Chinese Walls

My Commute

2010-11-24T08:47:00.000-08:00

Not sure if you guys know this but I have best commute in the world. I ride my bike to work from Arlington, VA to Washington DC. It usually takes me 25 minutes to get to work, which is significantly faster than taking public transportation (even when I factor in a ten minute shower at the office). It’s also a very scenic ride because I go through Arlington Cemetery, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Reflection Pool everyday. In addition, biking is a lot cheaper than paying $260 a month to park.

So I ride my bicycle 13 miles on my daily roundtrip to save time, save money, and get some exercise. Read: I am NOT riding my bike to reduce my carbon footprint or to save the environment or some other random hippie shit. This means STOP GIVING ME THE THUMBS UP SIGN, YOU HIPSTERS!

Not only do I have to fight traffic and have cars honking at me, I have to deal with these random-ass people yelling shit like “Thanks for saving the environment!” I once even received “Thanks for taking a stand against big-oil!”

I did not bike to save the environment. In fact, hearing that gets me so angry I want to go home and get in my car and drive around aimlessly while burning some natural resources... HARD! If I could roast baby seals with gulf oil, I’d do it.

I’m totally joking. I love riding my bike. I feel great in the mornings and really relaxed when I get home. Not burning fossil fuels is also a good additional benefit. You guys should try it.

USA > Slovenia

2010-06-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

As the 2010 World Cup began last week, I saw it as a good opportunity to learn about a few other countries. I realized that I don’t know dick about a lot of the countries in the tournament. The U.S. played Slovenia today. I’m not going to lie and say I know where it is… because I have no freaking idea. For some reason, I thought Slovenia was a neighbor of Czechoslovakia (F7ed the spelling on that) until I realized it wasn’t even a country anymore. So in order to know a bit more about these countries (Serbia, Slovakia, Cameroon, and Uruguay, among others), I turned to the all-encompassing fact-book of Wikipedia.

So after all this intensive research and drafting bibliographies of my sources, I’ve realized… who cares?! I live in the best country in the world. I live in the best country the world has EVER seen. I don’t really care about Slovenia. It looks nice in photographs but the Ganges River can look nice in photographs and there’s no way I’m ever going there. In addition, I probably have never touched anything manufactured in Slovakia or Serbia, or been provided a service by a person from Cameroon or Uruguay. I don’t need to know anything about them. If they were important enough, they would’ve come to me already. Efficient markets; basically I don’t know about them because they’re not important enough to know about.

I know a little about China cause that’s where my roots (and my Nikes) are from. I get my cheap queen-sized bed from a Swedish company. My flip flops have cute little Brazilian flags on them. My fruit gets picked by south-of-the-border mates. The best cars in the world come to America too. So as Americans, we get the best of the world and since I have never come across a Slovenian knitted hat or a Slovakian potato, I’m going to assume, on a need-to-know basis, that I don’t need to know about them.

Here’s a quick summary of why America is just simply better than the other countries out there.

Hot Water – We have instant access to hot water for endless showers. We have so much hot water our pets get hot water baths. While Seymour the bulldog gets his private bath, there are Greeks who visit public baths.

Clean Drinking Water – New York City water. Dasani. Pure Life. All great American waters. And the best water in the world comes to us from Fiji, France and the Italian Alps. So while my Chinese friends are boiling water to kill bacteria and then letting it cool, I twist off the cap of my Poland Spring and let it gush down my parched throat. O! A new Eco-Shape bottle? Don’t mind if I do!

College – We have the best universities in the world. No one goes to Cameroon to study electrical engineering. No one studies economics in Algeria. We get a great education and we drink beer in college. I bet the Japanese don’t have such luxuries as Milwaukee’s Best and Keystone during their freshmen orientation. More like “Get your ass in gear and fix the damn recalls.”

Jobs – We have the world’s best jobs. No one is clamoring to go to the Kaesong Special Economic zone to process jewels but there are people in line to get work in America. Loads of immigrants (like my parents) come to this country to get paid in USD. This country has the best opportunities for employment… unless you’re one of the unfortunate 10% without a job right now. In which case, you probably shouldn’t be reading my blog and should be trying to get your ass employed.

