The Offices of Tony Corvette. Day 34.
The heat generated by the servers is almost unbearable. The cramped space TonyCorvette calls his office doesn’t help either. But you don’t become the world’s greatest press release release announcer without sacrifice. Computing power is all that matters to Tony. The faster he gets the alert, the quicker TonyCorvette makes magic. But the inconsistent timing of press releases often leave him stuck in position for hours on end, starving and sweating in equal weights. This line of work isn’t for the faint of heart.
Months ago he’d done some calculations on just how much weight he was losing each trading day, but his focus is on his computer screen right now. And when TonyCorvette is on his game nothing else matters.
His email pings, causing his heartrate to spike. But as he glances at the second of his seven monitors, he instantly dismisses it. It’s not from Cytodyn, but rather it seems Kohl’s is having yet another sale. Timely, he thinks. the bottoms of his jeans are worn thin from his time in the hot seat. That’s what he calls it. The hot seat. Because it’s literally hot in the room, but also because of the pressure he feels from shareholders. It’s a burden that can burn white hot with embarrassment if he drops the ball. Something that’s happened only one time since he opened his business, and even then it was only partly his fault. His main server unexpectedly overheated at the wrong moment, and in the thirteen minutes it took him to connect to a remote server and boot back up he’d missed Apple’s press release launching the iPod Sock. The product went on to flop and Tony felt personally responsible. His error had caused hundreds of people on the iSock team their jobs, and investors lost untold billions. Never again.
That’s the day he decided to set a time limit he’d never again miss, and he used the thirteen minutes it took him to connect to his remote server as a reminder of the mistake you can’t make when the whole world is counting on you. He never published his protocol for fear of copycats, but it’s well known amongst his diehard fans that he never takes more than thirteen minutes to inform the public, and averages around eight minutes. It may sound slow to the layperson, but nobody’s faster. It’s what put him on the map all those years ago, and what continues to fuel the growth of his company TC Enterprises today.
His mind briefly wanders back to the email he thought might be news of a partnership for CYDY. He really could use some new jeans. But if he misses an important presser because he’s too busy researching Bugle Boys, he knows you most likely will too. The clock moves closer to 9:30 as his stomach rumbles mightily. He ignores the hunger pangs and redoubles his efforts, staring even more intently at his inbox. His nose is like a leaky faucet as sweat continues to pour down his face, threatening to short-circuit the Happy Hacking Keyboard on the desk below. He’d bought it in Japan after making a killing keeping Apple investors aware of news in the early 2000’s. What it lacked in aesthetics it made up for in, well, hacking. But if he wasn’t careful, he’d flood it with perspiration it would short out and become a five-thousand-dollar paper weight.
He’s getting very worried that his keyboard is getting too wet, but unfortunately for Tony, both hands are tied up. One is holding court on the mouse, forever ready to highlight and copy a web address. The other is hovering over the keyboard, preparing to use shortcuts to copy and paste the link into a post on Investor’s Hangout, awaiting his next move on monitor 5. Which left him with only one other option to move the keyboard away from the Snoqualmie Falls of face sweat he was emitting.
Fortunately for Tony he was always rock hard at moments like this.
It all came together quickly and felt like slow motion as Tony shifted out of his seat, keeping his full focus on the clock as it began to turn over from 9:29am to 9:30am eastern. The start of the trading day and end to his watch. And despite the unlikelihood that a PR would drop with less than a minute to go before the bell he was already in motion, his neurons firing almost subconsciously as he was somehow able to convince his hips to thrust at just the right angle. Shakira would be proud.
The keyboard bumped safely away from the stream of sweat just milliseconds before TonyCorvette broke from his premarket fugue-like state, his eyes blinking for the first time in five hours. He often had no recollection of his time in front of the computer, his body shutting down all non-essential functions.
All that matters is the press release, and today, like many days, was a day for TonyCorvette to stand down. There’d be no news now unless it came after trading hours. And Tony would be ready. A quick meal of unseasoned salmon cooked in his microwave, paired with boil in the bag rice, also unseasoned, would sustain and prepare him for what was to come at 4pm eastern.
