Merry Christmas, Dad

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Since his little performance during Wednesday's conference call, a lot of people have been taking bets on how long it'll be before Sallie Mae Chief Executive Albert Lord is fired or involuntarily resigns. At Dealbreaker, we think this is ridiculous. This man shouldn't be fired, he should be promoted, and this might seem excessive to shareholders, but we suggest the prominent placement of a bronze statue in Mr. Lord's likeness, inscribed with whatever is Latin for "Let's get the fuck out here." We'll even consider chipping in, since poor Al lost about $200m in that little margin call from his local branch.
As a bit of housekeeping, I'd also like to take this opportunity to offer an apology. Not like the fake one I gave to Goldman last week, but a real, honest apology. Well, actually, it's not so much an apology as a clarification but whatever, let's not argue semantics. After all, it's Christmas. Some of you may remember that the last time we discussed A. Lord, I mentioned that I felt especially close to him because of his "predilection for cutting people down with dismissive statements such as those excerpted above reminds me so much of my father." Apparently my dad saw this mention, and felt that I took artistic liberties in my description. This was largely true, but I figured that since he rarely reads the site, it'd be no probs. Oh, but it was! My mother claims he was hurt-- this I find hard to believe, the man has never exhibited emotion in my presence-- my brother texted, "that thing about dad was cold," though his defense of the man isn't surprising, as he's always been my father's favorite. Anyway, at this time, I would like to say that contrary to what may have been implied earlier, I have a really good dad. To prove this, I've come up with list. Dad:
- you let me have a "Reservoir Dogs" table at my Bat Mitzvah party, where the theme was movies, even though mom thought it was inappropriate.
- you always came to all my field hockey games and cheered the loudest.
- you wouldn't let me go to prom with [redacted] junior year, because he'd just been caught with two pounds of marijuana in his locker. (I didn't speak to you for two weeks because of it, but I realize now that you had my best interest at heart).
- you paid my fine when I ran into trouble with the RIAA.
-you only yelled at me for a few hours that time I caused thousands of dollars in damage to your car, and lied and said I had no idea what happened. To this day I feign ignorance to how the bottom got ripped out, or what the mechanic was talking about when he told you, "I'm surprised the person driving didn't go through the windshield." To show you that I really do appreciate what a good dad you are, at this time I'm going to admit the truth. To the readers, before you jump at the chance take this annecdote as a reflection on the vehicular capabilities of women, don't. It's not a reflection on the vehicular capabilities of women, it's barely even a reflection on me. I drive really good usually. Anyway, dad: even though it wasn't a lie to say that technically, car parts-wise, I couldn't tell you what happened when I pulled into the parking spot, and when I meant to slam my foot on the brake, hit the accelerator instead, causing the car to jump over the cement divider thing at the end, put the car into reverse and dragged it back down to the ground...that's what happened.
Felt ripped off by this tribute? Here, have this, on me:

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