The Internet – Basically we invited that shit and can access it from our smart phones anywhere we go. It’s not written as “World Wide Web” in English for nothing. America has put a “www” stamp on every webpage you visit. Try going to the French version: “Monde Au Loin Web” or malw.wikipedia.org. Just try it.

A Bad-ass Military – We can start shit with people simply because our soldiers, pilots, and sailors are more bad-ass than others. We can invade other countries by making shit up and then saying “My bad” later. Can Honduras invade someone and say “Oops!” later on? No, cause it’ll get its grapes crushed by UN forces (ask Saddam how his little Kuwaiti expedition turned out).

Although the U.S. might never win a World Cup, we’re already winners in the game of life. I count my daily showers, Maine water, college degree, bi-weekly paycheck, Internet access, and the Maverick-Iceman duo as my consolation prize to the World Cup. And I cannot wait for real football to start again.

Obviously, I’m just joking and this isn’t meant to offend anyone. I would actually like to visit Slovenia now; it does look beautiful. Anyways, enjoy your World Cup. Go USA!

B-Plus

2010-01-25T14:44:00.000-08:00

“A good solid B-plus.”

Obama self-rated his first year as President with a B-plus. Let me repeat that again…an unimpressive B-plus! Americans spent Seven Hundred Sixty Million dollars in campaign money for a fucking B-plus?! My daddy used to whoop me for a B-plus and that was public school, where the tuition was FREE. We spent no money and got a B-plus. Obama spent a quarter of a BILLION for a 3.33 GPA. Good ROI; real smart ass holes.

And now this cat is bitching about bank bonuses and prop-trading desks. As my man Keyshawn Johnson says: “COMMON MAN!!!”

Here is a quick run down of his campaign expenses:

Private chartered jet to exotic location – $400,000
Massive Election Day party – $40.3 million
Salaries and benefits for staff – $58.8 million
Total travel expenses in a two-year period – $60.8 million
Total spending in a 636-day period – $760.1 million

Sounds like a real fat cat right? This guy spent $20,000 an hour flying to Hawaii to visit relatives and conduct his “business”. Sounds more like pleasure than business. And in a 636-day period, he incurs $60.8 million in travel expenses, resulting in approximately $95,000 per day. Most Americans don’t even make $95,000 per year. To put it in perspective, many of us will never earn more than $40 million in a lifetime, but this guy spent $40 million in one night… for a party.

Common man!

Sure, $20 million bonuses for Wall Street bankers seem a little high but these guys earned it because their companies did well. But I guess in this country, we look down on people who earn their money as opposed to people who buy Chryslers and use millions of dollars for a “solid B-plus”.

If you are going to take away anything from this post, let it be that you should never ever EVER buy a Chrysler. Someone should “Common Man!!” the entire company.

Insurance Ads Suck

2009-12-10T09:44:00.000-08:00

Nothing pisses me off more than stupid car insurance commercials. They are on every channel and most of the time, they are retarded.

1. State Farm

Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there?! Are you fucking serious?! I don’t even talk to my neighbors. And my neighbors in NJ are all ghinds. They are neither good neighbors, nor do I want them “there” or anywhere close to me. I’ll pass

2. Progressive

I cannot stand the Progressive commercial with that ugly fool trying to sell me insurance packaged in a cardboard box. Are you serious? I’ll definitely pass.

3. Esurance

Can it get any more stupid than the Esurance cartoon? Am I going to buy your car insurance because some pink-haired cartoon slut is doing a jump kick? NO!

4. Allstate

Having the first black President being your spokesman earns you some credit but I’d rather see David Palmer dodge bullets than sell insurance.

5. Nationwide

These ads are about as exciting as Renee Zellweger’s face.

The clear winner of the insurance ad battle is clearly...

Fix Your Shit

2009-07-07T11:25:00.001-07:00

I recently received the following spreadsheet from an intern at work. I looked at it and almost beat the shit out of him. Everything needed to be fixed. Then I realized that this 20-year old kid between his junior and senior year at Villanowhere University probably had no prior training in Excel and at best, only knew how to use the sum function. I felt compelled to teach him some experience and school him in the .

