When BFFs Aren't

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It's Bess and Muffie. We won't pretend that Equity Private is even here in spirit, because the last time we did that, we were taken to task over "possibly jeopardizing [her] position, since the higher-ups even started sensing [she] might've been named in a blog post" and so on and so forth (to be honest, we weren't really listening-- I was fielding texts from an irate Carney and Muffie was SMSing with Richard and trying to find the chocolate sauce.) We also won't pretend to be so happy with each other at the moment, because someone might be a scab and someone else might have a stick up her person and someone else might not understand the delicacies of a certain situation. We will start from the beginning (of Sundae Strike).
For those of you who need a refresher, we were in the midst of taking a stand against the invasion of our playspaces as of Friday afternoon; yes, our playspaces had been violated-- heinously violated-- and we were demonstrating. We tried to picket but Muffie couldn't find any color of wood at Home Depot that matched the white background of the posterboard we were going to write on [Note from the Muff: EP, I understand why they fired Bob Nardelli now. I mean have you BEEN to a Home Depot? They do have Ralph Lauren paint though] but we were still sending a clear message: this aggression will not stand!


So, as you well know, we issued a fatwa on work at Dealbreaker and elsewhere, [Note from the Muff: I'm sure EP went into the office on Saturday though, that traitor] until justice, as determined by us, emerged. We also put together a small rally for striking employees and our supporters to protest stuff at the Cellar on Friday evening. We were very pleased to see many of you in attendance! [Note from the Muff: No, you did not get points for providing a paper "pocket square" that came off the bottom of your glass of cheap whiskey with a wet ring around it]. Fortunately, as the Prey:Hunter ratio was so far tipped in our favor, we left with some loyalists the early side of the night. We hope you all enjoyed each other's company in our absence. Joe Weisenthal tells lovely stories.
We received a text insisting that we stop off at Netti's, and feeling nostalgic for old friends and collegiate years, we obliged. [Note from the Muff: Too bad we ran into a few too many people that I knew]. Biblically- including Richard's son- so we had to abort our stay.
Muffie's always maintained that when things seem as down and out as they did, one needs only to look to the Harvard Club. [Note from the Muff: Too bad we had to settle for non-Harvard types.] It's true, our companions were a decidedly Princeton- set (and members of Ivy! to add insult to injury) but proved quite obedient with the smallest pout and foot stamp. Things did start to turn up, and even Schmitty, our favorite barkeep, who rarely works Friday nights, made an appearance.
The tide turned, as they say, when we spotted none other than Mr. Anti Female Workers Rights himself, hovering in a corner. Who the heck let HIM in, indeed.
Obviously, Mr. Carney tried to approach us, but like our friends the Bancrofts, we rebuffed his efforts and set out a clear "Do Not Enter" sign, by crossing our legs away from him. [Note from the Muff: Toward: unequivocal sex invite. Away: we mean business, Bucko, so go back from whence you came] But taking a hint has never been one of Carney's strong points- ask us about Hank Paulson's daughter later- and just as Trip was telling us about about the fact that none of the Princeton lacrosse team has ever been convicted for anything more than a misdemeanor (despite a felony arrest or two, but those charges were quickly dropped when the witness failed to appear in court, so I don't even know why I keep mentioning them in the first place), a bottle walked over to our table, compliments of "that man who looks so out of place in the corner."
He said he wanted to make amends and for us to come back to work and for all of us to be friends again. What he failed to realize is that the Dealbreaker women are not fair-weather strikers. We sent Trip over to tell him this but apparently standing at attention for more than three minutes is not the only thing Trippers can't do, and instead of standing firm, returned to tell us that Carney wasn't backing down. We sent Trip back to Carney, who sent him back to us, who was returned back to Carney once again.
By this time we were out of ice cream. Muffie started melting down because she just KNEW that the organic natural bean vanilla stuff wasn't due in until Tuesday and there was no way that she was going to be able to go that long. [Note from the Muff: It really is beastly to eat non organic ice cream] And, on top of everything, it suddenly occurred to me how silly I would look trying to get to Rio with the $12.42 that would be left in my pocket on Friday if I didn't get a paycheck this week (even if I was going to be borrowing my roommate's bunny costume).
Really, it was pretty easy to sell out settle with Carney and his offer was pretty generous. So what if I lied when I said I spoke for the entire Union? [Note from the Muff: WHAT?!] I would look pretty pathetic crawling back to that VP at Cerberus who offered me a job with $12.42 in my pocket. After a knock-down, drag out fight between me 'n Muffs in the bathroom, [Note from the Muff: Wait, that was you?] we accepted the terms of the agreement (two more bottles and "Muff 'n' B" shirts (for which we'll ask your opinion on later) in exchange for weekly roundtable discussions between us and EP, and very occasionally Brock, though he's not allowed to contribute, only to listen).
Don't expect, however, that these slumber parties will be all about doing each others' nails and braiding each others' hair, because that would presuppose that we're on good terms, the kind of terms that might engender one to call the other, what someone whose name rhymes with Hussie might call, her "BFF." This might have something to do with Muffie pulling my hair and telling me I was a "scab" [Note from the Muff: That I remember, you scab!] and that my propensity to "kowtow to the misogynist is absurd" and me slapping her in the face and screaming something along the lines of "You're just a sometimes contributor, this doesn't affect you in the same way!" [Note from the Muff: You left a huge mark on my face. I'm totally suing]. So the discussions will probably be more about all the MPD's that whore is sleeping with, [Note from the Muff: BESSY! You promised not to!] the latest greatest mergers and acquisitions, how easy it is to get by as an analyst at a BB bank if you put it out there that you have no problem getting palsy with co-workers at the company holiday party, and our violent pillow-fights.
[Note from the Muff: What the hell is your problem? Sometime contributor? Get over yourself, you are just a fucking INTERN]
Now, tell us which slogan you'd most like have on a shirt you'll soon be wearing:
- Muffin' But the Bess
- Levin with the Buff
- Buffie
- Picture of vintage Dealbreaker man with "DILF" on the bottom and "Benson-Perella" on the back, like a jersey.
- Picture of vintage Dealbreaker man with "DILF" on the bottom and "Levin" on the back, like a jersey.
- Carney Doesn't Respect Women
Get out and vote today.
[Note from the Muff: You are soooo dead, Levin.]

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