Man Counsel

This was bound to be a hit. The Coen Brothers take Fargo (their 1996 hit), throw in Christian Batemen from American Psycho and set it on a 1980’s West Texas Prairie.

Tommy Lee Jones is an old-timer sheriff who’s often a few steps behind the bloodshed and left day-dreaming about the good old days. Throughout the movie he’s chasing villain Anton Chigurh who enjoys killing bystanders with a cattle euthanizer.

Central to the plot of this neo-western is a retired Vietnam vet who stumbles across a briefcase full of cash from a drug deal gone wrong, while hunting antelope. This doesn’t sit well with sadistic psychopath, Anton Chigurh. What follows is a trail of blood-shed set among big sky panoramas.

You’re sure to leave the theater confused. But you will not be disappointed because you know you will be seeing it again.

This is a letter from one of Man Counsel’s newest readers. She offers a critique of The Classic Pump and Dump.

The funny thing is that before her attempted in depth analysis of the Man Counsel team, she neglected to actually read the post, which states that it is taken from Craigslist.org. If you actually read her rambling and incoherent bullshit, you will realize that at the heart of her argument is that thanks to the miracles of modern plastic surgery, women can look hot forever.

We here at Man Counsel wish that were true. Unfortunately, this picture of Joan Collins begs to differ:

Incidentally, I am the only member of the Man Counsel team who has a career in finance. And I have nothing to do with trading or Wall Street.

Dear Sir,

I must confess that I was somewhat taken aback upon reading your email. Indeed, it has taken some time for me to sufficiently recuperate from my surprise. Lest your confidence quickly inflate for little reason (as we know is the predisposition for Wall St. types), allow me to hasten to reassure you that the source of my surprise was neither your candor nor the accuracy of your perception. Indeed, it is your “claimed” success in light of your poor grasp of economics which has me baffled. If the standards required to meet with financial success on Wall St. have sunk so low, perhaps I should indeed “make my own money”, except for the fact that the effort/reward ratio is far too high for my liking - especially when so many of your ilk have displayed a far more cogent grasp of market realities than you have.

By now you are likely scratching your ever-vanishing hairline in confusion, so allow me to elaborate, dear man. To build some credibility I will tell you a bit more about yourself. Though you did not mention the details of your occupation, it is clear that you are an investment banker and not a trader, as any good trader would understand that human courtships are based upon a semi-efficient open market, and not an investment banking cartel. However, your inability to grasp the realities of the dating market is not surprising, given that you have successfully employed the tools of collusion and market manipulation rather that true acumen in your supposed wealth generation.

If your grasp of finance were not a minority partner with your ego, you would realize that the “outflows” associated with my depreciating “assets” are quite certain, and therefore subject to a low discount rate when determining their present value. In addition, though your concept of economics evidentially failed to move past the 1950s, advancement in plastic surgery is not subject to the same limitation. Thus, with some additional capital expenditure, the overall lifetime of “outflows” generated by these assets is greatly increased. Sad that Ashton Kutcher has demonstrated understanding of the female asset class which you, in all of your financial “wisdom”, have not.

You, on the other hand, are, given the uncertainty of the Wall St. job market, more of an inflation-indexed junk bond with an underwater nested call option. Though you may argue that you are more of an equity investment, my monetary minimums required from you do not change, and if you are unable to pay them, I will liquidate you without the benefit of a chapter 11, just as you would me.

Because your outflows are so much more uncertain with respect to mine, I require additional compensation in the form of a underwater nested call option on your future assets. I say underwater because, even taking into account the value of your junk bond coupon payment to me, the value of my “outflow” is in excess of the market price of your equity (which is quite low due to its riskiness associated with your poor grasp of finance and my existing claim upon your junk bond coupon).

I must thank you though for raising the question, despite the reputation cost of subjecting your weak logic to such widespread scrutiny. This took either considerable courage or ignorance on your part- and we’ll give you the benefit of doubt, just this once. My current boyfriend (a trader who lives in Central Park West, of course) and I thoroughly enjoyed discussing your response and we wish you the best of luck in your unhappy pursuit of that elusive market inefficiency.

