The Wolf of Wall Street

The world of investing can be a jungle.

Bulls. Bears.

Danger at every turn.

That's why we at Stratton Oakmont pride ourselves on being the best.

Trained professionals to guide you through the financial wilderness.

Stratton Oakmont.

Stability.

Integrity.

Pride.

One!

Two!

Three!

Twenty-five grand to the first cocksucker to nail a bull's-eye!

Come on! Let's go!

One!

Two!

Three!

My name is Jordan Belfort.

Not him.

Me. That's right.

I'm a former member of the middle class

raised by two accountants in a tiny apartment in Bayside, Queens.

The year I turned 26, as the head of my own brokerage firm,

I made $49 million,

which really pissed me off because it was three shy of a million a week.

No, no, no. My Ferrari was white,

like Don Johnson's in Miami Vice. Not red.

See that humongous estate down there?

That's my house.

For millionaires whose ships...

My wife, Naomi, the Duchess of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn,

a former model and Miller Lite girl.

Yeah.

She was the one with my cock in her mouth in the Ferrari.

So put your dick back in your pants.

In addition to Naomi and my two perfect kids,

I own a mansion, private jet,

six cars, three horses,

two vacation homes, and a 170-foot yacht.

Anchors aweigh!

I also gamble like a degenerate. I drink like a fish.

I fuck hookers maybe five, six times a week.

I have three different federal agencies looking to indict me.

Oh, yeah, and I love drugs.

Okay.

- One more round. - Oh, yeah.

- Oh, you like it? - Yeah.

Pull up. Pull up! We're gonna crash, for Christ sake!

Relax!

Just relax.

- You okay? - Yeah, I'm all right.

Good job.

You get in there safe, all right?

Till the next time, brother.

Till next time.

Yup, on a daily basis I consume enough drugs

to sedate Manhattan, Long Island and Queens for a month.

Okay, Mr. Jordan.

I take Quaaludes 10 to 15 times a day for my "back pain,"

Adderall to stay focused,

Xanax to take the edge off, pot to mellow me out,

cocaine to wake me back up again and morphine, well,

because it's awesome.

Good morning, Nathan.

But of all the drugs under God's blue heaven,

there is one that is my absolute favorite.

You see,

enough of this shit'll make you invincible.

Able to conquer the world,

and eviscerate your enemies.

And I'm not talking about this.

I'm talking about this.

See, money doesn't just buy you a better life,

better food, better cars, better pussy.

It also makes you a better person.

You can give generously to the church or political party of your choice.

You can save the fucking spotted owl with money.

I always wanted to be rich. So let me go back.

I'm 22 years old, newly married,

and already a money-crazed little shit.

So what do I do?

I go to the one place on Earth that befit my high-minded ambitions.

I love you.

You are lower than pond scum.

You got a problem with that,

Jordan?

No. No problem at all.

Good. Because that is what you are.

Pond scum.

Your job is connector,

which means that you'll be dialing the phone over 500 times a day

trying to connect me with wealthy business owners.

And until you pass your Series 7,

that is all you're gonna fucking be doing. Sit.

Sit!

Now just so you know, last year I made over $300,000.

The other guy you'll be working for, he made over a million.

A million dollars?

I could only imagine what a douche bag that guy must be.

- Jordan Belfort. - Yes, sir.

- Mark Hanna. - A pleasure to meet you.

And you as well. I see you've already met the village asshole.

Smile and dial.

And don't pick up your fucking head until 1 :00.

Hey, fuck him.

I'm the senior broker here. He's just a worthless piker.

Why don't you blow me, Hanna?

Now did you really pitch a stock in your job interview?

I had to do something to stand out. Right, sir?

I fucking love that.

- Lunch. Today. - Yeah.

We don't start dialing at 9:30

because our clients are already answering the phone.

Three. Two. One.

Let's fuck!

You want to know what money sounds like?

Go to a trading floor on Wall Street.

"Fuck" this, "shit" that.

"Cunt, " "cock, " "asshole."

I couldn't believe how these guys talked to each other.

- Good fucking package... - Piece of shit!

I was hooked in seconds.

It was like mainlining adrenaline.

Yeah. Fuckface, look at where the stock's at today, huh?

You motherfucker, you can't get any at 44...

- Pick up the cock sucking phone! - Sorry...

You are such a fucking douche bag, Hanna.

We don't give two shits about how technology works

because all we care about is getting fucking rich.

- Solid, 2,000. - Jordan Belfort.

Done!

Time to paint the tape.

2,000. Microsoft. Going in the hole!

Come on.

Live. Live. Hold on, that is hot.

In. In. Shut that motherfucker. Shut it! Shut it! Shut it!

Sold!

Yeah.

Tootski?

Oh, no. Thank you, though.

Mr. Hanna, what can I bring for you on this glorious afternoon?

Well, Hector, here's the game plan.

You're gonna bring us two Absolut martinis.

You know how I like them. Straight up.

And then precisely seven and one half minutes after that,

you're gonna bring us two more.

Then two more after that every five minutes

until one of us passes the fuck out.

Excellent strategy, sir.

I'm good with water for now.

Thank you.

It's his first day on Wall Street. Give him time.

- Thank you. - Thank you.

Mr. Hanna?

You're able to do drugs during the day and then still function, still do your job?

How the fuck else would you do this job?

Cocaine and hookers, my friend.

Right.

Well, I got to say, I'm incredibly excited to be a part of your firm. I mean...

The clients you have are absolutely...

Fuck the clients.

Your only responsibility is to put meat on the table.

You got a girlfriend?

I'm married. I have a wife.

Her name is Teresa. She cuts hair.

- Congratulations. - Thank you.

Think about Teresa.

Name of the game.

Move the money from your client's pocket into your pocket.

Right.

But if you make your clients money at the same time,

it's advantageous to everyone. Correct?

No.

Number one rule of Wall Street.

Nobody...

I don't care if you're Warren Buffett or if you're Jimmy Buffett.

Nobody knows if a stock is gonna go up, down, sideways, or in fucking circles.

Least of all stockbrokers, right?

It's all a fugazi. You know what a fugazi is?

Fugayzi. It's a fake.

Fugayzi, fugazi, it's a whazy, it's a woozy, it's...

Fairy dust. It doesn't exist.

It's never landed. It is no matter. It's not on the elemental chart.

It's not fucking real.

- Right? - Right.

Stay with me.

We don't create shit. We don't build anything.

No.

So if you got a client who bought stock at eight

and it now sits at 16, he's all fucking happy.

He wants to cash in, liquidate, take his fucking money and run home.

- You don't let him do that. - Okay.

- 'Cause that would make it real. - Right.

No. What do you do?

You get another brilliant idea.

A special idea.

Another "situation." Another stock to reinvest his earnings and then some.

And he will, every single time.

'Cause they're fucking addicted.

And you just keep doing this, again and again and again.