Monday, 31 October 2011

Pedro Zevallos will surely kill all the bullshit

Yes, the goddamn bullshit. He's got to, hasn't he? (And we'll help him.) The dull financial scene, oh dear, the absolute misery of it, ugh, the awful greyness, Christ. So, Pedro, The Magnificent Zevallos, with his ... with his lovely, colourful Matador Capital Management - yes, I know it, just know it, and I feel it, too [ooo, tingles, ooo] - and his colourful long-short fund, Matador Latam. It's wonderful! Or, it, it, it will be, so ooo ooo wonderful. I have faith. (Please, give Pedro a chance! It's early days yet.) And I don't know about Pedro. No, just don't know how he feels, I mean; but I am very excited. Oh, not about the fund. No! (Well, I am.) There'll always be funds in the world, sadly. [Why sadly? No reason I can think of. Unless I'm trying to reach out to a different sort of audience. Heaven forbid!] Some old - they never go away, they stick around, don't they? - and some new. It seems that new ones are being launched all the time. Why do they do it, the hedgies? Will they ever stop, ever? We can't get away from them, the funds, or the hedgies. I suppose you've got to be excited. I imagine, that's why they keep going - no doubt! I'm very excited, myself, as you know - I've already said so, haven't I? It's his name, you see, Pedro Zevallos, and his firm, Matador. I can't help it, and I can't stop, I ...

It conjures up ... I see Pedro in his suit of lights! I have a vision of the man. My mind sees ... his red cape! This is what we need. More of this! There is something terribly wrong with the City of London, isn't there? Be honest, dear reader(s). Why do we have men like Terry Smith wandering around in grey suits? If only Terry had this sort of style! (What is Terry's problem, man?! Oh, grey suits for a grey City of London! And Wall Street is no better. Winter is coming. I want to go to Acapulco! Are you coming with me?) Death in the afternoon? Forget about it! We're going to have death, serious death, morning, noon, and night, with Pedro. Are you coming with us? If he doesn't kill all the bullshit, the goddamn bullshit, who will? No one I know. Not in Latin America, or Dallas, anyway. (Do they go in for a lot of bullfighting in Dallas? Rodeo, obviously. I'll do some research - when I can be bothered.) I don't want to go to Dallas. I want to go to Acapulco! This is important. I ain't interested in no rodeo. Actually, I shouldn't be interested in bullfighting. I'm a vegetarian, after all. But we won't be killing bulls. (Sometimes I get so ...) We'll be killing bullshit. That's why we're going to Acapulco with Pedro Zevallos. Pedro will take the lead. We want the sun! Are we clear on this now? (I'm exhausted. And we haven't even started killing the bullshit yet. I'm hoping Pedro will have enough energy to do the deed by himself.) Oh, Pedro! Can you see him? Here he is, in his matador's suit. Pedro, man, take it away! Take us away. The skies are grey. Pedro, my friend, take us!