Ahead of “The Hole,” “The Fly” is sidelined, bulked up in steroided fashion with 35% cash and HDGE. Literally, if the Fed were to surprise and hike rates by 10%, I could not be hurt. On the stars of the milky way, I cannot be damaged, as currently situated.
As you sit out there, holed up in homeless man tents, eating beans from a tin can, Le Fly is living a luxuriant lifestyle, accustomed to the finest things made available to the “non-working class.” As you know by now, it is my god given right to do so, blessings sent down from above so that I might explore unchecked hedonism.
How is all of this possible, you query?
Space rocket trading, fucked face.
I’ve been banking coin, continuously, for more than a decade. When I was a small lad, plebbing it up in the brokerage firm boardroom, I always tried to fix my attention on research. I’d laugh at the arch salesmen blow their books up in furious manners, all the while I plodded along–sticking knives into the top of their skulls as I passed them by.
One decade later, they are still cold calling and I am being cold called. See how that works?
Into the hole, I remain defiantly neutral, resilient in all things except the hardiness of my opinions that have helped me outstrip you for so long.