Remember Samuel Israel III? For those with short memories, SI3 is a former hedge fund manager who faked his own death in June 2008 with the help of his girlfriend, Debra Ryan, who later wrote an article explaining her actions by noting that she and Israel had "a blazing sex life" that was hard to walk away from (Ryan shared colorful anecdotes that included all the times Israel would "[jokingly] sneak up on her, once while wearing sunglasses on his penis"). For Israel's part, he had pretended to kill himself, incorporating a line from M*A*S*H into his fake suicide note, in an attempt to avoid the prison stay that was coming his way, on account of having taken Bayou Group investors for more than $450 million. At the time, he became something of a minor celebrity, whose business card, prominently featuring an egret, was auctioned off on eBay but since ultimately being sentenced to twenty years behind bars we'd heard nary a peep from the guy. Luckily, Andrew Ross Sorkin recently flew down to Butner, North Carolina for a little chat and it's a good thing he did because Israel had a lot he wanted to get off his chest. After offering ARS an "orange Life Saver," discussing his own version of a playoffs beard ("Mr. Israel...was wearing a tan prison uniform with his hair grown out, a mass of silver and brown curls sprouting from the sides of his bald head. 'I’m never going to cut it until I get out,' he exclaimed"), and talking Ponzi schemes, SI3 got down to the real matter at hand. About halfway through, the interview turned bizarre when Mr. Israel, on the verge of crying, announced: “I took a man’s life. I shot him twice.” I asked for more details. The story is recounted in “Octopus,” but the author, Mr. Lawson, doesn’t appear to believe it. In the supposed slaying, Mr. Israel describes himself defending a known con man, Robert Booth Nichols, who claimed to have once worked for the Central Intelligence Agency and has since died. Mr. Nichols was undertaking a secret trade at a German bank and was ambushed outside by a cockeyed “Middle Eastern guy.” Mr. Israel says he shot the ambusher in the hip and then in the head. He looked at me, shaking, and said, “I’ve seen someone with their head blown off maybe two feet back — as close as I am to you.” Mr. Israel recognized my skepticism. When I asked him what happened to the body, he said, “Bob made a couple of calls.” Again, I looked at him quizzically. “These people can do anything. They can get rid of a body,” he said. “Come on,” he added, looking at me as if I didn’t understand. “They can kill presidents.” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “The J.F.K. thing,” he said. He went on to tell me that he had videotapes of Kennedy’s assassination and that one was stolen by the F.B.I. “I know it makes me look like a crackpot,” he said. “But I know it’s real. Look into my eyes — I don’t care if people think I’m crazy.” Egrets. A Con Man Who Lives Between Truth And Fiction [Dealbook]

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Buffett said in the letter that he was looking for someone who was emotionally stable, could avoid serious risks, think independently and read human behavior. He also tried to reassure shareholders that he was in excellent health: "It's amazing what Cherry Coke and hamburgers will do for a fellow."-- New York Times, March 9, 2007 "The Economic Club of Washington rolled out a special head table — and laid in a special soft drink supply — at the Marriott Wardman Park in the District last Tuesday for the club’s 25th anniversary, where it hosted billionaire investor Warren Buffett...Economic Club Executive Director Mary Brady said she was advised by Buffett’s assistant, Debbie Bosanek, to keep things moving and find a supply of Cherry Coke (Buffett loves it...The Marriott Wardman Park, which is a Pepsi venue, made a special exception."-- Washington Post, June 10, 2012 For six months, as the credit crisis deepened, billionaire investor Warren Buffett turned away a string of Wall Street firms that came hat in hand looking for help. On Tuesday, Mr. Buffett says, he was sitting with his feet on his desk in Omaha, drinking a Cherry Coke and munching on mixed nuts, when he got an unusually candid call from a Goldman Sachs investment banker. Tell us what kind of investment you'd consider making in Goldman, the banker urged him, and the firm would try to hammer out a deal.-- Wall Street Journal, September 25, 2008 David Rolfe, chief investment officer of Wedgewood Partners, which owns Berkshire stock, said the cancer was a non-news event. “I’m more worried about him getting hit by the Cherry Coke truck,” Rolfe said, a reference to Buffett’s professed love of the Coca-Cola product.-- Deal Journal, April 18, 2012 Whenever I lost track of Buffett, [Cherry] Coke often appeared to guide me--a carbonated version of the proverbial trail of crumbs. In London, our party went from airport to hotel in separate cars. When I arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, I did not have to wonder for long whether Buffett had preceded me. A bellhop approached with a shopping bag. ''Is this yours?'' he asked. Inside were two six-packs of Cherry Coke. Two days later, I was in the crowded lobby of the Schlosshotel Kronberg near Frankfurt, following a white-gloved waiter bearing aloft a single bottle of Coca-Cola on a silver tray.-- BusinessWeek, June 5, 1999 The above is but a mere sampling, a drop in the bucket, of articles printed over the years intended to show us how much Berkshire Hathaway CEO Warren Buffett loves Cherry Coke. That it is his exclusive soft drink of choice. That he spurns all others in its favor. That he bathes in it. That he pisses it. That he bleeds not blood, but Cherry Coke. That the mere suggestion of drinking something that is not Cherry Coke makes him sick. That the notion he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Cherry Coke- his lifeblood- and, say, Diet Dr. Pepper or Pepsi Wild Cherry, would be laughable. And then this happened: The takeaway here is that we've all been pawns an an extremely sick game. Warren Buffett Fails the Cherry Coke Taste Test [BloombergTV]