Just Call Paul Tudor Jones The Colonel

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There are a lot of reasons to love* Paul Tudor Jones, the adorable scamp of a hedge fund manager who doesn't want anyone to see footage of him from back in the day. One of them is that he keeps his employees well-fed, with artery-clogging fast food. Once a month-- and apparently the event is happening next week, for those of you who just started at Tudor-- PTJ sends out a company-wide email inviting everyone "for a southern-style BBQ, though it's actually just KFC, 'cause he's a huge fan." Someone is dispatched to go pick it up** ("which can sometimes take almost an hour door to door, so you know he wants it bad"), and then they sit around and shoot the shit. Sure, a lot of firms offer their staffs tasty treats every now and then. SAC is big on individual chocolate fountains. AQR likes Ziplocks of whatever it takes to get people up to Biff Bassness's speed. And so on and so forth. But no else actually makes it rain buckets of chicken. Jones does, and that is why he is better than everyone else.
In related P to the T to the J news, as previously speculated, he was the one who directed the filmmakers to invoke a copyright claim this afternoon. According to Teri Buhl, when he asked for the documentary to be taken out of circulation back in the 90s, PTJ told producers he'd pay "considerably more" (double or an asston unclear) than whatever they'd make distributing the thing.
*And since sometimes you twits don't get it when we're actually being sincere, on the rare occasions it occurs: we mean it!
**Supposedly in Darien, even though there's a Stamford location, because PTJ thinks it's cleaner.