Through this process, I learned that I've become increasingly focused on the most minute details… details that really don't matter. I was spending my precious time away from ESPN.go.com and Dealbreaker by helping this kid who probably did not even want to be helped. Why was I doing this to myself? Why should I care if he does a good job in his internship? The answer is simple. I don't give a fuck about him. This is for me! I will NOT tolerate this piece of garbage workbook, I refuse to deliver this ass-looking spreadsheet to anyone, and most importantly, I can't stand looking at this shit!

Original:

Comments:

Much Better:

Attention to details please!

2009-05-12T07:01:00.000-07:00

A Few Good (Exxon) Men
Son, we live in a world that has cars and those cars need to be driven by men with oil. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Prius-driving dick? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for the environment and curse fossil fuel; you have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that natural resources' death, while tragic, probably saved money and that my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves money.

You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties you want me on that Green shit, you need me on that Green shit. We use words like economical, practial, SUVs. We use them as the backbone of a life trying to get rich. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very natural gas I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said "thank you," and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest that you pick up a hose of unleaded and start pumping. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.

Braveheart
Big Vik: I am Vikram Pandit. And, I see a whole army of my Bankers and Trades, here in defiance of TARP tyranny. You've come to fight as financiers, and financiers you are. What will you do without finance?! Will you fight?

Scared Analyst: No . . . we will run . . . and we will be consultants.

Big Vik: Aye. Fight and you may be poor. Run and you'll be in consulting, at least a while. And, dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance -- just one chance -- to come back here and tell Tim Geithner, that they may take our bonuses, but they'll never take our tier 1 ratio!

Independence Day
In less than an hour, traders from here will join others from around the world. And, you will be launching the largest electronic naked-short in the history of a Bulge Bracket. "Bulge Braket," those words should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interest in ROI. Perhaps, it's fate that today is the Sixteenth of September, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom--not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution, but from margin calls and being poor. We're fighting for our right to collect bonuses--to buy nice shit. And, should we win the day, the Sixteenth of September will no longer be known as the end of investment banking, but as the day when the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night. We will not vanish, without a fight. We're going to short the fuck out of Lehman. We're going to get rich first. Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!"

Bigger Swinging Dick

2008-12-18T12:33:00.000-08:00

The alarm clock buzzed continuously for 14 minutes until Salvatore Gaudio decided to get up and walk across his bedroom to do something about it. During the 5 feet walk from his bed to his desk, Salvatore thought "Should I snooze? Nah, you snooze you lose," and decidedly turned off the alarm. This was his rationale behind placing the alarm clock out of arms length from his bed. Every morning he had to force himself to either get up to turn that shit off or sleep with the heinous sounding buzzer.

The red LED digits now read 6:15 am, "It's fucking good to be up early," Salvatore exclaimed. He quickly hit the shower and began his daily Patrick Bateman routine, starting with a deep pore cleanser lotion, a water activated gel cleanser, a honey almond body scrub, and on the face, an exfoliating gel scrub. In the shower, he chuckled to himself thinking how he used to rewind the borrowed American Psycho DVD numerous times to get the exact routine down. He thought back to those frugal days in college and smiled. Now Salvatore no longer had to borrow DVDs from friends or shop at second-tier New Jersey malls. He was living his dream life working for a Wall Street company and making more money than all of his college friends from the SUNJ. However, Salvatore only let those memories sink in for a minute before realizing he had to get ready for work soon.

He stepped out of the shower to his dressing area, preparing for the hardest decision he will have to make for the day; Kenneth Cole or Banana Republic? Since it was a Friday, he thought he'd wear his "going out" shirt in case he decided to meet up with his friends straight after work. He picked a dark purple shirt with grey diagonal stripes and a pair of flat-front pants, both from Kenneth Cole. He was sick of seeing the old men in banking wearing pastel colored Brooks Brothers and pleated pants that only made them look fat. Salvatore represented the new generation, the hip generation, and the generation that bangs cocktail waitresses from Crobar. After his outfit was picked and fitted, Salvatore began putting on his square-toed Kenneth Cole shoes. He loved those shoes; not only does the square toe design provide ample room for his feet, but the rubber soles make intense squeaking noises in the cafeteria causing the Aramark ladies to notice him and give him extra mashed potatoes.

