Today, the Wall Street went to a strip mall Greek restaurant and ordered the fried calamari. The Greek restaurant, being shoddily-run, undercooked the calamari so it was tough and tasteless. This error was compounded by the fact that, earlier, a sick European banker had sneezed on the raw squid as it sat in the seafood market. So Wall Street caught a virulent European stomach flu and sprinted to the back of the restaurant and began vomiting. Things looked bleak; would Wall Street die in the dingy restroom of the Acropolis off I-9? However, as Wall Street was throwing up in the toilet, the attractive daughter of the Greek restaurant's proprietor knocked on the door: "Is everything alright in there?" she asked with a titillating mix of worry and forbidden longing. Instantly, Wall Street began feeling better and was able to compose itself enough to ask the comely Grecian out on a date. They went on a date and had a pretty good time, but things just didn't work out in the end.
Will vomiting in a restaurant bathroom displace roller coasters as the go-to metaphor for stock market swings? Only time will tell.