Here is a case of a man taking things into his own hands.  Bill Inman is riding his horse, Blackie, from Oregon to North Carolina to tell the stories of hardworking, honest everyday people in rural America.  Bill and his horse, a 16-year thoroughbred-quarter horse mix are averaging 20-25 miles a day along backroads.   His wife, Brenda, drives ahead in a pickup and horse trailer filled with water and provisions for Blackie, three dogs and themselves.

The two estimate the journey will cost them $45,000. They also would like to to make a documentary film and write a book, and a filmmaker and Web site operator are tagging along.

Man Counsel salutes Bill and Blackie and wishes them well in their future journeys…  We just want to know where we mail the check (seriously).

From Criagslist.com:

What am I doing wrong?

“Okay, I’m tired of beating around the bush. I’m a beautiful
(spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I’m articulate and classy.
I’m not from New York. I’m looking to get married to a guy who makes at
least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind
that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don’t think
I’m overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could
you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around
200 - 250. But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won’t get
me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married
to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she’s not as pretty as
I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I
get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars,
restaurants, gyms

-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won’t hurt my
feelings

-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I’m 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east
side so plain? I’ve seen really ‘plain jane’ boring types who have
nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I’ve seen drop dead
gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What’s the story
there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment
banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they
hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for
MARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I’m putting myself out there in an honest
way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I’m being up front
about it. I wouldn’t be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn’t
able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a
nice home and hearth.”

The response: 

“Dear Pers-431649184:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully
about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament.
Firstly, I’m not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your
bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here’s how I
see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a
crappy business deal. Here’s why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you
suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring
my money. Fine, simple. But here’s the rub, your looks will fade and my
money will likely continue into perpetuity…in fact, it is very likely
that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won’t
be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning
asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation
accelerates! Let me explain, you’re 25 now and will likely stay pretty
hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in
earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy
and hold…hence the rub…marriage. It doesn’t make good business sense
to “buy you” (which is what you’re asking) so I’d rather lease. In case
you think I’m being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were
to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It’s
as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So,
I wonder why a girl as “articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful”
as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to
believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K
hasn’t found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then
we wouldn’t need to have this difficult conversation.

With all that said, I must say you’re going about it the right way.
Classic “pump and dump.” I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.”

We at Man Counsel would like to wish you a happy Columbus Day. Unfortunately, this year’s Colmbus Day is marked with more uppity Indian bullshit.

 Man Counsel is angry at Indians of the Chumash Tribe for working to revoke the permit of the Winchester Canyon Gun Club in Santa Barbara County, California. The problem seems to be that the gun club is near the “wind caves” and its use disrupts the backward and ridiculous religious practices that take place there.

 In a news article about the situation, the Daily Nexus reports that a coalition of Indians tribes is bringing a legal challenge of sorts against the gun club:

The Coalition argued that alleged disruptions of religious ceremonies at the Wind Caves violated the American Indian Religious Freedom Act.

The gun club’s website responds with:

The Appellants seem to be making a fuss about the public use of that site, which is an issue between the Native Americans (who are not Chumash) and the [United States Forest Service].

Man Counsel has a few questions about this. Here they are in no particular order:

1. After having their religious rituals in the “Wind Caves,” at what point did the ancient Chumash retreat to their casino to partake in the traditional bilking of quarters from the wite man with slot machines?

 2. Shouldn’t Indians be used to white men with guns ruining their shit by now?

 3. When did the federal government move from a Trail of Tears philosophy to a coddle the Indians and fuck over a lot of people trying to engage in a hobby philosophy?

 4. Can we expect a new Trail of Tears at some point in the future?

Happy Columbus Day!

“Trail of Tears”

In the elevator today, on that tiny news screen that everybody stares down to avoid eye contact, it reported that Princess Dianna may or may not have been pregnant when she died a few years ago.  Later, I saw an article that claimed images were released of her before she died.  My question to the world: Who fucking cares?  I must admit I have no idea who she is. I’m pretty sure she’s British because those blokes love to add titles to their names and pretend they mean something.  

