How The Filthy Became Rich

A young, sweaty, wild-eyed Filthy Rich is fucking a hooker from behind.

'Back then, I gambled like a degenerate, drank like a fish, fucked hookers three to five times a week and had three different federal Equestrian agencies looking to indict me.'

He dismounts, snorts some cocaine through a straw on the hookers rump.

'Oh yeah, and I loved drugs.'

'Yes, on a daily basis I took enough drugs to sedate greater Manehattan.'

'I took Quaaludes for my spine, fifteen to twenty a day, I use Xanax to stay focused, ambien to sleep, pot to mellow out, cocaine to wake up and morphine because it's awesome.'

The carriage pulls up to an office building. Jordan gets out, and trots up to Carriage Pull.

"Sorry for all the shaking back there." Filthy chuckled and gives Carriage a big bag of bits. "In addition to that, I added 300 bits as an apology."

"Thanks Filthy, and please, have sex with a hooker before you leave your house, I was getting bizarre looks from passerby's because the caravan was shaking wildly."

Filthy nods and hands him a smaller bag of chips. "This is for the back seat, it, uh, needs to be cleaned."

Carriage sighed and takes the bits. "I'll be back here to pick you up."

Carriage leaves and Filthy pays the hooker.

He then heads into the office building through the back door.

'But of all the drugs under Celestia's sun, there’s one that’s my absolute favorite...'

Filthy then walks in, leather couches, and desks are seen all throughout the office.

He then sits down at his desk and Filthy uses an ace of spades playing card to cut a line of coke on his desk.

He then grabs a small, cut up straw from the drawer of his desk.

'Enough of this shit’ll make you invincible, able to conquer Equestria and eviscerate your enemies.'

He snarfs up the line.

'I’m not talking about the cocaine. I’m talking about this.'

Filthy then opens another drawer and takes out a money bag full of bits.

'Money is the oxygen of capitalism and I wanna breathe more than other pony alive.'

He then tosses the bag it into a corner, where it comes to rest with two dozen others bags.

He walks out of his office towards what sounds like the roar of a mob.

'Money doesn’t just buy you a better life -- better food, better carriages, better pussy,  it also makes you a better pony. You can give generously to the church of your choice or the political party. You can save the fucking spotted owl with money.'

Filthy stands above the bullpen, a huge openspace with tightly packed rows of maple colored desks.

'But most of all, in any country in Equestria, money can buy you love.'

'Fuck friendship when you got money'

His 300 brokers, mostly young stallions with their jackets off, scream wildly. They worship him.

'With that in mind, at the tender age of 22, after marrying my marefriend, Sugar Diamond.'

An express carriage bus pulls up,  its sign reads 'Trot Street'

Filthy emerges, kisses Sugar goodbye, then joins a sea of commuters heading to work.

L. T. Stallionson - Bullpen- DAY 1

Telephones everywhere. At their desks, 45 brokers read their Trot St. Journals, readying for war. Like an eager puppy, Filthy follows broker Coin Chaser.

"Your job is ‘connector’, which means you'll be dialing the phone over 500 times a day, trying to ‘connect’ me with business owners. And till you pass your Series 7, that’s all you’ll be doing. Sit." Coin said while he motions his hoof at desk with, blank sheets of paper, pens and a telephone.

Filthy takes a seat at the desk next to Coin's

Coin continues. "Just so you know, last year I made over 300k and the other guy you'll be working for made a million."

'A million bits? I could only imagine what a douchebag that guy must be.'

A hoof lands on Filthy's shoulder. It’s Rocky Road, a 30 year old charismatic film star.

"Filthy Rich? Rocky Road." He glances at Coin Chaser. "Good, you’ve met Coin. One of

the smartest guys in the office. Who’s ever sucked a dog’s cock out of loneliness."

Coin's smile turns to a frown. He gives Filthy a stack of 3x5 index cards.

"Smile and dial. And don’t pick your fucking head up till one." Coin says before heading off.

"Don’t mind Coin, his father raped him as a child. Besides, I'm a senior broker here, he's a worthless piker." Rocky continues. "I heard you pitched stock at your job interview."

Filthy smiled. "Had to do something to stand out."

