Well it is just another Saturday night and I am sitting in my expensive apartment, drinking an expensive whiskey, on the rocks. I am listening to the beautiful voice of a Brazilian singer, singing bossa nova: "Ce la vie, escuchando a mi, a la toche a bondan..." I am reading the stocks section of the newspaper, looking at what the market is up to today--I have billions invested in stocks and bonds. I get a call from another sophisticated man like myself, and we discuss the market. The only problem? I'm getting so fucking horny thinking about his big thick cock stretching out my tight asshole that I say something stupid about the market, and now he thinks I'm an idiot. I put my leather gloves on and grab my revolver from the safe, and quietly head over to his mansion. Suddenly, I remember that I shouldn't use my revolver, because the police will be able to trace the bullets back to me, so I walk back to my house and put the revolver back in the safe. Then I start quietly heading over to his mansion, and I will use one of his own knives to stab him to death. Then, I realize that there might be witnesses, so I will have to kill all of them. It is a massacre--I have to kill his wife and servants--I am so torn up over it. I go to where the maid keeps the bleach, and take out the bleach, and pour bleach over everything, to remove any traces of my DNA. Then I head back to my mansion and burn my clothes, and the gloves I used. It was a crazy night, but hey--they don't call it Saturday for nothing. In the end, I've lived a great life--and I wouldn't change it for a bit.