He spins out of his chair with an unexpected grace for a man his size, deserting his post for the day. It’s then he hears the familiar thumping sound coming from downstairs. It’s probably been going on for an hour or so, based on what he’s experienced on non-trading days. Tony only fills the hot seat Monday through Friday, but anyone who knows him understands that he’s never really off. Even on weekends or holidays he refreshes his email every minute. Thankfully, as technology advanced and everyone had access to a computer in their pockets, Tony could keep track of oddly dropped press releases through his phone or Bluetooth enabled watch. He’d been the first to receive an Apple Watch as a gift from Steve Jobs for keeping shareholders informed. This came after the iSock debacle, but Steve Jobs was a visionary and he understood Tony Corvette better than anyone. He understood his value, and it paid off in billions as Apple grew thanks mostly to Tony Corvette’s efforts.
The thumping intensified, causing Tony to put off his breakfast. He hated disruptions to his schedule almost as much as he hated missing a press release. He was annoyed now, and walked into the family room with purpose. He cleared the rug of its furniture and rolled it up, uncovering the trap door in the floor. A quick security code entry (6-9-6-9-6-9) and the hiss of the hydraulics confirmed he was clear to open the door.
Just as it happened every other time he opened the hatch, the familiar voice of JoeSax35 immediately broke the silence. “IN CASE YOU MISSED IT IT’S TIME FOR MY MEAL, ASSHOLE!”
Tony Corvette had only found himself in serious competition once in his career, and JoeSax35 was that competitor. He’d tried to play nice at first, but Joe wouldn’t relent. And it wasn’t just that he wouldn’t relent, but he was fucking good. Too good. Sometimes Joe would post about a press release almost five minutes before Tony could. It was an impossible feat, and Tony feared he’d been hacked somehow. Or maybe Joe had struck a deal with Cytodyn’s press team, which wasn’t impossible but Tony had tried that years before he’d first heard of JoeSax35 and nobody would put themselves at risk of SEC violations like that.
No, Tony Corvette knew it was something else. And since he couldn’t figure it out or risk sullying his good name, he did the only thing that he could think of. He kidnapped Joe Sax and stuck him in the hole. May of 2021 was his last post, and so far nobody seemed to miss him.
“IN CASE YOU MISSED IT THE FIRST TIME, I WANT MY FOOD AND I WANT MY AUTOTRADER.........ASSHOLE!!!”
Man, this guy was annoying, thought Tony.
He yelled back, “BE READY FOR AN ASSKICKING, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
But Tony Corvette was nothing if not a gentleman, so he dropped the bowl of kibble down using the wheel and pulley system he’d built, and of which he was particularly proud. He stuffed the latest Autotrader in the basket as well, but tore off the cover so Joe wouldn’t know if it was new or old. He chuckled at his pettiness.
With his old foe Joe confused and out of the way, he was ready for his own meal and a good night’s rest. But his watch alerted him to an email before he could even put his salmon in the microwave.
A press release.
HOLY. SHIT.
This one was a doozy, too. Looked like Jazz Pharmaceuticals had entered into a partnership with Cytodyn for cancer indications. His wait was over. It was time.
He spun in his Keds to hustle back to the hot seat, but the glue on the heel failed and Tony slipped. Maybe it was his weight, or maybe it was that some little kid in a third world country did a shit job manufacturing his shoes for eight cents an hour. Either way, that glue failure was the worst combination of luck and karma he could imagine, because as his right foot shot out looking for purchase it happened to come down in the opening to the hole of his family room dungeon. He desperately grabbed for the arm of the couch as he began his fall into the hole, but it was as fruitless as his diet and he tumbled down the two stories he’d dug. Joe Sax, completely engrossed in the going rate for low mileage Ford Flexes, didn’t even have time to register what was happening as his body was crushed by the weight of a falling Tony Corvette.
Both died instantly.
Within minutes there was major chatter on all the boards, including Investor’s Hangout where Respert24 was the first to scoop the news of the partnership with Jazz. Years later the bodies would be found, with authorities unable to explain why there was a dungeon in a residential house, why two bodies were found in it, and why both bodies were naked except for Keds and what appeared to be an old Autotrader magazine that, best guess, was being used in some sort of sex ritual.
Cytodyn meanwhile, would hit three digits a mere one year later. Making many a shareholder rich beyond their wildest imaginations.
