5:12 p.m. EST: The New Zealand market's up a fraction early. Word is it could surge majorly if there's good news on unemployment (good news = it swells to record levels; there's nothing worse for my bottom line than when every Freddie Familyfeeder and his brother is leeching corporate profits with a paycheck). A promise: if the NZSE finishes on the up-side today, I'm going to find out where the hell New Zealand is.
5:58 p.m. EST: Jumped on an IPO in Sydney. Company there claims it can generate enough electrical power to light the country by harnessing the tension in Paul Hogan's face. Sounds like a winner.
Nap. Dream of screwing Tyra Banks. On some brokerage commissions.
7:19 p.m. EST: Crazy hot morning on the Nikkei as the government announces a very encouraging economic indicator: In the last quarter of 1999, hara-kari by dishonored CEOs was down 34 percent.
9:43 p.m. EST: Hong Kong continues to pummel my wallet. Took a huge hit when I bailed on my shares of General Tso's Mills.
11:11 p.m. EST: Oops. I liquidate my whole Indian portfolio on rumors the rupee's about to be devalued. Turns out everything's fine. It was only human life that was being devalued again.
12:32 a.m. EST: I'm totally screwed in Iran. No sooner do I take a huge position in Death to the Great Satan Inc., the developer of an Islamic fundamentalist-friendly, "match light" American flag, than the whole damn country starts talking about "normalizing relations" with the U.S. Fuck me.
1:18 a.m. EST: For a decade, the only thing worth investing in in Moscow was the solid but under-earning vodka and cigarette stocks. No more. Today I grabbed a big piece of a start-up that's onto something totally new and different: smokable vodka.
Nap. Have recurring erotic dream with Martha Stewart where I rhythmically go in and out and in and out and in and out of her corporation's Omnimedia stock.
3:08 a.m. EST: Good news/bad news in Italy. The pharmaceutical outfit that supplies Roberto Benini with the angel dust he uses for all public appearances reported record profits and posted a 52-week high. But I'm still exposed on the company that builds the Pope's hats. Their experimental new "concept model" continues to fail wind tunnel tests and bites chunks from the bottom line.
3:55 a.m. EST: In France, I dive deep into Companie Poulet de Jaune, the country's leading maker of white flags. I figure if NATO continues to in-fight, the U.S. might opt out or it could dissolve altogether, driving the French rate of surrender back to pre-alliance levels.
4:37 a.m. EST: Huge break in Nigeria. Got out of DriveMuchGoodCorp just before they announced a 50 percent shortfall this year in their production of New York City cab drivers.
Nap. Dream of a mènage á six between myself, Merrill, Lynch, Pierce, Fenner and Smith.
8:13 a.m. EST: Make a quick check of the Greenland Stock Exchange, which, truth be told, is a guy named Bjorn with a crank-handle adding machine. (Not a problem since the only business up there is one that rents out the whole country for rich kids' ice skating parties.) Then shift my interest way south to Chile and move a few dollars into Genital Electrodes S.A. on the news that Pinochet is back in-country.
9:00 a.m. EST: Ahhh. A new day, another 8 solid hours, of American trading begins. This is what I live for. Where the real action is. Where the big dogs run. Dot coms. High techs. High stakes. Let's rock.
9:01 a.m. EST: Damn. Wiped out.