I am reporting to you from the blackest room possible. “The Fly” does not mingle or gallivant or even travel during the frigid winter months. He remains in his northeast corridors to stockpile coin and socialize with complete idiots on the internets. The degree of today’s losses were sizable, yet none of your concern. What’s important for you to know is what I let you know.
I am brooding, chain drinking from cartoon sized mugs of black tea, seasoned with the finest bergamot oils available to this world. I know what the market will do tomorrow and in the near term, but I am going to ignore it–stick my head in a bottle (like s ship)– and jog on.
This morning I bet some of you were running about the office with exposed genitals, so happy to be long an upward surging market. Towards the end of the session, a great many of you found those same genitalia removed from your person. Castration trading is my favorite, particularly when I am flush with cash.
Having a 100% long bias into a maelstrom of volatility-driven-panic is a sure fire way to become a man overnight. I took my losses, stared at them with glossy eyes, and spit at them.
According to my investors handbook, published in 1817, the market is supposed to trade up until 4/15. At that point, when all of the taxes are collected and the treasury is good and fat–succored with the blood and sweat of the middle class, the government will “let the market go”, until it catches it later on during the fall. These are all known facts, some of you are still unaware.
I should be selling to protect my 9% gain. But I will to the exact opposite and buy more–setting a course for collision– flailing in the wind, swinging swords and lit sticks of TNT like a pirate without a ship to ransack.
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