Big Dick Fuld

Big Dick Fuld, CEO of Lehman Brothers, was not the type of űber-executive who suffered fools gladly.

On an impromptu tour of the 23rd trading floor packed with driven MBA's staring into computer screens, talking feverishly into their headsets, flogging CDS's and AAA-rated securitized mortgage and credit-card debt packages that would eventually end up in Beijing, Big Dick, ever vigilant, noticed one person leaning casually against a wall--doing absolutely nothing.

Big Dick decided to shake things up: his bonus depended upon a year-end bonanza and it was already November--November 2007. He needed to set an example.

He needed to impress upon one and all that he meant business. Serious Business.

All eyes on the great man, Big Dick walked up to the guy leaning against the wall, then looked him up and down with contempt that verged on GBH. Then he inquired with absolute disgust, "Tell me something, my friend. How much money do you make a week?"

Taken aback, the young man tried to look Big Dick in the eye and finally managed a reply: "$400 a week...?"

The object of media adoration took this in, nodding in disbelief. He allowed the moment to breathe, as it were, like an expensive wine just decorked. Then he shook his head wearily and cast a glance around the floor, now silent with all MBA's fixated on the high drama taking place before their very eyes.

"Tell you what I'm gonna do, my friend," said Big Dick, pulling a massive clip of hundreds out of his front pocket, peeling them off, one by one for the benefit of everyone looking on.

Then he violently shoved the cash in the young man's front pocket and screamed: "HERE'S FOUR WEEKS PAY, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!!! NOW GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE AND DON'T EVER COME BACK!!"

Big Dick's face was crimson with fury; although the close observer might have detected the giveaway curl of the lip which played upon his livid countenance.

"You sloppy no-good motherfucking slacker!!" he yelled for good measure after the retreating figure making tracks to the elevator.

"Next time you find a job, if you ever do, pull your finger outta your ass and GET TO WORK!!" bellowed Big Dick as the young man disappeared into the lift--forevermore.

Visibly regaining control of his faculties as befitted one of the most-widely adored and respected CEO's on The Street, he let the shocked MBA's take in the ineffable conflation of high passion and the cold-steel self-discipline that comprised Big Dick Fuld--a master, in Tom Wolfe's words, of the universe.

Again, the great man allowed his gaze to wander dangerously around the trading floor at the dumbstruck MBA's.

"I guess you've all got the picture now. Right?"

No reply.

"Just as a point of interest, though," mused the CEO to impress upon the floor traders his unerring talent for analysing every aspect of a given situation to make totally evident the infallible discrimination that informed his finely-honed analytical mind, "would someone like to inform me what, exactly, that worthless garbage did around here?"

From far across the room came a voice, impossible to identify within the mass of information technology and traders.

"Pizza delivery guy from Domino's...."

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