Yeah, it might, but it might not. I don't know what's going on. I've got more important things on my mind, to tell you the truth. I could only just about drag myself out of bed this morning to write this friggin' post. Yeah, I had a rough night on the astral plane last night, trying to get some sense out of that Jesus H. Christ character. Now, don't get me wrong, I respect the guy. There have been times in the past when I have needed his help. Like when the devils of Scrutton Street tried to fuck me over. But he is a hard man to deal with. Anyway, last night, I caught up with him in the astral desert. Been trying to find him for weeks now. I want to see him pulling his weight a bit more when it comes to the credit crunch. You know, help out a few bankers. But he wasn't very enthusiastic. Banking ain't my game, baby. That's what the holy one said. And I was like: Listen, man, a banker down on his luck is going to need you just as much as some fucking leper or blind man. Why don't you wake up and smell the coffee? Get with the program! And he just looked down his nose at me. I mean, he's one of these holier-than-thou types. I know he thinks I took a wrong turn in life, getting into financial shamanism and all, but I'm proud of my life and what I've achieved. I said to him: You helped me with those Scrutton Street slags. Why can't you help a few bankers or hedge fund managers? And this is what he actually said back to me: Mikey, man, hedge fund managers? Are you out of your freakin' mind? They've made their beds. Now they've got to lie in them. And those Scrutton Street slags? I would have taken down any mob of devils, man. That's what I do. But I am not bailing out a load of your Mayfair mates. Screw 'em.
Well, will Neptune buy New Star?
I’m going back to bed.