"I fuckin’ love that! Let’s grab lunch later. Bullied Bulls Diner good with you?"

Filthy nods. "Great. Yeah."

Rocky gives him a wink, looks at the clock, it reads 9:30 a.m.

"Let’s rock!!" Rocky screams.

RING!!! Absolute pandemonium at the bell signalling the opening of the stock market. Hooves fly off desks; Brokers and their Connectors dial phones like mad.

Filthy is mesmerizing as he takes in the uproar.

"Uniscribe's a fuckin’ steal! Thirty eight bits a share!" A broker says to another broker.

"Your broker in West Pennine? What are you buying, a coal mine? It's the 80s, the game is high-tech." Says Rocky Road through his phone.

"Fuckface! I got 50,000 Sunshire 50s!" Another broker says to the other broker.

'You want to know what money sounds like? Visit a trading floor on Trot Street. Fuck this, shit that. Cock, cunt, asshole. I couldn’t believe how these guys talked to each other.'

Coin notices Filthy sitting there frozen. He covers his mouthpiece, kicks the desk violently.

"Dial the cocksucking phone!"

Filthy snaps out of it, and starts dialing.

'I was hooked within seconds.'

Rocky slams down his phone in victory, scrawls out a “buy” ticket. He places the ticket into a glass cylinder which he slips into a plastic pneumatic tube. Then the tube is whooshed into the ceiling.

'It was like mainlining adrenaline.'

The lunchtime power spot with views of the city. At a corner table, Filthy Rich looks around as Rocky does another bump of coke on a spoon. None of the other diner employees seem to notice or care.

Rocky offering the spoon. "Got enough for one more? Tootski?"

"No. Thanks though." Filthy said.

Rocky slips the vial into his pocket as Bronco, the tuxedoed Maitre’D, approaches the two.

"Mr. Road, what can I bring for you on this glorious afternoon?" Bronco asks.

Rocky surreptitiously gives Bronco  a 100 bits, Filthy notices.

"Here’s the game plan, Bronco. Bring us two vodka martinis straight up. Precisely seven anda half minutes after you deliver those you’ll bring two more, thent wo more every five minutes until one of us passes out." Rocky explains.

"An excellent strategy, sir."

"Actually, I’m good with a ginger ale." Filthy said.

"First day on Trot Street, Bronco. Give him time."

Bronco offers menus.

"No thanks, were not eating."

Bronco heads off.

"You can get high during the dayand still function?" Filthy asked.

"High is the only way to do this fucking job. The stallion who coined the term “three-martini lunch” was a mare. Cocaine and hookers, my friend, the keys to success."

Filthy smiles, not sure if Rocky is kidding.

"I gotta say, I’m really excited about being part of your team. I wanna do all I can for our clients and-"

Rocky interrupts. "Just as long as we get our taste first. Remember something, Filthy Rich, your top priority in this job: make us money. If the clients get rich along the way, bully for them. Got a marefriend?"

"Wife. She cuts hair."

Rocky swallows a comment about that. Gets to business.

"OK, first rule of Trot Street. Nobody knows if a stock’s going up, down or fucking sideways, least of all stock brokers. But we have to pretend we know. Make sure you stay relaxed. Nobody wants to buy something from someone who sounds like they haven’t gotten laid in a month. Take breaks when you feel stressed, jerk off if you can. You like jerking off, right?"

"Well... uh, sure." Filthy said.

"Good, jerking off is key. And I highly recommend cocaine, which will make you dial faster, which is good for me. Churn ‘em and burn ‘em, baby."

A buscolt stops by with a fresh napkin, Rocky thanks him. Then, discreetly as possible, Rocky removes a fresh vial of cocaine tucked within and takes a quick snort.

Filthy then realized why he palmed the maitre d’ 100 bits.

'For the next six months I learned the ways of Trot Street.'

As strippers grind, Filthy parties with Rocky Road and dozens of brokers and trainees. Filthy sips a martini and studies Rocky, hitting on a STRIPPER.

'That fall I passed my Series 7. Finally it was here.'

Briefcase on his side, Filthy walks the stairs with a dozen other brokers.

'My first day as a stockbroker, a future Master of the Universe.'