The Important Matter of Handicap License Plates

SPECIAL EMERGENCY UPDATE: Elections. Should I “shitcan” Woodshedder, again?

I don’t know if it’s me or the lazy places I visit, but these fucking handicap license plates are everywhere.

The kicker: None of these handicap fuckers are actually disabled. As far as I’m concerned, you better be rolling out of your car or in a full body cast, if you are to don the much coveted handicap license plate.

I know a jerk off who has handicap plates. He’s not disabled. He just wants good parking spots, outside of Target or Walmart.

On top of that, these “handicap imposter’s,” are taking up the prime parking real estate from legitimately disabled people.

The horror.

In short, if I was a NYC police officer, I’d be pulling over these handicap fuckers, left and right. Then, upon seeing that he/she was not disabled, I’d throw a bag of flour on him/her, then peel off in my handicap plated police mobile.

Fuckers.

I just fired my voodoo Doctor, despite threats of sudden pains in the neck or slippage down a flight of spiked stairs.

As you know, he (voodoo guy) has been making me put up a ridiculous picture of a ‘Golden Bull,’ with a bunch of lunatics bowing to it.

Basically, I just found out, my voodoo Doctor is a “bear fucking” shit holder. The picture was not of a bull, but a ‘Golden Bear‘ in a bull disguise.

This vexes me, as you know.

In short, he used me to drive the market lower, via posting the “Golden Bear.”

Fucking bastard.

Unlike people who buy stocks, “bearshitters” are in the game for something extra. They want the entire country to collapse and “shit the shower.”

Now, I’m not talking about your run of the mill plunger. You know, the “smart guy” with an edge, looking to make a quick buck, via driving a stock lower.

No.

I’m talking about the guy, like Doug “fuckbag” Kass, who wants the whole system to come crashing down. “Let it all come down, girls.”

I know these people. At heart, truly, they are asshats, skeptical of everything from their electricity bill to the price of tea in China town.

Most of them are unable to view things objectively. Instead, they have static opinions on important topics ranging from “how to smoke crack” to “investing alongside armageddon,” relying on what they consider to be sheer “intellect,” when making financial decisions, rather than foolhardy optimism. Sort of like evil robots, or gremlins who have eaten past 12:00 am.

As you know, all these fuckers want is massive unemployment, followed by death and mayhem, in order to bank a little coin.

Now, don’t get me wrong, “bullshitters” have their own vices, such as “wishcasting” for hurricanes or “playing the war,” via defense stocks.

In short, my point is: Doug Kass is a dick and should be caught kayaking in the Gulf of Mexico, while a fucking Category 5 hurricane comes barreling in, slamming him into a few hundred offshore oil rigs– effectively allowing “The Fly” to bank a little coin in UNG.

NOTE: Before reading this story, click play on the audio clip below.
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A long time ago, I would populate my little bullshit fish tank with aggressive fish, such as cichlids, oscars, convicts, or any fish that was demented.

So, after stuffing my 10 gallon tank with as many fish possible, one little fucker made his mark. He made his “mark” by biting off the heads of the other fish, much to my wife’s dismay.

However, for me, this shit was funny. I had “Jaws” in a fish tank, on a war path, eating everything in sight. I named him “Jack,” after “Jack the Ripper.”

Within a few months, Jack was the only fish left in my tank. I kid you not, that little devil ate about 15 fish total, mainly for the hell of it.

Shortly thereafter, “The Fly” made some serious coin in the market and was moving out of the basement apartment he had been subjected to. The only problem: My wife hated Jack so much, she wouldn’t let me take him with us. So, sadly, but not really giving a fuck, I left the fish tank, with Jack as its only occupant, in my rented backyard.

Two weeks later, I returned to my old basement, in order to tie up some loose ends. Upon leaving, two little Italian girl’s (they would always come over to my house and play with my son), ages 9 and 4, ran over and said they had my fish. They said: “We thought you forgot him; so we put him in our tank. Come see.”

Uh-oh!

So, I went to their house. Their Mother, who had a heavy Italian accent, said she put my fish in her tank, “but look what happened.”

Apparently, Jack was the only fucker left in her tank too. He fucking decapitated all of her shitty goldfish, much to her dismay. She told my wife “I had those fish for 5 years.”

