Cockroaches will endure after the final mushroom cloud disappears; similarly, the finance industrial complex – the economists, traders, bankers, regulators, and journalists – will continue to try to salvage bylines, royalties, reputations and careers from the wreckage of our nest-eggs.

Who better to enter this scene than Randall Lane, the self-proclaimed “scorekeeper” of Wall Street during the last decade, founder of the now-defunct Trader Monthly and Dealmaker, magazines that lionized the money changers. But Mr. Lane is too modest: Celebrating the seven deadly sins in periodical form, he served as Mephistopheles to the masters of the universe, whose motto was “See It, Make It, Spend It.”

Only Beezlebub would dedicate his book to “Mom, for the unconditional love and trust . . . “ and then begin with a recollection of a Wall Street boxing cavalcade he created where liquor, money and blood flowed like something out of a DeMille silent movie. Ah, the devil uses any veil to mask his true intent . . .
(MORE AT THE NEW YORK JOURNAL OF BOOKS — http://tinyurl.com/22tnzjf)

On the other hand, I do recommend the Players Club story by Mr Lane.
Randall’s time working for Lenny was a simply awesome first hand account of total muppetry of the highest order: 1. Lenny in simply EVERYTHING he does and 2. Randall bank-rolling an obviously broke finance-tard (cash-tard/green-tard/money-tard? You decide…).