Salvatore looked at his newly acquired Fossil watch and noticed it was 7:26 am. This is still a little too early to get to work so he went down to the local Starbucks to get some breakfast. While waiting in line for his venti sugar free vanilla non-fat extra-ice blended latte, he again thought back to his SUNJ days.

It was 2006, his senior year at college. Salvatore had just read the Bonfires of the Vanities and thought Wall Street is where he wanted to be. He wanted the lifestyle described by Tom Wolfe, the success of Gordon Gekko, and the sophistication of Patrick Bateman minus the blood. Salvatore still remembers vividly walking to his school's career fair and impressing the regional representatives with his 3.6 GPA and his three summers working as a Bank of America teller. He still remembers the intense multi-round interview process where he had to think of his three best qualities. Shit, he still remembers sweating profusely when asked to quote Credit Suisse's stock price on 4/3/2006 (it was $51.46). Not only did he demonstrate he was capable of the job requirements, he impressed them with his intellect and received numerous offers from different banks. Of course there were the usual banks like Bank of America, Credit Suisse, UBS, and Wachovia but Salvatore aspired to achieve more. He held out on all four offers waiting for the top bank in the world to get back to him.. *Goldman Sachs*. Finally when the HR lady called him to let him know that he got the job, Salvatore remembers jumping up and down with joy and yelling "Goldman Sachs! Goldman Sachs! Goldma…"

"Excuse me?" said the young Indian barista.

Salvatore immediately crashed back to reality and realized he was subconsciously chanting "Goldman Sachs" aloud. A little embarrassed, he snapped sharply at the daughter of an immigrant, "Is my drink fucking ready yet?"

"Sorry sir, its coming right up!" said the young lady in flawless English.

Sal shot back, "O yea, I don't want those clear plastic cups you use for cold drinks. I want it in a regular cup without a sleeve." He didn't want a sleeve or the clear plastic cups in fear of people mistaking his Starbucks drink for a generic black coffee. Salvatore does not want to seem like he gets his coffee at a regular deli like the older Italian American generation or at Dunkin Donuts like college kids. He wanted to portray a sophisticated image because he did after all, work for Goldman Sachs. When his drink finally arrived, he was delighted to find that Starbucks started using red cups for the holiday season. Red was a brighter color and attracted more attention, he loved it. Salvatore expressed his thanks towards the sub-continental employee and headed towards the PATH station.

During the 15 minute PATH ride, he looked around and laughed to himself, "Fucking service industry and IT employees." He felt like the biggest swinging dick on that particular PATH car. Salvatore was bold enough to hog up two seats and no one dared to confront him. Just in case someone tried to ask him to move over, he was ready to dish out aggressively "Shut the fuck up and go get me my dry cleaning" to the eastern Asian lady standing in front of him or "Fuck you, go fix my Outlook Ankit!" to the burly Indian man eyeing one of the seats. Finally when he arrived at his station, Salvatore got out of the train and started walking towards his office at a leisurely pace, stopping every 25 feet or so to sip his designer drink. Around 8:15, Salvatore arrived at 30 Hudson with plenty of time to spare so he decided to go to the lounge and catch up on some water cooler talk, all while showing off his red extra large Starbucks cup.

When he stepped into the lounge area, the air smelled ethnic and the place looked like the mess hall of the French Foreign Legion; there was multi-cultural shit going on everywhere. In the far corner were two Spanish guys chatting about futbol and Manchester United. The Indians dominated the center of the room with their fragrant kati rolls and rice puttu. In the near corner, there was Pham and another analyst from Vietnam. Although they demonstrated a full grasp of the English language, the two continued to quack along in their native tongue like dying ducks. Figuring its only polite to say hello to the nearest coworkers, Sal walked over and said "Hey! There's Lloyd and his Chinaman friend. Yobo say oh!" Both of the 5'5" Asians stopped their conversation and looked at Sal with a confused look.

"What the fuck are you saying Sal?" demanded Pham.

"I said 'Yobo say oh!' which is hello in Asian," replied Salvatore.

