>Mr Johnson, I have to tell you, the business woman to my left is a deceitful witch who is trying to string you along with a smile. I'm telling it to you straight, your business is dogshit and your product makes me puke, I honestly hope you fail. I'm out.
>>65053054 Have you ever drank a glass of black rhinoceros blood? Of course not, I was just being colloquial to start this story with an anecdote. The first time I had a glass I was in South Africa, taking a celebratory drink in Johannesburg after completing a successful hunt. You see, in South Africa they don't hunt lion, or elephant. We hunted a more dangerous game: the kaffir, or black man. I finally had a 7 year old boy cornered in an Oingo Bongo merchandise warehouse when the thoughts passed through my mind: Should I pull the trigger? Can I ever come back to who I was before this moment? I pulled the trigger, made my first 100 million dollars. Mr. Johnson, this is something you need to ask yourself: can I pull the trigger on this deal and make the right choice? 10% funding for 85% ownership and prima nocte rights to your daughters.
>When I married my dear Linda I took her to Italy for our honeymoon. I took her to the best restaurants and most exclusive parties in Roma. This one time I ordered the most rare Coffin Bay Oysters I could find on the menu and I washed it down with a bottle of champagne that once belonged to Pope Pius VII, it costed me a whole year of your company's profits. What I'm trying to tell you is that I fucking hate oysters, they make me sick to my core and I am actually allergic to them, so much so that the last time I ate some I had to shell out $300k only in accommodations to the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles for the privilege of staying at the imperial room in my bed with vicuna sheets while a team of 7 world-class doctors made sure I receive the best care. The only reason I ate Coffin Bay Oysters was to show my beloved new wife that I am a man that can get anything he wants from this world and that can offer to his family whatever their wish desires. Buying your product would show nothing of that to my wife or the rest of the world, while making me ten times as sick. Watching your pathetic pose while presenting this shameful offer disgusts me to the core. For that reason, I'm out
>>65055044 People are pretty desperate if they come to a fucking TV show to get their capital, after all. And the sharks know it very well, that's why you see all these prima nocte offers handed to them.
Every year, I go to see Madame Bizoli, a fortune teller I visit to see what the cards say of my profits for the coming year. This year was like any other. I came and sat at the table, incense filling both the room and my nostrils. Choking me. Suffocating me. I asked, "Madame Bizoli, tell me, what do the cards say of my fortune and prosperity?" She said to me, "Oh yes, this is a good sign," laying out the tarot cards on the table. I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A small arm, underneath the silk cloth of the table. I pull it, and what do I find? A small gypsy boy. Now, this is not known to you because I doubt you have ever required the services of a woman like Madame Bizoli, but these meetings are strictly confidential. Do you know what I did? I had my bodyguard pull out his 45 caliber USP designed by Heckler and Koch, and I had him put a bullet in her head. In this business, you have to be ruthless. And I want to know if you're ruthless enough to do what it takes. And what it takes is for you to give me 85% of your company for half of this reuben in my front pocket, plus 15% more if it goes anywhere, or I'm walking out of that fucking door right now.
>Mike, I'll tell you a little story. I'm a member of a group called the Chevaliers du Tastevin. It's a secret society of Burgundy drinkers. Every 90 days, somewhere in the world we gather and we drink wines as old as 1902. But you can't do it unless you're wearing your tastevin which is a tasting cup made of pure silver. If the cup is dirty, you're rejected from the meeting. No matter where it's held. Could be Paris, could be Rome - you can't get in. I keep telling my wife, "You gotta polish my tastevin!" She says, "Polish your own tastevin!"
>When I was a boy, there was a house near mine, just around the block. It had been abandoned for several years - the windows were smashed and the front door was hanging loosely on its hinges like a sad penis of an eighty year old man with diabetes. Sometimes homeless people would stay in the house for a few nights at a time, but they never stayed long. >One day while my chauffeur was driving me past the house on my way to private school, I saw that the property was surrounded with Caution tape, and there were police cars in front. I heard later that six men had been killed in the house, in some bizarre Satanic ritual. Each of them had been hung by the neck in the ballroom from the chandelier. >Beneath their corpses, a mess of feces, blood and urine had been crudely painted into a Pentagram. Each of the six bodies hung above a point in the star, and one body hung above the middle. >The eyes of each of the men had been gouged out, and lay on the floor beneath them (Autopsies revealed this was done while they were still alive) - all except one. The man in the middle was not homeless. He was wearing a rich and expensive business suit, and a gold watch. There was five thousand dollars in his wallet, but no ID. His eyes were never found. >I learned later that my father did this to this man. It turns out the man in the suit had once done business with my father, and had accidentally overcharged my father's account when calculating taxes, as he round up .229% to 23%. >Twenty years later, my father disowned me because he said I was too ruthless in business. >If you still want to do business with me, I will give you $100,000 for 10% of your business, and you have to come to my place for dinner at least once a year. >If you betray me, you will understand why nobody crosses Kevin O'Leary twice.
