Northern Masters are Fueled by Ice

My issue with moving down south has nothing to do with “being accepted” or afraid of the southern culture. Quite the contrary. As a point in fact, no matter where I go there will not be any courting of acceptance from local yocals. Based upon the laws of science, the very rules that allow you to eat and breathe, my northern heritage makes me superior to those disheveled in the south. I’m afraid, frankly, that one of my scowls might go unnoticed while at a Whole Foods in Georgia, providing some Brave fan to make small talk with me. This, as you know, is not possible.

The winter months up north force us to stay inside and think of innovative ways to win wars and invent things. While the idiots in Florida are out picking oranges from their trees, us Northerners are plotting their demise.

I do admit, however, the frigid winter months wears on me like intelligence in Kentucky. Perhaps if I wasn’t so vain, I could accept my fate as a Northern Master and forget about relocating into enemy territory. After all, my very presence in the bible belt would cause uprisings and burning crosses to reemerge, as a wide array of historical truths thrust atop their empty mantles.

With regards to this market, as you can see I am ignoring it. I am enduring losses and I am not fond of losses. It’s only one big horrendous day in the big scheme of things. We’ve been through this drill before and I am accustomed to the volatility.