I'm OK. I Promise.

VERO BEACH, Fla. -- Just how much would it TOTALLY suck to be a wildebeest?

Every time I turn on an animal show another one of those sorry bastards is getting run down.

Lions and cheetahs drop em with one solid swipe of a paw and then finish em at the throat within minutes. Hyenas and African hunting dogs latch on two to an ankle, cover em like ants, and meal through half their organs before they hit the ground. They scream All You Can Eat even to the alligators, who know full well that they'll never figure out to adjust the migration route a bit and take the long way round -- that they're dumb enough to once again cross that same stretch of shallow water.

Snap.

Two legs at a clip.

God knows what they're thinking as they watch the sky disappear and feel their noses fill with water.

Wait.

Jesus.

Isn't this precisely where mom died last year?

Surf and turf baby. Tay-stee.

The wildebeest is to the Serengeti hunters what pizza is to us. The go-to food. The sure thing. The easy meal.

And even waiting around to get eaten sucks. You're standing around in heat that makes a Chicago summer look a Chicago winter and swatting flies from your ass and munching on dead dry grass and dirt and hoping and praying for a shot at a few laps from a diseased grey waterhole and thinking

Hey. Lookit how many of us there are out here.

We've got numbers.

There's safety in that.

I feel fine.

I like my chances.

Eviananddots.com

A guy writes to me a few weeks ago and says

I love this whole Playstation mania thing give me the names of some stocks that will benefit from this especially ones that will go up a lot in the short run.

I write back

OK. Go ahead and buy anything and everything with the letter s in its ticker symbol.

He writes back

What the hell kind of smart-ass answer is that?

I write back

One that comes as the result of a most silly question.

He writes back

It's punks like you who make the world a sh***y place you're clearly the product of a mother on drugs and too much masturbation and by the way I'm telling your boss about this.

I write back

Look. Sir. Consider what you're doing. You know absolutely nothing about me. You know nothing of my credentials. You don't know if I'm qualified to write about stocks. I know you've never read even one of my columns because you don't even know that I don't write about stocks. And yet here you are asking me, a complete stranger, to throw you some names about something you've not looked into at all? Cmon my friend. Wise up.

I got no response.

I've not been fired.

Yet.

Epilogue

Folks are whacked.

They are not thinking; they do not want to. They are not seeking whys; they do not care. Some want someone -- anyone -- to simply confirm what they're already thinking. Others want to be told what to do.

Tell me. Gimme the damn answer. Quick quick quick. Action action action.

Our

Hartford friend makes the following observation.

I just can't get over how short term the focus seems to be in here. Do you think it's a function of the fact that newspapers are daily and Web sites have even faster cycle times? I mean, some folks have a sense that there is a signal in there somewhere amid the noise, even if we can't always tune it in properly. But the financial press seems to put maximum weight on the latest data point, so everything is equally weighted, so the noise is the signal -- and it's constantly changing.

Too bad for all those who can't tell the difference, but it sure does seem to me to be helpful to the rest of us in making money.

Supper's on.

Mmm. Roast beest.