Tyler Durden: We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
And so I went in secret off to Delphi.
Apollo sent me back without an answer,
so I didn't learn what I had come to find.
But when he spoke he uttered monstrous things, strange terrors and horrific miseries—
it was my fate to defile my mother's bed,
to bring forth to men a human family that people could not bear to look upon,
to murder the father who engendered me.
In case no one noticed, the end may be near. Number six on my checklist (below Republicans Lose South and above Krugman Wins Nobel) is "Major Financial Publication Run by Women".
Difficult as it is to admit, the domination of venerable Financial Tabloid, Dealbreaker.com (is that an oxymoron?) by estrogen in the forms of Bess Levin, Equity Private, and Muffie Benson-Perella has forced me to concede that the end may in fact be near.
For years the Wall St. archetype has been that of a chauvinistic, sex-driven, middle-age male making up for his lack of high school social rank (ARS we're looking at you). He held numerous secret affairs, with helpless women, whose only shot was to sleep their way to the top. Women were ghosts on Wall St. Afterthoughts.
Not any longer. Now, just as mother used to with Cinnamon Toast Crunch on Saturdays they spoon feed us our news, gossip, and channel our intellectual curiosities where they see fit.
Once upon a time one could rebel against the Oedipisian complexes festering in the male Wall Streeter's heart, for once we left our nests we were free to be men--at least until some slog convinced us we needed their protection yet again.
Now there is no respite, no escape, no "happy little cave" for us to hide in.
We, fellow Wall St. males are now a thing of the past, obsolete, and merely an appendage of the female new world order.
The end is near friends, the end is near.
PS - You ladies can bathe me in your liquidity any time.