The heat generated by the servers is almost unbearable. The cramped space TonyCorvette calls his office doesn’t help either. But you don’t become the world’s greatest press release release announcer without sacrifice. Computing power is all that matters to Tony. The faster he gets the alert, the quicker TonyCorvette makes magic. But the inconsistent timing of press releases often leave him stuck in position for hours on end, starving and sweating in equal weights. This line of work isn’t for the faint of heart.
Months ago he’d done some calculations on just how much weight he was losing each trading day, but his focus is on his computer screen right now. And when TonyCorvette is on his game nothing else matters.
His email pings, causing his heartrate to spike. But as he glances at the second of his seven monitors, he instantly dismisses it. It’s not from Cytodyn, but rather it seems Kohl’s is having yet another sale. Timely, he thinks. the bottoms of his jeans are worn thin from his time in the hot seat. That’s what he calls it. The hot seat. Because it’s literally hot in the room, but also because of the pressure he feels from shareholders. It’s a burden that can burn white hot with embarrassment if he drops the ball. Something that’s happened only one time since he opened his business, and even then it was only partly his fault. His main server unexpectedly overheated at the wrong moment, and in the thirteen minutes it took him to connect to a remote server and boot back up he’d missed Apple’s press release launching the iPod Sock. The product went on to flop and Tony felt personally responsible. His error had caused hundreds of people on the iSock team their jobs, and investors lost untold billions. Never again.
That’s the day he decided to set a time limit he’d never again miss, and he used the thirteen minutes it took him to connect to his remote server as a reminder of the mistake you can’t make when the whole world is counting on you. He never published his protocol for fear of copycats, but it’s well known amongst his diehard fans that he never takes more than thirteen minutes to inform the public, and averages around eight minutes. It may sound slow to the layperson, but nobody’s faster. It’s what put him on the map all those years ago, and what continues to fuel the growth of his company TC Enterprises today.
His mind briefly wanders back to the email he thought might be news of a partnership for CYDY. He really could use some new jeans. But if he misses an important presser because he’s too busy researching Bugle Boys, he knows you most likely will too. The clock moves closer to 9:30 as his stomach rumbles mightily. He ignores the hunger pangs and redoubles his efforts, staring even more intently at his inbox. His nose is like a leaky faucet as sweat continues to pour down his face, threatening to short-circuit the Happy Hacking Keyboard on the desk below. He’d bought it in Japan after making a killing keeping Apple investors aware of news in the early 2000’s. What it lacked in aesthetics it made up for in, well, hacking. But if he wasn’t careful, he’d flood it with perspiration it would short out and become a five-thousand-dollar paper weight.
He’s getting very worried that his keyboard is getting too wet, but unfortunately for Tony, both hands are tied up. One is holding court on the mouse, forever ready to highlight and copy a web address. The other is hovering over the keyboard, preparing to use shortcuts to copy and paste the link into a post on Investor’s Hangout, awaiting his next move on monitor 5. Which left him with only one other option to move the keyboard away from the Snoqualmie Falls of face sweat he was emitting.
Fortunately for Tony he was always rock hard at moments like this.
It all came together quickly and felt like slow motion as Tony shifted out of his seat, keeping his full focus on the clock as it began to turn over from 9:29am to 9:30am eastern. The start of the trading day and end to his watch. And despite the unlikelihood that a PR would drop with less than a minute to go before the bell he was already in motion, his neurons firing almost subconsciously as he was somehow able to convince his hips to thrust at just the right angle. Shakira would be proud.
The keyboard bumped safely away from the stream of sweat just milliseconds before TonyCorvette broke from his premarket fugue-like state, his eyes blinking for the first time in five hours. He often had no recollection of his time in front of the computer, his body shutting down all non-essential functions.
All that matters is the press release, and today, like many days, was a day for TonyCorvette to stand down. There’d be no news now unless it came after trading hours. And Tony would be ready. A quick meal of unseasoned salmon cooked in his microwave, paired with boil in the bag rice, also unseasoned, would sustain and prepare him for what was to come at 4pm eastern.