Pham was furious when he realized that Sal mistook him for Korean and decided to call his language "Asian". He wanted to seem tough in front of his space efficient South Vietnamese buddy so he said "You're an idiot, Asian isn't a language. You were speaking Korean. Korea is fucking in the Northeast corner of Asia. I'm Vietnamese and my name is not fucking Lloyd."

Salvatore decided to mess with Pham for a little longer and shot back "Oh! I'm so sorry Miss Saigon. I didn't realize you were so sensitive. Should I say sorry or are you going to kung pow my ass?"

Without waiting for a response, Salvatore left the fuming Asians to think of a clever comeback. It was 8:30; time for work. Sal loaded up his computer and started preparing for the day's work ahead.

"FUCK!" His Excel was fucking up again. Why didn't the numbers add? He called up IT and demanded them fix the problem. The IT technician tried to remain level-headed as he explained that Sal had to check the Automatic button in the Calculations Options screen. Once he clicked it, the model began updating with new values. Just as Sal was about to hang up, the IT guy said "Maybe you should remember this so you don't call us again. This is the third time you've called with the same problem on your Excel."

"That's why we pay you asshole! To fix computer problems! Fucking back office…" :Click: Sal hung up on Seven Eleven.

Finally, with all his shit taken care of, Salvatore began working. At about 11:00 am, his phone started to ring. He started to sweat as he never got calls on his office line unless the fat Crobar waitresses couldn't get a hold of him on his cell phone or something was wrong at work. In the split second before he picked up the phone, Salvatore began playing horrible scenarios in his head: maybe someone was pregnant, maybe his hair stylist cancelled, or maybe his vacation home in Belmar was flooding!

"Hello? Is this Salvatore Gaudio?" asked the voice on the phone.

"Yes it is" replied Salvatore

"You fucking moron, I asked you to cover my short positions on my pharmaceutical stocks yesterday. Where the fuck have you been? I needed that shit done when the markets opened! You just cost Goldman $4 million which reflects badly on my year end bonus. You fucking ginnie, you better have a good explanation for this."

Oh shit! During his earlier rant against IT, Sal forgot to turn on his Microsoft Outlook and that's why he wasn't getting any of the emails. He didn't know how to tell the senior trader of his mistake so he decided to blame everything on IT. "I'm sorry, our email systems been down…"

"Fucking public school Guido kids from Jersey. Nice excuses jerkoff. This is fucking Wall Street, we can replace Jersey City Operations people like you in a minute. Get your ass back to middle office and process my fucking trades!!"

:Click:

You Cannot Have 95% Without 41% First

2008-10-31T10:12:00.000-07:00

I am not trying to persuade people to vote against Obama. In fact, I have even accepted the likelihood that he is going to win the election and be our next President. However, the guy is fucking retarded.

I hate people who cannot deliver on their promises. I have even greater disdain for people who make absurd promises. Barak Obama has made some ridiculous promises he cannot possibly achieve and these are going to fuck up our economy. To be quite honest, I don't give a shit about Iraq or the environment or anything too far to affect my life. Yes, I am brutally honest when I say this, I am selfish. I want my country to have a strong economy so I can go out and buy the shit I want to buy. Kids in Iraq are not going to help me buy my 42-in plasma. Saving the environment is not going to contribute to my 401K. I cannot live the lifestyle I want based solely on "moral obligations" or "spreading the wealth".

Obama, get some common sense. He wants to give 95% of American families a tax cut. Great, I love tax-cuts. Too bad 41% of Americans do not even pay fucking taxes! How is that even possible?! You cannot give 95% people a tax break when only 59% pay taxes in the first place. Ok, so maybe you mean you will give those 41% of people a tax credit. Still, does that even make sense? We are cutting taxes yet we are giving people tax credits? When they do not even pay taxes, what the fuck are they doing with tax credits?! Who is going to make up for the money Obama wants to spend? It's going to be from the other Americans that do pay taxes aka me. Sourced from the Tax Foundation.

