Black Monday

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Wait, Blair.

- Wear this. - What?

For good luck on your interviews.

...motherfucker.

Go get 'em! I love you.

- Here you go. - Thank you.

Five large.

Now, you be sure to tell Page Six

that I knocked the glaze off that doughnut.

- Mmm. - Okay?

Kyle.

Want to do some cocaine?

Fantastic.

Ooh-whee! There she go! God damn!

Yo, mama, where you going?

Fucking dyke!

Georgina.

It is my 39th birthday, and that is what I want.

No "problemo," Mo.

I'll get a B-cup down here by 9:45

or now if, uh, Dawn is willing.

Wow, you know what?

I'm really surprised a ladies' man such as yourself

doesn't know his cups.

- These are Cs, baby. - Ooh!

These right here... These are Bs.

Who wants to come titty-fuck Keith?

Dawn's on the board.

But, no, I want the company.

Georgina Jeans currently does all of its manufacturing

in Manhattan, so you know what that means.

It means that the land the warehouse is on

is worth twice the company.

Exactly, which makes them ripe for a take...

Ripe for a takeover. See? Great minds.

See, when we're going on together, it's like jazz.

You guys are fucking watching jazz.

I hate to bust your denim dream, but, no.

It's fucking impossible, Mo.

- Oh, is it impossible, Dawn? - It's impossible.

Lehman Brothers owns 30% of Georgina.

And trust me, they'd rather vote for punk-ass Mondale

than sell us a share of shit.

"Impossible."

Well, let me tell you something, gang.

I was born in a toilet

and left on the steps of a Church...

...'s Chicken.

Yeah, Church's Chicken.

- Anyway, 39 years later... - Wait, 30 what?

Thirty-nine years later to the day, Dawn!

He's 60.

I woke up in a $1,500-a-night fuck pad

after having a $5,000 Park Avenue fuckathon.

- What? - Whoo!

My robot butler brought me caviar

and The Wall Street Journal,

and I said, "Kyle"... Because I named him.

They encourage you to name them.

It helps with the bonding... I said, "Kyle,

throw that fish jizz out. Caviar is wack."

Kyle did that shit because Kyle understands English.

Solid.

And The Wall Street Journal

called you all

the number 11 trading firm on the block.

And they called your man the Billy Ocean of trading.

That's right!

Get it, get it, get it.

That's... that's the hit right there.

- Yes! - Yeah!

- Yes! - Yeah!

No!

Hey!

Whoa! Hey!

Eleven?

Get that out of here. The number 11 guy on the Knicks

isn't even a basketball player, all right?

He's an eight-foot Serb with a kidney disease

they took a flier on.

Eleven is one one too many.

It's been the same

Monopoly-man-looking motherfuckers

at the top of Wall Street for 1,000 years.

"Impossible"? This shit is simple.

What goes in your pocket when that bell rings

at the end of the day comes directly out

of some other sucker's asshole.

Right?

One guy gets a dope chalet in Vail.

Another guy has to tell his daughter

that Christmas is canceled

because Santa Claus exploded in the Challenger.

- Ugh. - Now, I know who I am.

- Do you know who you are? - I'm Kerth... Keith!

Yes. Do you know who you are?

- Yassir X. - Absolutely.

- Do you know who you... - Get the fuck out of my face.

Right. Ronnie, you know who you are?

Honestly, I'm still trying to figure it out.

- Just say "Ronnie." - I know who you are, all right?

God chose me to choose you.

- Okay. - I am black Moses.

Nigga, did you say you black Moses?

Okay? And that designer denim LLC is the Red Sea.

And I'm gonna part that shit up,

and I'm gonna take us to the promised land.

- Yeah! Yeah! - So start buying, okay?

But you keep that shit quiet,

'cause if anybody outside of this room gets wind of that,

you're all gonna be deader than that gremlin's pussy

on top of Keith's head.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I'm gonna go put the "brother"...

...in Lehman Brothers.

Yeah! Yes! Yeah!

- Hey, Mo. - No, Keith. God damn it.

You cannot stop a man who just butt-fucks his walk-off line

- and then... - Happy birthday, boss.

I know it's the same shit every year, but what do you get

the guy who has everything, right?

More coke.

- You guys get me. - Yeah!

Scusi.

I seem to have come down with a bad case of the first days.

Uh, I have an interview

- at Morgan St... - Hold on a second, Scotty.

- Sorry. - Get cancer.

No, no, I just stepped in some dog shit.

Pretty wild, right?

Yeah, it's awful.

If this is trading, I may have picked the wrong career.

Oh. Uh, this is awkward.

Ty Daverman, Morgan Stanley.

We spoke on the phone. You're Blair?

Yes, Blair. Yes, Blair Pfaff.

Yes, it's a very... it's very nice to meet you, sir.

Hey, before when I said I may have picked the wrong career,

I meant that as a, uh... a joke.

Joking's kind of my strong suit.

I mean, obviously trading is my strong suit.

What are my weaknesses? That's a great question.

I can only think of three...

Caring too much, working too hard, and caring too much.

And I just repeated myself, so that's four weaknesses,

'cause I... That's a repeating weakness.

Wow, good thing I'm not interviewing you,

'cause I think you'd shit your pants in the next two seconds.

I think so.

You're here to interview me, kid.

- I am? - You're top recruit on the street.

Everybody's buzzing about this, uh, trading algorithm

you developed for your MBA thesis at Wharton.

Hey, I'm a Wharthog myself.

Look, you're gonna have

your pick of the top shops, all right?

But you want to be a MoStan man.

Technology... we're on the cutting edge, all right?

From mobile phones as small as toasters

to computers big as barns.

Here, consider it a gift.

Seriously?

Now, let's let these animals fight over the scraps.

I'll show you what the world

looks like to a MoStan man.

Lenny Lehman.

I'm Larry.

I'm Lenny. You really can't tell us apart?

Wait a minute, I forget. Now, which one of you

is a virgin, and which one of you

ain't never been laid before?

We call that a dis!

Really? Well, if you were an identical twin,

I would ask you, which one of you is under investigation,

and which one of you has already been investigated?

Now, that's a "dist."

What do you assholes want, anyway?

What do we... wha... you came here. What do you want?

I would like to be a pair of Downtown Julie Brown's socks,

but in the meantime, I'll take your shares of Georgina.

Georgina? The women's jeanery?

Len, do we even own any of that?

Yeah, Lar, we bought a chunk of that a while back

to offset our capital gain...

Just give me the fucking shares.

Then we'll go have brunch afterwards, on me.

Cheetah's Topless... What do you say?

Free ta-tas and frittatas?

- Ew. - Why Georgina? It's a dog.

No big whoop. They cut a nice jean.

I don't know about that.

We're all Cavaricci all the time, but okay.

Len, what's a fair price for our block of Georgina?

Well, it's trading at six,

so based on projected future earnings, I'd say...