Yesterday this sweaty-slick trader told the BBC that 'Goldman Sachs rules the world'. I don't care if it is true, I just want to punch his self-satisfied mush...
I don’t care if what he said is true, I don’t care if the financial crisis is going to get worse, but it made me want to smash my TV when I saw sweaty-slick scumbag Alessio Rastani tell BBC News that, ‘the governments don’t rule the world, Goldman Sachs rules the world’ and ‘I dream about the recession, I dream about a moment like this.’
Invited onto the BBC to discuss the Greek debt crisis Rastani (identified only as an ‘independent trader’) sat in a satellite studio with an image of Canary Wharf behind him and pretended that he was our friend. He told us that the financial crisis was going to get worse, that we should protect our assets and (worst of all) that if we knew how to play the markets there was money to be made from stock market crashes.
Most of all I hope that, some day soon, when this deluded, jumped-up self-important no mark twat is dying of a painful disease, he is strapped to a sandpaper bed, eyes pinned open Clockwork Orange-style
Listen, Rastani – You’re not our friend, you’re not anyone’s friend. You spend your days making money from the misfortune of others, from the mismanagement of governments and from a system that benefits those prepared to live life as evil shits and punishes everyone else. You went on TV to crow about how you profit from misery and no doubt you skipped merrily back to your desk running a gauntlet of high fives from your colleagues. You are probably very pleased with yourself for being such a clever little boy. I’m here to tell you, laddy, that all you’ve done is make everyone on the planet want to punch you in your self-satisfied mush.
The vast majority of people don’t care a jot about the stock market. It has nothing but a negative effect on our lives and many of the woes that we are all encountering at the moment are caused by the self-serving actions of a handful of shit-holes like Rastani. Stay away, Rastani, stay off my TV. Live your sick life out of my view and save your vomit-inducing views for the champagne bars around Canada Square. I hope you choke on your Cristal and I hope the only person nearby who knows first aid feels the same way about your TV appearance and watches you grasp desperately at the throat from which your loathsome opinions spout.
Most of all I hope that, some day soon, when this deluded, jumped-up self-important no mark twat is dying of a painful disease, he is strapped to a sandpaper bed, eyes pinned open Clockwork Orange-style and forced to watch this 3½ minutes of TV on a loop until he realises that he has wasted his life and pleads for the world’s forgiveness. Which will not be granted.
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