Mr Stanley Fink wants to know where the love is. He's worried that the European Commission is going to wreck the British hedge fund industry with its new regulations. He says managers in London don't feel very loved at the moment.
So I spoke with Stan. No, not on the phone. On the astral plane (oh yeah):
'Mike, what have we got to do to make these commie bastards love us? (Stan, man, they ain't ever gonna love us. You're looking for love in all the wrong places, my friend.) Well, where should I look? (You're standing in it, ain't cha?) You mean the astral plane? (Yeah, Stan. What you think I'm talking about over here? Give me a break.) But I rarely come up here, Mikey. Don't know too much about it. I mean, who's that freak with the trunk over there? (Hey, cool it, Stanley. That's Ganesh the elephant god, and he's very sensitive about his trunk.) I didn't mean any disrespect. I'm new to all this, Mike. Jesus, I don't know what goes on up here. (Stan, look around you. We've got all the love you could ever want. There are dead financiers here who will love you forever and forever - if you treat them right. Stick with me, Stan. I'll show you the moves to make.) Can I bring my friends on to the astral plane? (Sure, Stan, but no squares, eh?) What do you mean by squares, Mike? (I mean the sort of people who read my blog and get all upset about it. The ones who start pissing and moaning - oh, it doesn't make any sense, oh, he uses bad language, oh, he's not taking banking seriously.) Oh, fuck those guys, Mike. (Fuckin' A!) You gonna worry yourself with shit like that? Forget about it.'
Stan is the man! And, for the record, I'm as serious as a heart attack!