My wife glared at me, as if I was Jack– eating other inferior fish.

To make a long story short, I brought Jack to my new house, and put him in my new and improved fish tank. But, nothing changed. Jack would just hide in some shrub, waiting for some stupid fish to swim by, then crunch. Off with its head.

It was amazing.

However, my wife was not amused. She demanded I flush Jack down the toilet, so that she could buy “normal fish.” I said “no way, Jack is a survivor.” I followed up: “The only way Jack is going out is by the jaws of another fish.”

Big mistake.

She went to the fish store and bought the biggest fucking cichlid I had ever seen. This fucker was picking up rocks, and moving them, with his mouth. Unfortunately, sadly, Jack had met his match.

After killing Jack, my wife returned her “hit man” to the fish store, and proceeded to buy bullshit “chick fish.”

In total, Jack had murdered about 70 fish, of all variety. I remember counting them. Even when the “hit man” was ripping him to shreds, Jack fought back.

Jack is truly an inspirational figure. His “story” should be told to children, across the Nation, which entails, killing weaker fish, by surprise if needed, in order to take control of the steady flow of fish flakes that drop into the fish tank.

RIP Jack.

As you know, “The Fly” has hinted that he might run for President in 2008, in order to “save the country” and create policy to “punch off the jaws of the bears.”

Now, I understand many of you might have a problem voting for a guy who refers to himself in the third person, who claims to regularly ride in a “time machine,” in order to extract information from the future– so that he might “bank a little coin,” via stocks, in the present.

Never mind that.

Let’s talk about something important. Put that coffee down fuckface….

Sorry, I was a bit distracted. Back to the campaign.

Just know, voting for “The Fly” will result in a major tax cut for the rich– and a hike on the poor. Think about it.

I believe, leaving the tax rate too low, for the poor, leads to complacency aka laziness. Should those WMT shopping fuckers get slapped with a 25% penalty for income under 100k, they might become motivated to “get on the road to prosperity,” already.

I want to see those poor fuckers become rich, so that they may enjoy low tax rates, and buy stuff from SKS and BID.

With regards to defense:

As President, I will annex Mexico and Canada. Why fuck around with borders and political bullshit?

Look, this country needs more oil and cheap labor. Plus, when Mexico becomes part of the U.S., those border fuckers won’t have anything to bitch over, with regards to “illegal aliens.” However, on second thought, they probably will move down to the Guatemala-“New U.S.” border, to bitch about those pesky Guatemalans getting in.

We’ll deal with that problem later.

With regards to interest rates:

I will appoint Larry Kudlow as my Fed Reserve Chairman, thereby ensuring “Goldilocks” stays alive.

With regards to health care:

With Mexico and Canada under our belts, the uninsured health care crisis will be eliminated. With all the cheap labor available, “The Fly” will build many health clinics to treat the uninsured. The clinics will be maintained and funded by big pharma– sorta of like big drug dealing locations for them. Thus, the health care will be free, paid for by PFE, MRK, LLY, etc. All you (U.S. voting fools) have to pay for is “medicine insurance,” which will be very, very cheap– thanks to the cheap drugs being made in “Old Mexico.”

Finally, as President or Presidente (depending on where you live), “The Fly” will use the U.S. treasury as one big sovereign fund. Meaning: I will “day trade” or invest the treasury in publicly traded stocks, becoming a nightmare to all short sellers of the world. I will have my staff run a daily list of the most heavily shorted stocks and buy those companies out for triple digit premiums, effectively transferring the assets from bearshitter to bullshitter– rather seamlessly.

The one caveat to my Presidency is anonymity. Yes, “The Fly” will remain anonymous during his term as President, in an effort to conduct personal assaults on foreign leaders, without fear of repercussions.

For example:

If “The Fly” was Presidente back in 2003, prior to the war with Iraq, I, under the secrecy of anonymity, would have had personal (one on one) discussions with Saddam Hussein. During my diplomatic mission, whenever he would mouth off some shit like “death to America” or “fuck you and your nukes,” I would have punched his fucking mustache clean off his face, demanding information as to the whereabouts of all those fucking weapons– and shit.