>Every Winter Solstice, I have my driver escort me down to the poorest, filthiest looking skid row in all of lower east side Manhattan. As I exit my bulletproof limousine and begin my walk, my twelve billion dollar custom gucci slippers pierce the snow with every step. I look behind me with glee as the local homeless population scrambles to erect shrines in my image, often several stories tall, next to each and every one of my footprints because they literally worship the ground I walk on. I stroll until midnight, or the witching hour as my brothers in the illuminati refer to it, and then call my driver to fly me through the city in my private helicopter made from the scraps of the Titanic so that I may have a bird's eye view of the shrines, as well as the homeless population that has now formed indian-like tribes and are now waging holy wars against one another, spilling rivers of blood in my name. The tribes continue to slaughter each other until there is only one tribe left. Then, the surviving tribe members turn on one another, in a bloody ritual known as Mak'gora, until there is only one man left standing. That man is allowed the honor of washing himself clean at the local homeless shelter, only to be bathed in the blood of the Aa'ti Compasaurus; a breed of dinosaur sacred to the homeless tribes that my personal scientists genetically engineered back to life, which I then singlehandedly hunted to extinction. The man is then lifted onto the tallest of the shrines in my image where I personally crucify him and then burn him alive. This is considered the most honorable death one can achieve in the homeless tribe culture. At this moment, you are not that homeless man who earned the right to die in my presence. You are not even one of the lesser homeless that died in vain attempting to reach a goal that seemed nigh impossible. You are just a small baby dinosaur in this story. A dumb beast that I slaughtered with my bare hands, and for that reason, I'm out.
Listen Lady, it's sad that your 3 children died of tuberculosis because you couldnt get funding for your product, but do you know what's sadder? you don't make a profit. Just like how your children died, in the business world you will painfully collapse and rot away into nothing more than a putrid corpse, and that's why you should sell me 51% business for $15,000.
>>65057006 For cuban, a mavericks themed sample For robert, a car themed sample For the woman, a QBC sample For the other woman, a house themed sample For you Kevin, a sample painted in the blood of my firstborn child, along with a glass of wine fermented from a now extinct species of grape
>>65058026 >On the street that I grew up there was a poor family. That family had a boy of my age who knew what was good for him and befriended me. Every time I went into his, to be frank, subpar bedroom he let me hop in his bed. Later I ended up buying the whole neighborhood, razed all the houses and sold the land for $250 million to a real-estate agency. The reality is that if people are good at something, that something is smelling good opportunities. By not inviting me to test your bed you showed me that you are less than your average Joe as you are incapable of doing what's best for you. And because of that, I'm out.
>I am a part of a secret cult called The Ariodite Scholars. Every 6 months, we gather atop the Himalayan mountains to perform our various rituals. We drink Ram's piss aged 200 years out of Viking skulls dated no later than the 10th century. At the end of the day, we remove our robes and descend down from the peak of the Himalayas flaunting our majestic half circumcised phalluses in their true glory. Once we reach the nearest village, we find their youngest women who are ready to bare children and we engage in sexual intercourse. At the same time, we look for the women we fornicated with 6 months ago. If they're pregnant, the Arioditean Scholar who impregnated her must lift her over his head and slam her onto the floor as hard as he can so that she loses the child. It's truly magnificent. We end the ceremonies by bathing in hot springs in the village of Syubrabesi. Before we do so, we make sure to grab all the monkeys bathing in the springs and smash their skulls and drink their sweet brain juice. You've never had brain juice until you try Himalayan monkey brain juice. It's a glorious event I wish you all could take part in.
>>65054729 >Robert >"I'll give you exactly what you came in asking for. I love what you are doing and I share your passion. Let me go on this journey with you" >Thanks Robert but first let us hear the other sharks
>>65055188 No private investors going to get you 10 minutess of free advertising on a major tv network and in fucking prime time without needing to do a deal. Just by going in you get a big cash pull, even the 'zeros'.
