Meet Jerome Kerviel. Monsieur Kerviel is a trader at Societe Generale who seemingly evaded all of its controls to bet $73.5 billion — more than the French bank’s market worth — on European markets by hacking computers and “combined several fraudulent methods” to cover his tracks, causing around $7.1 billion in losses. Now, there are many who think that the entire story has not come out yet and that Jerome here may be a scapegoat for the company’s larger sins at a time of economic uncertainty. Comrade Blogenfreude is one such person, who has already covered this story here. But needless to say, it has roiled an already jittery world economy that this week has been having it share of ups and downs (but mostly downs).

But finance stuff is boring and sooooooo hard to understand. Sure all of my (modest) mutual funds are way down, but someone will come in and fix that, right? I want to get to the important questions: Jerome Kerviel: Hot or not? Let’s discuss after the jump.

When I was last in Paris, I learned two things. First, French people (or at least Parisians) don’t pronounce the word “Oui” like we do - the nice, easy for Americans “Wee”. Instead it sounds more like a cross between “way” and “wah.” Imagine a duck trying to quack but choking on an extra large seed. Got it? The second thing is that French guys are hot. REALLY FUCKING, bend-me-over-the-sidewalk-and-pound-me-into-the-pavement hot. My friends and I were getting whiplash walking down the street. But of course, as anyone who has ever dated a guy for more than 5 minutes knows, men aren’t perfect. French men were not particularly warm or assertive. Considering there aren’t really gay bars in Paris as much as there are just sex clubs for men that serve booze, you would expect more of a raunchy good time. So now we turn our attention to our favorite rogue trader.

HOT. He’s French, so he can bring you pain au chocolat and cafe au laits in bed and then talk to you in that sexy language (or if he speaks English - not a requirement - with that accent). He must be pretty smart and ambitious to evade all of the controls of that industry and rack up that kind of debt (I thought MY credit card bills were bad). And he deals in big numbers, so not only is he paying for dinner, he is paying for those hot pink Gucci slingbacks that you have your eye on (even if you’re only going to wear them to vacuum around the house).

NOT. 71 billion dollars? C’mon man, you are going to get caught at some point. And by all accounts he did not profit personally. What the fuck is up with that? If you are smart enough to figure out how to do it, can’t you be smart enough to figure out how to jet me off to St. Tropez or Monaco for the weekend and let me live out my Pretty Woman shopping fantasy in the Louis Vuitton on the Champs-Elysees? Can’t you buy me a house that is in St. Germain and not the fucking suburbs? And sure it isn’t going to last, but I am sure they have conjugal visits in French prisons. I am there for you baby. Until the inmates turn you into a bottom, then I’m out (thanks for the stuff!).

VERDICT. Hot. But I think we are going to have separate checking accounts for a while.