"During 2006, Tax Foundation economists estimate that roughly 43.4 million tax returns, representing 91 million individuals, will face a zero or negative tax liability. That's out of a total of 136 million federal tax returns that will be filed. Adding to this figure the 15 million households and individuals who file no tax return at all, roughly 121 million Americans—or 41 percent of the U.S. population—will be completely outside the federal income tax system in 2006.1 This total includes those who pay no tax, and those who pay some tax upfront and are later refunded the full amount of the tax paid or more."

And Obama wants to create a huge government health program, increase education spending, spread wealth, and eliminate the federal deficit. Not possible without raising more money through more taxes. So it makes no sense to me why he can deliver on any of his promises.

And another thing, Obama keeps saying McCain voted with Bush 95% of the time. Good job of understanding the way our government works you fuck. Bush does not even vote because he is not in the House or Senate so how could someone vote with him 95% of the time. I know, McCain said that himself but make fun of his error but do not use that as a fact to trick Americans.

Stop spreading my wealth around Barak Obama. I want my fucking 42 inches of pure HDTV joy.

I wish J.R. McCarthy was around to see Obama's ass to prison for communist ideals.

Edit on 11/20/2008: This is what the WSJ had to say about this

"Mr. Obama's tax plan includes creating or expanding nine or more federal income tax credits mostly focused on low- and moderate-income earners, with an estimated cost of $1.3 trillion over 10 years. These tax credits are provided for certain social purposes, such as child care, health care, education, housing and retirement. Buried amid these is Mr. Obama's purported tax cut for the middle class.
For the bottom 40% of income earners, who pay no federal income taxes on net today, these refundable income tax credits will not reduce tax liability but instead result in new checks from the federal government for the targeted social purposes. That's not a tax cut. It's welfare.
These tax credits will do little or nothing to promote economic growth because they do not reduce marginal tax rates -- the rate on the next dollar of income -- to provide powerful, meaningful incentives for productive activities such as investment, entrepreneurship and work. A tax credit is effectively a cash grant that can only affect incentives up to the amount of the grant. Indeed, such tax credits would likely reduce economic growth because the credits are phased out as income rises, and so effectively impose higher marginal tax rates over those income levels."

Man I called this shit last month, get on your game Rupert Murdoch

Bar Excel

2008-08-27T22:59:00.000-07:00

On a sweltering August evening, a young consultant found his life incredibly boring. He had just moved to Brick City and did not know anyone outside of work. Tired of making up bullshit like "thought leadership" and tired of turning plough horses into cash cows, he was determined to find friends in this new city. The young man set out to explore his new surroundings in hopes of striking up some intellectually stimulating conversation and meeting fellow non-Brown Ivy League graduates. While walking down Main St., he found himself looking for an interesting spot to camp out for friends. On this particular street, there were the usual low-level joints like Barnes & Noble and Borders where "cool" people went to be seen browsing this month's best seller. There was also a wide array of pornographic images on this street such as the golden arches, sandwich shops pretending to be underground rail transportation systems, as well fake bistro signs. Sicken by the sight of $5 foot-longs of garbage and stringy-ass French onion soup, this young urban profession was quite confident that he would not enjoy his evening so he started to walk home.

Suddenly, the Yuppie spotted his Shangri-La; a whiskey bar with an iced-out AC unit. He could tell it was cold in there because the bartender was wearing a merino wool sweater and shaking up Manhattans with thinsulate gloves; real classy. The Yuppie did not want to spoil his pastel blue Brooks Brothers non-iron shirt any further in the unbearable August heat, so he quickly walked into the bar and descended into the most interesting evening of his young life.

The Yuppie grew up in a pretty typical Asian American household (we will know refer to this Yuppie as a Yappie – Young Asian Urban Professional). Since Yappie's childhood, he was taught by his parents to work hard in school, respect elders, and treat people in the service industry like Filipino slaves. So remembering his life lessons from Saturday morning Chinese School, he waved the bartender over with a few curls from his index finger and demanded in a biting yet smooth tone, "Nei ge nei ge nei ge… Macallan 18 on the rocks," and avoiding eye-contact at all times.

