Archive for December, 2013

Herbalife and Not Quite POEtry

El Toro

Once upon a midday scary, while I wagered short and beary,
Over a quaint and curious lot of some stock I quite despise
While I was bidding, mostly asking, suddenly there came a tapping
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my trading dive.
“Tis some visitor” I muttered, “Tapping at my trading dive
Only this, oh shakes alive.”

Ah distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each soaring, flying ticker wrought its ghost to way of life.
Eagerly I wished a drop, vainly I prayed for flop
For my ledger’s short sale I borrowed, borrowed Herbalife.
In this stock I saw no marrow — marrow in this Herbalife.
This the fake and fraudulent maiden whom Ackman calleth Herbalife.
Nameless here as ‘won’t survive.’

The Belgian court gave it plaudit. And this recent so sad audit
Chilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors much to my dismay
So that now, to fill the void that’s in my bank, I stood repeating
“tis some margin call entreating entrance at this time of day.
some late margin call entreating entrance at this time of day.
Margin call has come to stay.”

Presently my short grew longer, hesitating, but yes, then longer.
“Sir” said I “or Madam, truly your forgiveness, I beg some
But bearish I was betting, and ruthlessly you came rapping
And so brashly you came tapping, tapping at the midday sun
’twas right scared and I sure heard you.– I’m flat broke, I’ve got no mon’
Margin call! This ain’t fun.”

Into my red inked ledger peering, long I stood there crying, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming, dreams that Icahn and other mortals dared to bet before.
But in silence I was broken, and in silence I stayed broken.
The only word there spoken was the ponzied word, “Herbalife.”
This I whispered, and echo murmured back the word, “Herbalife!”
Margin call and Herbalife!

Back into my trading turning all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping someone louder than before.
“Ackman”, said I, “Ackman has attacked my window lattice;”
Help mine heart be still a moment and my misery explore;
Tis the margin and nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, not with mirth, but mostly mutter.
In there stepped a stately toro of the saintly days of yore
Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But instead, with mein of ox or ass stepped upon my calculator
Stopped and stood and nothing more.

Then this ebony cow so winning my sad fancy into grinning
Gravitas and much forbidding in his countenance was rife.
“Though thy horns be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said “are sure no raven,”
Ghastly grim and ancient toro wandering far away from field and scythe
Tell me what thy bovine name is today you Taureanean skeif
Quoth el Toro, “Herbalife.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly beast to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer yielded little, no meaning in my life.
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bull aside his trading desk.
Bird or beast crushing calculator atop his trading desk,
With such name as “Herbalife.”

But El Toro standing lonely on the crunchy dust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in one word was most concise
Nothing further then he uttered, with no udder, then he sputtered
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other men have conquered strife.
On the morrow he will leave me, as this trade has ruined my life.”
Then the bull said “Herbalife.”

Startled at account so broken and by moo so aptly spoken
“Feckless” said I, “From FormulaNone to Skin RevitaWife”
Brought by some sadistic master yanking thee from yonder pasture
Drink it fast your breakfast faster or get real slim with Metab-O-Life
Still the scourges of KinderShakes with garlic me do terrify
Woe Herba-Herbalife

But El Toro still so winning my sad fancy into grinning
Straight I threw an oblong knife right past my bugle, drum, and fife.
Then into the corner sinking, I betook myself to linking
What this black, unblanco, beastly, bleak, and blabbering blatherskite
Meant in mooing “Herbalife.”

So I sat enraged and cussing, with all syllables expressing
At bovine whose fiery eyes now burned into my chest alive
Cash and more from me depriving, with my stock price not declining
On the hard floor’s waxy shining where the lamppost’s light divining
And whose gaudy grainy shining only fireplace lights surviving
He shall step, ah, “Herbalife.”

Then methought the air grew sickly, and its scent changed rather quickly
Hung by holy hands whose hoofprints hoofed on my hardwood floor
“Brute,” I cried “Did Soros send thee? Or t’was Stiritz who hath sent thee?”
I puke, I puke and recuse me from thy memories of this gore
Quaff I will a quart of SleepNow and forget my lost bet short
“Herbalife,” Quoth El Toro

“Profit?” said I, “you are devil. Soros, Icahn are the Evil
Whence your sire sir? Were you sent by minotaur so scarcely blithe?
Desolate is my book accounted, from this nutri-dessert pretender
At this hour by horror haunted, tell me, tell my wife-
Is there calm in Cayman, tell me, tell me at this knife!”
Quoth El Toro, “Herbalife!”

“Be that now our sign in parting, cow, or brute,” I shrieked upstanding
“Get thee back into those islands with your nosering and your lice
Leave no rank fume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken
Leave my stock shorts unbroken! –leave my floor while you’re alive
Heave thy horns from out my heart, yea, take thy form and leave my hive.”
Quoth El Toro, “Herbalife.”

And El Toro, never grazing, still is standing, still is standing
‘Tween the pallid bust of Ackman and my drum and fife
Oh his eyes have all the grinning of a long call that is winning
Then this toro drops one steaming; drops the biggest in its life.
And my soul within that stench with flies, floating at my fife
Shall scream in strife, “Herbalife!”

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