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The Daily Inquisition / October 21, 2008

The Canonization of Andrew Lahde

Statement of the Grand Inquisitor: Though Kenny Rogers will never write a song in his honor, Andrew Lahde is what redemption looks like. Or, more to the point, sounds like. Lahde spent the first part of his life wallowing in filth as the manager of a “hedge fund” which earned him a lot of money taken from the rich and stupid. So far, so bad. But Lahde had the sense to walk away with a mere few million, and the uncommon decency to spit the truth at his former colleagues.

Remember, brethren, we deal not with Attila or Timur but a new horde of conscience-ridden swine, who steal and kill and feel truly, sincerely bad about it—but not bad enough to stop. Andrew, at least, wiped his sandals on their faces when he left. Here we’ll quote from one article:

In his farewell message, Lahde told his clients that he had hated the business and had only been in it for the money. And after declaring he would no longer manage money for other people, because he had enough of his own, Lahde said that instead he intended to repair his stress-damaged health; he made it clear he would not miss the financial world.

“The low-hanging fruit, ie idiots whose parents paid for prep school, Yale and then the Harvard MBA, was there for the taking,” he wrote. “These people who were (often) truly not worthy of the education they received (or supposedly received) rose to the top of companies such as AIG, Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers and all levels of our government,” he said.

“All of this behaviour supporting the aristocracy only ended up making it easier for me to find people stupid enough to take the other side of my trades. God bless America.”

Arise Saint Andrew of Wall Street, unlikeliest of the anointed.

Statement of the Defense: Nonsense. As one reddit reader commented, “Actually this guy sounds like an arrogant jerk to me—just a different sort of arrogant jerk from the ones he calls out in this letter.”

Response of the Inquisitor: Yes, and as you failed to mention, the next comment on that thread answers, “It’s worth it just to see them slapped in the face for once.” Our God, who does not exist, does not offer either cheek. He, She, It, They, None of the Above, Noun Here, dishes out and does not take. Or would, if it existed. At this moment all justice, the notion that bore God, asks is a rock, a fist-sized rock to smash in the face of the smug. And Andrew, Saint Andrew, is the rock on which we set that Church.

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