While waiting for his drink, Yappie began scanning his frigid surroundings for potential non-Brown company. On his left was a LEH banker that probably lost his job securitizing Staten Island mortgages; strike one for friendship. On his right side was a person wearing an UAW shirt; massive layoffs and collective bargaining as conversation topics?! Strike two for friendship. Then suddenly, the Yappie saw an attractive slim lady in the corner eating alone. He observed her closely and found that she was wearing a biz cas outfit with a key card at her waist. Could it be?! He couldn't really make out what the key card said but he thinks he saw a three-key emblem; a UBS tax-evasion banker chick with the same non-iron shirt?! Let's hope! Finally, what brought the Yappie over the edge with excitement was the newspaper that was on her table; it had dot pictures of Wall & Broad's most villainous foes, it must be a WSJ! He was never happier to see a Rupert Murdoch product than at that moment.

The Yappie then Chinese School-called the bartender over to buy this young lady a drink. As the bartender was making his way over, the Yappie began thinking for the worst. What if his girl was a fraud? What if this girl wasn't a private banker? What if she was an admin assistant or even worse, oh what if she was from HR?! HR girls are known for filing sexual harassment suits and asking "fit" questions like "Name your three greatest qualities." The Yappie knew if he hooked up with a girl from HR, his pedigree would be dipping like Bear Stearns '07. But this lady's actual human resources were so fine that he had to give it a shot. So he quickly devised a clever way to get technical with her. He wrote out on a napkin:

=if("You understand this", "Buy you a drink", "Have fun with campus recruiting, Bitch")

The bartender sent over his napkin note and the Yappie observed the face of the lady. She initially looked confused and then figured out the simple function. She looked over at the Yuppie, smiled and ordered herself a Maker's & Coke on Yappie's tab. Before Yappie could get too excited, she replied with a message of her own:

Arial or Times New Roman?

Unsure how to answer that question, Yappie took a big risk and wrote "Arial is for amateurs, Brown grads and poor people working in advertising. Times New Roman mothafucka!" He sent the message back to her and saw her nod in approval. She then looked up and gave him the "Come here" look. The Yappie was incredibly excited; he slid across the room as swiftly as a Ctrl + Shift + ↓and ended up sitting at her table. After chatting with this bona fide keeper with fine assets, the Yappie felt he met his match. He was eager to take this to committee and close the deal:

You AND Me: Merge Cells 39661 AND possibly 39662?

She looked down and did not understand the message. What was 39661 and 39662? He hinted a clue, " 'Alt + e + s + t' the two numbers in Date format". Unsure if she would get this basic hint, he again started to get nervous. Doubt crept in slowly and he began thinking that this chick might simply be HR after all. He didn't want to let a public business school graduate refer to him as "Superior Human Capital" or any other bullshit term. Just as he was about to throw back his Scotch and triple jump his way out of there like Carl Lewis, she got it!

"OOO!!!! Let's ride." Closing dinner time.

That evening, the lady and the Yappie merged cells furiously throughout the night as if they were working on a KKR prospectus due the morning of 39662. That night, neither of them really thought of the consequences and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Then at 39662.25 when the Yappie usually wakes up, he realized that he made a huge mistake. HUGE. Only amateurs and Penn A&S grads merged cells! He could have easily "Ctrl + 1 + Merge Across Selection". This gave him the option to "Ctrl + a + delete" to preserve a clean worksheet. Now, things were sticky; he had to go through each merged cell and manually unmerge them! Realizing his mistake, the Yappie began stressing. While racking his brain for possible hidden short-keys or thinking of ways to write a macro, the Yappie observed closely and saw that the UBS banker chick had a student ID and was actually just an intern! Haha! He woke her up, made her get a mocha almond double-shot latte with soy from Starbucks (just to mess with her. Soy?! Are you kidding me?) and told her she wouldn't get an offer in this market if she didn't help him unmerge all those cells. Being a naïve intern, the young lady began in earnest. She finally finished at 39662.50 and had time to go back to work. Once she left, the Yappie chuckled to himself and determined to create more complex tests for someone's Excel abilities. Maybe he will have them create triple nested conditional functions or maybe he will ask how to import 3M LIBOR. At the very least, he chuckled to himself:

=if("This happens more often", "This city is not so bad", "I'll be some HR chick's human capital").

This story is totally fictional. Enjoy your summer.