The Life of a Wall Street "Analyst"

I'm halfway through Liar's Poker, a Wall Street trader's memoir of his trading days and a historical account of the growth of the mortgage bond trade (which is actually relevant with sub-prime borrowers beginning to default). Sounds boring, I know, but this is hands down the funniest book I've ever read (for me, better than Stewart's "America". Here's one comedic exchange:

"On the braver days, you cruised the trading floor to find a manager who would take you under his wing, a mentor, commonly referred to as a rabbi. You also went to the trading floor to learn. Your first impulse was to step into the fray, select a likely teacher, and present yourself for instruction. Unfortunately, it wasn't so easy. First, a trainee, by definition, had nothing of merit to say. And, second, the trading floor was a mine-field of large men on short fuses just waiting to explode if you so much as breathed in their direction. You didn't just walk up and say hello. Actually, that's not fair. Many, many traders were instinctively polite, and if you said hello they'd just ignore you. But if you happened to step on a mine, then the conversation went something like this:

Me: Hello
Trader: What fucking rock did you crawl out from under?
Hey Joe, hey Bob, check out this guy's suspenders
Me: (reddening) I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions
Joe: Who the fuck does he think he is?
Trader: Joe, let's give this guy a little test! When interest rates go up, which was do bond prices go?
Me: Down.
Trader: Terrific, you get an A. Now I have to work.
Me: When would you have some time...?
Trader: What the fuck do you think this is, a charity? I'm busy
Me: Can I help in any way?
Trade: Ya, Get me a burger. With Ketchup
(pg 58)

Here's one more:

"Of all exceptions, however, the Japanese were the greatest. The Japanese undermined any analysis of our classroom culture. All six of them sat in the front row (during "analyst" training) and slept. Their heads rocked back and forth, and on occasion fell over to one side, so that their cheeks ran parallel to the floor. So it was hard to argue that they were just listening with their eyes shut, as Japanese businessmen are inclined to do. The most charitable explanation for their apathy was that they could not understand English...Their leader was a man named Yoshi. Each morning the back room boys made bets on how many minutes it would take Yoshi to fall asleep. They liked to think that Yoshi was a calculating troublemaker. Yoshi was their hero. A small cheer would go up in the back row when Yoshi crashed, partly because someone had just won a pile of money, but also in appreciation of any man with the balls to fall asleep in the front row.
(pg 50)