Tuesday, 9 November 2010

Point State Capital: second-largest hedge fund launch of all times!

Next year, Point State Capital, it's going to be massive. The hedge fund will launch with $5 billion! But it will be a very private affair. Stanley Druckenmiller is putting $1 billion in, and a few of his mates from the old days are coming up with the rest. The fund will not be open to new investors. Ah, that's a shame, isn't it? How selfish can you get?

'But he will be tested! A giant octopus could take him for a spin in the astral depths! Dolphins could chase him! He might land on the rocks of another reality! In fact, I'm sure he will. His head will hit hard. New emotions will bubble up within him. Some good, some bad. It will be a new life. But not even death would be a release for him. Mr Druckenmiller needs to understand that not even through death can we escape life. It goes on and on and on!' Do you remember this? Well, it seems that Mr Druckenmiller has hit his head on the rocks of another reality. He has seen new wonders, and had new insights. He should be willing to open himself up and share his 'Point State Capital' state of mind/reality with the rest of us. Of course, he will argue that he'll have no ownership stake in the firm. 'Oh, I'm merely an investor, leave me alone.' Not good enough. That won't wash if he tries to use it as a defence.

Mr Druckenmiller, Stanley, open yourself up, man! Where do you go to, my lovely, when you're alone in your bed? Tell me the thoughts that surround you. I want to look inside your head. I mean, that's reasonable, ain't it? We're not asking too much of you, are we? Let us into Point State Capital. We want to be a part of it, all the mystical children, all the shamans and the ghosts. Even Big Herb and Ganesh the elephant god might want to wet their beaks.

O Master, do they have beaks, then?

O my child, it's an expression. It means they might want a piece of the action. Stan couldn't stop us anyway, not if we stormed his consciousness one night.

Oh, could we storm his consciousness, go in mob-handed, like?

Of course we could. You, me, Bobby D, even that freak in the square brackets (if he returns). Big Herb, Ganesh, the ghosts of the dead financiers. Stan wouldn't know what hit him. Complete phantasmagoria! That's what he would be up against. But I'm asking him nicely.

Yeah, it's far better if he submits to your will. We don't want any unpleasantness, do we? We don't want anything getting in the papers. "Stanley Druckenmiller's inner space smashed to fuck by mystic bandits". That wouldn't look good on the front page of the Daily Star.

You're telling me it wouldn't look good! That's where I get all my financial news. I don't want them writing about us as if we were a pack of deranged thugs.

Mystic thugs! Spiritual bootboys! Astral wanderers with knuckledusters and -

Yes, all right. What's the matter with you?

I'm all worked up now.

Well, save it for tonight.

Are we going in?

I don't know. All depends on whether Mr Druckenmiller phones me. I'll give him a few hours.