Of all the millions of people who’ve died in the world, you decide to spend 30 seconds telling me that this Princess may or may not have been pregnant and the world will likely never know.  Wow. 

I know of many respectable people who have died in just this last year.  Pick up any local newspaper and glance the obituaries; a handful of heroes have died this week.  There are soldiers, ranchers, businessmen, stuntmen, and others dieing every day that contributed to society more than we’ll ever understand.  Yet I’m reading about the British Ben-ifer on my way to work.

Hell, she’s not even attractive.

This article just popped up on our radar, and it’s so important that we’re posting about it now. Sophie Currier, a Harvard medical school graduate, is now allowed to have extra time to take her licensing exam because she has to milk her tits.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070926/ap_on_re_us/breast_feeding_dispute

This stupid bitch is getting extra break time for her medical licensing exam because she has to feed her screaming kid tit milk. At the bottom of the article, it says:

“She took the exam in April when she was 8 1/2 months pregnant, but failed by a few points. She had planned to take the test again earlier this week, but put it off after Norfolk Superior Court Judge Patrick Brady ruled against her last week.”

But wait- there’s more. It turns out that Sophie already gets special accomodations for her dyslexia and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder but failed the test already anyway.

“Currier already had received special accommodations under the Americans with Disabilities Act for dyslexia and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, including permission to take the test over two days instead of one.”

 At what point do we tell someone that they aren’t cut out to be a doctor? We at Man Counsel hope that Sophie Currier fails her exam and has to work as a stripper to feed her children. After all, we hear that some men like it when they get a lap dance from a lactating stripper.

A columnist for The Oklahoman named Jenni Carlson called out Oklahoma State University quarterback Bobby Reid last week. In her column, she essentially calls him a wussy momma’s boy.

 When OSU football coach Mike Gundy found out about this, he flew off the handle at a post game press conference and totally put the bitch in her place.  For those who aren’t familiar with NCAA football, it’s sort of an unspoken rule that you attack the coaches as opposed to the players since the players don’t get a salary.

 The best part about this is that she wrote a second column trying to defend herself and ended up sounding like more of an idiot. She basically made a bunch of shit up when she couldn’t get any official information.

But judge it for yourself.

 Here is her original article.

 Click here for a video of Coach Gundy’s response.

 Here is her response to Gundy’s tirade.

 And as a special treat to all of you, here is a picture of Man Counsel’s favorite columnist: http://newsok.com/sports/carlson/

The Associate Press reports that 2/3rd of men wash their hands after using the bathroom.  Man Counsel further noted: these are probably the geniuses who use the thin paper shitter cover in an attempt to not get AIDS. 

Women fared much worse in the study where 88% appeared to pee on their hands (followed by washing).  The study did shed some light as to why 2/3rds of us can’t aim: ”Atlanta’s Turner Field baseball stadium again was the worst [best at not peeing on hands]. Only 57 percent of guys there washed up, compared to 95 percent of women.”  While 82% of men washed while at the museum. It should be well known now that if you don’t shit or pee on your hands, soaping is optional (Man Law, 90).

It appears that the Men (capital M) out there have got it figured out for the most part.  But we should do our part to tell the world: it’s not right to pee on your hands when using public restrooms.

You can’t go wrong with a Western about a rancher (Christian Bale) trying to hustle an outlaw (Russel Crowe) on a train to Yuma prison to pay off his debts. In the end his posse has given up and the rancher’s only companion is morality and justice. The plot focuses on the relationship between the rancher, his son, and the outlaw. On the screen you get a heavy dose of dirt, revolvers, injuries, and guts .

For most of us this is the first Western released that we’ve been able to see in a theater (that doesn’t involve butt sex). The wide screen prairie shots combined with side-to-side pistoleering and train whistles blasting on the THX, make it a movie you can’t afford to miss on the big screen.

Westerns only come around every few years. Go see this movie; you owe it to your inner Jesse James.