Story time. So last night I'm spinning my wheels in the wee hours, taking key bumps, waiting for pre-market. You know, usual weekday routine. I start clicking around WSJ and I see Shillary is leading in 4 key battleground states and that, combined with the coke, gets me mad. I almost reach for the 9 iron so I can give my desktop monitor the Office Space treatment. I stop when I see an alert on my phone from Robinhood (which, don't you dare tell my boss about that) telling me I've been flagged as a pattern day trader and I can either inject a shit ton of money into my account or basically fuck off. That's it. I decide to rage a little.
I mix some creatine into my Woodford Reserve and slam that shit. Break out the Shake Weight. Hell yes. For all you fuckers who hate on the Shake Weight, hate all you want, that thing gets results. I can channel my rage into pure unadulterated energy that will keep me going all week until I can crash into Bellevue on abike right after Friday close while having a mild "brain event." (They have a private room set aside for me in my father's name).
Fast forward to today and I feel like a king. So anyone out there who is working 90 hours a week and thinks they can't handle it, get out now, because this life is for BOSSES. Get on my train or get run over. Any time I have the jitters (because "depression" and "anxiety" are for liberals) I just remember how rich I'm going to be in 10 years and how much NYU ass I'm already getting Ubered to my building on a weekly basis.
Tonight I'm taking this girl I met on Tinder out. She's here on business from Kansas City or some shit, so literally all I have to do is take her to the Times Square Olive Garden and then home to pound town.
Actually, what's the worst? Olive Garden, Applebees, or TGI Fridays?
I'll let you know how it goes down.
Mod Note (Andy): Best of 2016, this post ranks #42 for the past year