Then, 15 minutes later, I, as President, would call Saddam and apologize for my “Ambassador’s” unprofessional diplomacy. You know, punching his mustache off and all.

I would use these “tactics” over and over again, until every world leader was “mustache-less.”

Fly for President, 2008.

Hi Mates–

Mr. Fly was kind enough to allow me to post on his site, so that I may explain why I deleted my blog.

For many years, working as a masseuse and a doorman, I acquired worldly advice from top grade investment bankers (clients) on how to properly *evaluate* a stocks fair value. With this knowledge, I took my small savings, after my prison term had ended, and took up *arbitrage* investing, effectively eliminating all risk.

I’ve documented my methods for many of you, including Mr. Woodshedder. However, sadly, he’s too simple minded to accept opposing views. Instead, he mucks around with his charts, while following Mr. Fly’s picks. Very well. Sadly, his bottom of the bottle American education allows him to ignore true mastery of the markets.

Anyway, this year alone, I have successfully traded 193 stocks, with zero losses. I’ve netted well over 1,023.09% on my money, all through riskless *arbitrage*, of course. Much to the chagrin of college boy.

Now, the reason why I took down my blog is for the following five explanations:

1. Instead of blogging about stocks, I’ve chosen to invest in a personal clothing operation, where I will oversee the cleaning of clothing items vis a vis people within my community. Outside of my normal business hours, of course. Odd no? Viz.

2. The market will not crash, mind you, vis a vis subprime meltdown, sadly enough. I’ve predicted for years, the *fair value* of the Dow Jones Industrial Average stands anywhere between 4,400-6,808. Being that it’s over 13,800 makes my work effectively useless and leaves me unfulfilled, vis a vis grossly inflated equity prices. Hence, my choice to remove the blog, while I still have the bottle to live out my laundry desires. Grant likes to look at yellow bloomers and purple neck ties, on occasion.

3. I have resumed my primary work as a masseuse, which is entirely time consuming and makes my fingers hurt badly. Following my daily ham sandwiches, I bottle it up and inebriate myself into a Scottish stupor. That is usually when I undertake stock market analysis–mind you, vis a vis sec filings. However, now working full time, eliminates my spare time to hammer away at the old books, thusly, viz. And, now I am hungry. Odd no?

4. MDAWSZ is a coward of a man, who refuses to meet me for a one on one mud wrestle fight. I’ve offered to bring my own *physician* to oversee the battle; but he doesn’t have the bottle to crawl out of his neatly tucked hole, somewhere in Portland. Instead, he hides behind his computer screen, all the while talking tough.

5. I lost a bet to the office boy. About 4 1/2 months ago, I predicted HANS would go to $2.76, CENX to $1.13, BWLD to $4.55, RS to $0.05 and MVIS to $00.00, naturally. Moreover, I forecasted all of the crooks from Bear Sterns be fired to the man, for obvious thievery from the company coffers. Odd enough, BSC has a *fair value* of negative 23, yet it still trades comfortably above $115. I find that unsettlingly odd. Do you? Nonetheless, for some reason, none of my predictions, all derived from 10-k, 10-q and other U.S. government filings, came to fruition, odd no? I think not. Mind you, none of the above companies have effective *patents* that can fend off duplication. I’ve warned of such occurrences for MSFT some 25 years ago, yet the market ignores and inflates share price. Criminals.

So, in parting, I want to thank Mr. Fly for not punching my mustache off. I always found him to be humorous. I’ll have you know, I have a large mustache, sort of like this guy. LMAOROFL!!

Anyway, goodbye and be well

Jog on

Grant

After reading Barry’s rant on how stupid all of you (internet leech) are, “The Fly” felt like adding a few gold coins to the argument.

Basically, Barry doesn’t like you third tier bloggers emailing him anything. Also, he doesn’t like blogs that sound like his (Big Picture), check this. I wonder what jerk off would go through the trouble of making that blog? Geez.

Anyway, to sum up Barry’s post, while adding a few of my own salient points, “The Fly” will give you 8 fucking rules to obey.

1. Don’t ever name blogs that sound like Fly, Monster, Oatmeal, Mustache or Chicken Wings. If you choose to do so, like this fucking oatmeal blog, “The Fly” will NEVER grace you with linkage.