He spins out of his chair with an unexpected grace for a man his size, deserting his post for the day. It’s then he hears the familiar thumping sound coming from downstairs. It’s probably been going on for an hour or so, based on what he’s experienced on non-trading days. Tony only fills the hot seat Monday through Friday, but anyone who knows him understands that he’s never really off. Even on weekends or holidays he refreshes his email every minute. Thankfully, as technology advanced and everyone had access to a computer in their pockets, Tony could keep track of oddly dropped press releases through his phone or Bluetooth enabled watch. He’d been the first to receive an Apple Watch as a gift from Steve Jobs for keeping shareholders informed. This came after the iSock debacle, but Steve Jobs was a visionary and he understood Tony Corvette better than anyone. He understood his value, and it paid off in billions as Apple grew thanks mostly to Tony Corvette’s efforts.
The thumping intensified, causing Tony to put off his breakfast. He hated disruptions to his schedule almost as much as he hated missing a press release. He was annoyed now, and walked into the family room with purpose. He cleared the rug of its furniture and rolled it up, uncovering the trap door in the floor. A quick security code entry (6-9-6-9-6-9) and the hiss of the hydraulics confirmed he was clear to open the door.
Just as it happened every other time he opened the hatch, the familiar voice of JoeSax35 immediately broke the silence. “IN CASE YOU MISSED IT IT’S TIME FOR MY MEAL, ASSHOLE!”
Tony Corvette had only found himself in serious competition once in his career, and JoeSax35 was that competitor. He’d tried to play nice at first, but Joe wouldn’t relent. And it wasn’t just that he wouldn’t relent, but he was fucking good. Too good. Sometimes Joe would post about a press release almost five minutes before Tony could. It was an impossible feat, and Tony feared he’d been hacked somehow. Or maybe Joe had struck a deal with Cytodyn’s press team, which wasn’t impossible but Tony had tried that years before he’d first heard of JoeSax35 and nobody would put themselves at risk of SEC violations like that.
No, Tony Corvette knew it was something else. And since he couldn’t figure it out or risk sullying his good name, he did the only thing that he could think of. He kidnapped Joe Sax and stuck him in the hole. May of 2021 was his last post, and so far nobody seemed to miss him.
“IN CASE YOU MISSED IT THE FIRST TIME, I WANT MY FOOD AND I WANT MY AUTOTRADER.........ASSHOLE!!!”
Man, this guy was annoying, thought Tony.
He yelled back, “BE READY FOR AN ASSKICKING, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
But Tony Corvette was nothing if not a gentleman, so he dropped the bowl of kibble down using the wheel and pulley system he’d built, and of which he was particularly proud. He stuffed the latest Autotrader in the basket as well, but tore off the cover so Joe wouldn’t know if it was new or old. He chuckled at his pettiness.
With his old foe Joe confused and out of the way, he was ready for his own meal and a good night’s rest. But his watch alerted him to an email before he could even put his salmon in the microwave.
A press release.
HOLY. SHIT.
This one was a doozy, too. Looked like Jazz Pharmaceuticals had entered into a partnership with Cytodyn for cancer indications. His wait was over. It was time.
He spun in his Keds to hustle back to the hot seat, but the glue on the heel failed and Tony slipped. Maybe it was his weight, or maybe it was that some little kid in a third world country did a shit job manufacturing his shoes for eight cents an hour. Either way, that glue failure was the worst combination of luck and karma he could imagine, because as his right foot shot out looking for purchase it happened to come down in the opening to the hole of his family room dungeon. He desperately grabbed for the arm of the couch as he began his fall into the hole, but it was as fruitless as his diet and he tumbled down the two stories he’d dug. Joe Sax, completely engrossed in the going rate for low mileage Ford Flexes, didn’t even have time to register what was happening as his body was crushed by the weight of a falling Tony Corvette.
Both died instantly.
Within minutes there was major chatter on all the boards, including Investor’s Hangout where Respert24 was the first to scoop the news of the partnership with Jazz. Years later the bodies would be found, with authorities unable to explain why there was a dungeon in a residential house, why two bodies were found in it, and why both bodies were naked except for Keds and what appeared to be an old Autotrader magazine that, best guess, was being used in some sort of sex ritual.
Cytodyn meanwhile, would hit three digits a mere one year later. Making many a shareholder rich beyond their wildest imaginations.
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