I'm about to give you some of the best business advice you will ever get - for free. I visited Orapa, a town in Botswana that is home to the world's largest diamond mine. I took this trip with my beautiful mistress and twin son and daughter (Alphontine and Largesse). On this trip we dined on just one thing – Diamonds - THE most exquisite and decadent of meals. Each of us was assigned a tribesman as well, for when you pass the diamond, not only is it extremely painful, but you must retrieve that precious stone. Our assigned commoner has only one duty: at the time of our excretion, day or night, they will squat beneath us and sift through our hot filth to retrieve the diamond. This is truly an honorable position to be put in for the tribe, as the diamond is worth more than his soul. If he were to not recover the gem from the excrement, it would result in his execution and likely razing of his entire village. In this case, you are me and I am the tribesman, after sifting through your shit I have found nothing of value and want to kill myself. For those reasons: I'm out.
>You know, your time spent in front of us reminds me of something. It reminds me of a small fishing village near one of the many luxurious mansions i own, all over the world. One night, after a crab dinner and half a bottle of $1000 wine, i decided to take a short walk through the village, as if to live among the common man. As i came upon the beach, i saw a small boat quickly being pulled into the water. Then i heard the struggle of an old man, that had been caught in the crack of the vessel. He saw me and tried to call out, in some language i can't be bothered to learn or even remember. Soon, water filled his mouth and all i heard was bubbles. What i do remember is, as the water swallowed him, and the last glimpse of the boats hull sank from view, his troubles were no longer with his slow, but inevitable fate to slip into the crushing embrace of Poseidon. No, his fate had become much worse. You see, in his struggle of thrashing and screaming to free himself, he had attracted 2 Tiger Sharks. As a fisherman, he had preyed on them for years, feeding his family and scratching out a living, if that's what you can even call it. Now, they had him. He was now the prey. They circled, and nipped, got the scent of blood in the water, and delighted in his fear. Then they simply left him, bloodied and drowning. Afraid. Do you see where I'm going? You are that fisherman, and your business is the ship. I am the shark you attracted. I can end your suffering and buy your sinking ship, just to put more holes in it, so you know who's the shark in this room. Instead, I've circled and wasted your time, as you've wasted mine. I'm out.
>I fancy myself a survivalist. But the difference between me and some piss drinking yoke in a shack? I put my knowledge to good use. Case in point, I started Kevin's Kid Kamp in 1997, and each year we go into the wilderness to practice survival. The age range of the boys is usually 11-14, and we stay outside for about a month. During this time, we also take a young refugee child with us, under the guise of empathy. In reality, the other boys take turns belittling the child, burning him with cigarettes, et cetera. After an hour or so, one boy will go too far and kill the child.
>This boy is singled out, and permitted access to my tent and carnal knowledge of Sufti, my man servant. This is not a sexual conquest, but a power conquest. The lucky boy is then re-introduced to the others, who are informed that what stands before them is no longer a boy but a man.
>You? You've never been in the wilderness for a minute. I can smell the stink of civilization on you--aftershave and fast food--and if my willpower was not so strong that I have not had an involuntary bodily reaction since 1986, I would literally vomit. The newly minted men of Kevin's Kids Kamp would absolutely destroy you.
>3% for 97% of your company, and for the rest of your life you fulfill Sufti's duties as a rapehole for troubled preteens. If you blink in the next 45 seconds this offer is accepted without question.
>When I was a boy my father used to take me to a homeless shelter. As a fun pass time and a mean of lesson he would have me pick 5 contestants. Weekly we would bring platters ranging from scrap stew and stale bread to juicy prime rib with a side of asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes. My father would tell them only one could have the meal and they had to fight until knock out or death for it. When they were given the scrap stew as a reward only the most desperate tried their hardest. However the prime rib, asparagus, and potatoes were fought over in such ferosity I thought I would die from the amount of rotten smelling blood and what I believed to be feces.
>>65060788 >Mr. Roberts, here you stand among the sharks and you give us scraps. Your business and offer is worthless and will make no money, your product is essentially, for lack of a better term "poo poo on a stick" and for that reason, I'm out. Also I forbid any shark from investing on this.
>>65059688 >One hot summers night in Jakarta, I met an emaciated Indonesian medicine man. He offered me his 10 year old son as a sex slave in exchange for some food. I pitied the man but all I had were some caviar and a gold flaked abalone sandwich. I knew this man's palette was not refined like mine so offering him these delicacies would be wasted. I realised however that my feet were rather hot and sweaty so I offered to let him lick my toe jam instead. He accepted my offer, and I, being the respectful business man that I am, took his son. As the medicine man licked my toes clean, I ploughed into his son out of that same respect. I showed the medicine man the respect he deserved. Its such a shame that you do not also show the same respect for the sharkposting meme for not using greentext or posting an image and for that reason I am out.
