Some bastards going by the name of Brand Asset Consulting have been putting the word about that Goldman Sachs has been damaged by the events of the last year. Yeah, they did a survey. They asked 17,000 halfwits what they thought of the bank.
Now, I have just got off the phone to Lloyd Blankfein. And, yeah, he's pissed again. Real pissed. Here's the edited highlights:
'Michael, I want those names. (What names, Lloyd?) The names, Michael. The names of the fucking deadbeats who took part in that survey. (All 17,000 of them?) Yeah. All 17,000. I'm gonna open their holes like this - excuse my French. I'm gonna make them wish their fathers had never met their mothers. (Lloyd, I'm a fucking shaman, not a private detective.) I ain't getting no private dick retired cop to go poking around on confidential Goldman business. I want you to do it - astrally. (Ast - what, Lloyd?) Michael, don't make me lose my fucking temper. Go on to the astral plane. Find out what you can about these Brand Asset Consulting schmucks. Get the friggin' names. Bring them to me. Capiche? (Yeah, sure. I'll be invisible that way. But I'll have to get a team together.) Okay. (It'll be expensive, Lloyd.) Michael, you're talking to Lloyd Blankfein here, remember? Not some bum on the sidewalk with snot all over his raincoat. I don't give a fuck how much it costs. Get the names.'
For fuck's sake! That's my night ruined. I hardly get a minute to myself these days.