop supporting their endeavors.

This way pregnant man turnips with bitch tits can really have something to lactate about.