Janice shook her head, a bit bewildered. This sure wasn't like Texas. Hell, you couldn't fit more than three of them big powerful.....um, computers, yes, into the double-wide.
Momo--NOT a cat, but a rat; perhaps Our Narrator was confounded by his extraordinary size--steadied himself on Janice's shoulder. Peeking out from her long, luxurious blonde hair, he asked:
"You call this a 200-day moving average? Hey! They've changed name and CUSIP four times in the last 200 days. LMRAO!!"
Janice, in her polite, well-bred, Wellesely-Gracious-Living way admonished Momo to make a greater effort to understand his (and her) new circumstances before commenting critically. "Shut up", she explained.
Intrigued nonetheless by her new surroundings, she looked about. Was this a "boiler room"? Certainly many people were ensconced in nasty little cubicles, typing away furiously. She approched Dave (yeah, they had name tags), who seemed more reasonable than most.
Attempting an innocent, friendly question, she asked:
"Who's the little guy in the corner? His tag says he's May-Day Weenie? Why's he snuffling? Why's he got a whole box of Kleenex all for himself? Who's this "Bob" person he's waiting for?
"F*uck off, b*tch", said Dave pleasantly. Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by... |
