"Tell me if I'm way off, Buddy: you were a stockbroker. Maybe a different wife, maybe kids. You stack your paper, but you say shit like, "work hard, play hard," but you play a little too hard. You rack up debt. The type of debt that would make a white man blush. Maybe you get into a little trouble. Maybe you get your hand caught in the corporate cookie jar. Maybe you leave and run off to the desert, maybe with your favorite lap dancer in tow. Maybe you disappear into a world consisting of three things: money, sex, drugs, and action. Oh, shit, that's four. Am I close?"