>Before you say even one more word I have a story to tell. I'm a member of an agency, and not just any member, I am the physical embodiment of that agency appearing to you in human flesh. In my line of duty I once came face to face with a guy so big you wouldn't believe. Tried to grab my prize. Had to call it in. We get him on board my aircraft and he's wearing a mask, some sort of life support system. Come to find out getting caught was just a step his master plan. And that's when things got extremely painful: next thing I know, this guy is grabbing Dr. Pavel and crashing my plane. Today, your business is that plane. If you can't fly so good you'd better get off right now before there are no survivors. I'll offer you 200 thousand for 40% of your business, and if you say no you're off my flight plan for good. What are you going to do.
>Mr. Jameson, I have seen your product like I have seen the sun rise of the dead corpses I stood upon triumphently when I won the Great Skull of Nyet' elphunq. For you to know what I mean you must know what I see. The Great Skull is a skull of one of the acient but sacred shamons that I have killed. Every lunar eclipse me and my associates gather on a remote island with the previous year's shark winners, and when the eclipse begins, we let the shark winners run through out the jungle, armed with only their "wits" and wearing the clothes they were brin in, and just like the past 200 years, I have killed all of them, and won. When you win, you receive the Great Skull, and you can then drink the reguvinating blood from the skull, it tastes of sour soy sauce, that is how I amassed my fortunes and lived for eons. I have lived longer than your feeble mind can comprehend, and of all the products and companies I have seen, yours is the worst, it is absolute trash, but I must say I am in, but so that I can track you and gut you in the next hunting year. I hope you accept my invitation with me and Cubes.
>O'Leary was born in Montreal, Quebec to a Canadian father of Irish origin who worked as a salesman and a Canadian mother of Lebanese origin who was a seamstress turned small businesswoman and investor.
I can't type stuff like this up but I had though of one where Kevin goes to watch greyhound or horse racing, one or the other, in an opulent viewing box, and the winning animal is served to him and his friends for dinner. He then refers to the person seeking investment as not even as good as the dog that came last, and then he is out.
>Every 7 years on the sunset before the summer solstice, a particular mating ritual begins on the shores of my private lagoon hidden in the ancient seas of southeastern Thailand. It is here that hundreds, if not thousands, of tribesman and women from the local indigenous peoples begin fornicating in a ceremony that will last until their deaths. The Newport Beach Wine Society (of which I am a founder) hosts a large outdoor Bar-Be-Que festival on the green lawns of my spectacular residence during this magnificent event. One by one, each tribesman fornicates with a member of their tribe and attempts to wash themselves in the crystal clear waters of my lagoon. This coincides with the feeding patterns of a rare species of aggressive migratory turtle called Dermochelys O'learacea, which I discovered and sheltered in my travels as a young man. These beautiful creatures are consumed with fury at the scent of the tribesman's sexual residue and with incredible aggressiveness, begin to feed on the tribesman, the women, and their children. The blood from this magnificent event stains the waters of my lagoon bright red. In the aftermath of the carnage, my servant Ma'kikee'koAHko, the only known survivor of this event, brings to me a single Oreo cookie on a bone plate crafted from the remains of the largest and strongest tribesman. I lick the delicious cream filling from the inside of the cookie and toss the remainder into the lagoon, where the now-satiated Dermochelys O'learacea consume the creamless cookie biscuit. Right now you are the useless cookie biscuit. And for that reason, I'm out.
>You know what this presentation reminds me of? Senegal. I don't even like diamonds, they are completely useless, but my wife loves them, so I bought a diamond mine in Senegal. I thought they just plucked them out of the ground like diamonds, actually. It turns out that the dusky inhabitants of the Senegal mines are lazy and shiftless, and I was forced to instill discipline. As I told Kwambe, the overseer: "I don't care if he's ten, as long as he has at least one arm, he can still fucking mine." As soon as I had the first child maimed, seven more tried to run off! Witch each tiny hand or foot lobbed off, more Senegal children would flee (at least as far as the crocodile swamp).
>I was at a crossroads; I could keep mining diamond to please my wife, or stop mutating children. Now, see, this is the difference between guys like you and guys like me: guys like me, we can have it all. I took the hands and feet of these children and boiled them to bone. I polished the bone and sold the resulting jewelry to women across the United States. They are hideous but people will buy them not because they like them but because they make a statement: "Kevin O'Leary murdered children so I can look good."
>I think you lack this kind of heart and passion to do what needs to be done for your business, and for that reason I'm out.
tfw all your leary picture have been posted already
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