Thursday, 24 March 2011

Vincent McCrudden is misunderstood

Someone has to defend this guy. It may as well be me.

Vincent McCrudden is a hedge fund manager in jail. He's not accused of running a Ponzi scheme, which makes a refreshing change. No, he is accused of making death threats against fifty or so US government officials: regulators and the like. Is this a crime now?

Mr McCrudden is proud of the fact that he's never had a customer complaint. Will the judge at his trial take this into account? Probably not. It's a crazy world we're living in. Vincent has a reputation for being abusive. (Well, he's a punk from the street.) He likes to tell middle-class types that they are the motherfuckers du jour. Wounding, yes. (I'm not saying I approve.) But surely not a crime. This is a man who needs love.

Vinny is a man after my own heart. I can relate to him. He's fiery and emotional, and he doesn't take any shit. He has a mad lust for money. He's done hundreds of billions of dollars of deals with a burning inside and an emptiness that aches for satisfaction. He's sensitive. Vinny can feel it in his bones, the roaring cosmos. It shakes his bones. He's a wild animal. How can they keep a man like this locked up in a cage? Spirits call him. He hears their voices. Vinny must obey. They tell him what he has to do to be a man, and a sha sha shaman. There are drums in his head, which push out his eyes while snakes slip from his nostrils. That's on a good day. Vinny at his best. Vinny on a roll. Vinny up with the gods. Savage. Demonic. Man.