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Simon Reynolds “The Wolf of Wall Street”, a Limo Driver’s POV

In response to Simon Reynolds’s 732‑word review of The Wolf of Wall Street on Digital Spy

By ,

If unsuspecting eyeballs on a screen could be regally, albeit undeservedly transported to the top of the financial heap, Simon Reynolds The Wolf of Wall Street would be the stretch limo that got them there without any concerns about damage to the clarity of their vision or a steady overdose of scatology.

These eyes---let’s say yours---pick you up and the corner of Gekko & Wall, with brief stops at the Nostalgia bridge to the 20th century and Ollie Stone’s take on the creed that is greed.  

Next stop, Stone is left in the proverbial dust, replaced in the back seat, next to you…. that is, your eyes, where you’re romanced by a young, attractive Barnum clone, plying you with technically illicit substances that leave your pupils fully dilated and ready for love, by the hour.

After you’re done ‘doing’ Manhattan, this limo driver’s got a real treat for you----the aisle of DiCapri. . o, lair of the debauching Roman emperors, whose wealth, unlike his Roman forbears, is stamped on stolen-with-consent bills with a long-haired party animal in his own right, old Ben Franklin, patron of French femmes oulala, and The Hell Fire Club.

Somehow, the limo’s run out of gas, driver Reynolds having remembered that your eyes are about to be damned by bloodshot fatigue and steel bars at some country club owned by Uncle Sam.  

Your eyes are now open, swearing off porn however appealing it may be to 72 year old Capri landlords.    

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