Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: JF Quinnelly who wrote (4152)	10/29/1997 8:48:00 AM
From: Cisco	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

I heard on TV yesterday that we had a "Gentleman's Correction". I guess that is were you are robbed with a cane instead of a gun?

To: JF Quinnelly who wrote (4152)	10/29/1997 9:06:00 AM
From: Rambi	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

THROUGH the pitch black night she strides. No moon, no stars penetrate the gloom that lies like a thick dark shroud over DARia. Though she enters with her usual stealth, she finds it an unnecessary precaution; most of the figures silhouetted in the faint light of the dying barbacoa embers lie exhausted and prostrate, emitting small moans and whimpers as she passes, showing little interest in the black thonged and thighbooted figure gliding through their miserable midst. Janice sits on the floor with a small pile of bones around her, carefully picking through them and stringing the most delicate on a thin gold chain. Her eyes glint with a slightly mad light. "My broker will never make me sell puts too soon again", she rasps and reaches for the near-empty bottle of Dolcetto by her side. Rambi nods in some compassion. This is a sentiment and reaction she understands; she has found 2/3 of the Coven to be forged from the same tough steel as she herself. It is the other third that concerns her now. Alexa , eyes bruised from battle, tenses and clutches her INTC calls closely to her, relaxing as she recognizes the graceful, proud carriage of the thread goddess; between her feet sits a small chest with the symbol CTEC emblazoned on the top and this she guards with passion. Passing the limp bodies of dazed and befuddled DARians who lie overcome by the vertigo of the last two days, unsure if they are behind, ahead, have bought brilliantly or sold stupidly, she looks anxiously into the umbra of a far corner. She sees Freddy licking a pencil and scribbling wildly on a long piece of paper labelled "Wish List" but has no time to spend at the moment on her old adversary. A familiar form is curled near, but unheeded, in a fetal position, a singsong mantra like the piping of a child's nursery rhyme curls piteously toward her through the dark. "I dialed and dialled. I called and called. I dialed and dialed. I called and called." She kneels beside her friend, knowing there was little she could do, an unfamiliar feeling of helplessness consuming her. She rips a strip of cloth from her thong, a daring move given the brevity of the garment to begin with, and binds the bloody bruised index finger held toward her. "I saw it at 70 and 71 and 72. I dialed and dialed. And LU was at 72 and 73 and I called and called...." tears from agonized eyes stream onto Rambi's boots, staining the leather with their salty pain. Rambi leans closer, "Who did this to you, " she demands. THe piteous cry rises, "It was Waterhouse. I dialed and dialed! I called and called. I tried so hard! I saw 73 and 74 and 75..." She disengages herself from the desparate clutch of her friend and rises. "I'll take care of them." Anger fuels her, tired as she is from her long journey, all thoughts of the beauteous Bub momentarily obliterated by her hatred. She clutches her Uzi with grim purpose. "No, no." sobs the pitiful figure. "It's too late. Leave them. I may need them later. And they've always been very polite to me, even when I don't know what I'm doing." Rambi sighs at the recurring weakness deomstrated by this third of the Coven. She really has no use for this one, so alien in temperament to her, but bound inextricably in ways and for reasons she doesn't understand. Why couldn't her allegiance lie with the one now wearing the bony necklace and gleefully torturing a small appliance across the room? But no, the Fates had not so ordained.. She sighs and reaches down to grasp the shoulder of her friend, willing her to rise and face the day. Through the gloom she can see a light gathering in the east. "Listen!" She commands---through the open windows, over the stirrings of the new day, comes a faint cheer rising from the far, far East--stretching across the ocean, bringing hope and excitement and stimulating more greed in America--it is the Asian markets. "There is always another day, another stock, another deal! Get up, you dotard! Stop shaming the Coven! Act like the woman you were meant to be!" She briefly considers slapping the feeble creature --the drama of the moment seems to call for it-but decides her poor friend has had all she can take and hugs her instead. As she turns to go, she hands her the phone and nods encouragingly. Around the room, bodies are stirring. Someone has started the coffee; CNBC has been turned on. The Wall Street Journal and IBD are being passed around... She heads for the back door, taking pleasure in digging a sharp black heel in the soft flesh of Freddy's hand as he writes RMBS for the fortieth time on his list, She glides out unnoticed, as he howls.