Thursday, 31 March 2011

David Sokol has resigned from Berkshire Hathaway, but life goes on for everyone

Maybe Todd Combs will take over from Warren Buffett. Who knows, or cares? It's not important. Life goes on for everyone. David Sokol bought shares in Lubrizol. Then he had a bright idea. 'Hey, Warren, why don't you buy Lubrizol? It's a brilliant company, man.' And the rest is/was history. Or it will be history. Not enough time has passed yet. But it will pass. Time is always passing. It is most distressing. It seems only yesterday that I was a twelve-year-old lad winning a Rubik's Cube competition (through sheer hard work, I'll have you know, yes, seven twelve-hour practice sessions) and getting my hands on the prize, a hand-held space invaders machine, courtesy of John Menzies in Uxbridge. Ah, those were the days! I successfully defended my title a year later. Thirty-seven seconds was my best. And I'm not digressing. I'm talking about hard work. I like David Sokol. This is from a book he wrote: 'Early in my career, I recognized that I was not always the smartest individual in the groups that I worked in. I would come in earlier, stay later and do whatever I could to create a better result in whatever I was assigned to do.' Quite impressive, eh? That's how you get ahead. It's how you win Rubik's Cube competitions. And it's how you create great and revolutionary works of literature. Of course, I'm also incredibly smart.

But enough about Michael Fowke. Let's concentrate on Jack Pickles. Life doesn't go on for Jack Pickles because the evil bastard is dead. Someone killed him. Someone very close and dear to my heart. And the Feds are over the moon. 'Well done, Mikey, you got him. Now the world of finance can move forward. Out of the darkness and into the light!' Yeah, right. I don't think they understand. Jack Pickles ... was ... in ... me. Hard to admit. I just killed a part of myself, that's all. It doesn't mean I won't go on to commit atrocities under my own name. However, I will try to control myself, eventually, maybe, if I decide to become all respectable and shit. (Don't hold your breath.) And Big Herb? He's dead too. I cut his throat in the astral night. And the ghosts of the dead financiers? Disappeared. You'll see their photos in the desert, if you can still reach the desert, my children, but you will not see the ghosts. They really have died this time. It's death for real. Ganesh the elephant god? Oh, he's gone into exile. Credit me with some decency. I wouldn't whack a Hindu god, would I?

And so now life goes on, and I am alone. This is a test of my character. Will I be strong enough to cope? Time, terrible time, will tell.