2. If you fucking beg to be on my blogroll, I’ll have your mustache punched off. It’s that simple.

3. Don’t email me anything. I do not want to be invited to your fucking low-end parties, geeky web discussions– or desire any offers to advertise on my site. I don’t need your stupid, dirty internet money. Failure to adhere to these rules will result in the destruction of your website or lead to your arrest, via law enforcement.

4. No, I won’t introduce you to the Wu-Tang Clan.

5. Never invite me to your social networking sites. Just know this, “The Fly” hates people. Therefore, inviting him to places where people can be found is always a bad idea.

6. Should you have the balls to send me an email with an attachment, just know: “The Fly” will reply with a fucking virus from hell, which will melt your hard drive like a cheap candle– within seconds of opening it.

7. Before emailing me information, understand, I already know about that shit. Don’t you get it already? “The Fly” is a fucking space alien magician, who possesses both “calculator brain” and “time machine.”

8. Don’t send me real, semi-real or fake links. Also, never even think about sending me old news or future news. As you know, I already know it. However, it’s worth noting, I will accept “breaking news.” Never mail me food, clothes, jewelry or anything that may carry germs. Finally, never question who tested and validated “The Fly’s” IQ of 155, and whether he can read 800 words per minute or not. Failure to follow my suggestions will result in your house falling into a sinkhole. And, you may lose money.

So, “The Fly” was having a pre-earnings celebration, prior to the market close–waiting for BWLD to post spectacular numbers.

I was in the office, graciously handing out low end hamburgers, deli meatballs and good champagne, until I saw the BWLD miss.

Franticly, I started taking back the burgers, making the assholes in my office spit out the meatballs, while knocking over their champagne glasses. Needless to say, the party was over. Back to work.

I couldn’t believe my eyes; the fat bitches who run BWLD had done lost their chicken head minds, via not beating eps estimates.

Now, as you already know, “The Fly” came back to the internets and declared tomfoolery. I sugar coated the reaction and made believe the STOCK WASN’T DOWN 5 FUCKING BUCKS.

Believe me when I say, I am fully aware that the stock “de-banked” me.

In other words, the homosexual commenter, named “Knob Polisher,” is right! I’m just throwing money away, owning this dog bone of a stock. Not only did I lose buckets of money; I bought 3,000 shares at the bell.

Ha! Who’s better than me?

Here’s the kicker:

Those disgusting, filthy, slobs, who run BWLD, let the company miss. That’s right, it’s entirely managements fault. They showered themselves with stock grants, while watching the drunken idiots, who eat at their filthy restaurants, eat cheap wings. This is America, ain’t shit cheap, with the exception of heavy lead laden toys–made in China.

Fuck that.

If “The Fly” were CEO of BWLD, he’d jack prices continuously, especially on over inebriated patrons.

I mean, why should I, as CEO of BWLD, have to absorb the high cost of freakishly big chicken wings? Again, fuck that; I’m passing that cost, and much more, along to you (the drunken, football fool).

In short, the BWLD quarter was devastatingly bad. Atrocious. I’d spit on the CEO, if given the chance and proper escape route.

What “The Fly” needs to do is get done with his 2005-2007 plays, and prepare, via hard nosed research, for 2008-2010.

Developing….

I’m fucking busy, so this will be brief.

A long time ago, “little Fly” was a kick ass baseball player, a pitcher of course.

I must have been 12 years old, on the mound, striking batters out–as usual.

Then, all of a sudden, my Mother started screaming from the stands– a nickname that I had never heard before.

Much to my chagrin, she was cheering: “go Scooter go, go Scooter gooo!”

What the fuck!

As you know, being the rock star little league pitcher that I was, this was an alarming turn of events–having my own Mother heckle me, with queer nicknames, from the stands.

I stepped off the mound and gave my Mother one of the looks–but it was too late.

The other team had caught on, appreciating the femininity of this nickname, and began chanting “Scooter.”

Being the level headed pre-teen that I was, I planned to ignore them, while mowing down their bullshit lineup.

But, then it happened.

The Scooter shit reached a fevered pitch, with laughter everywhere, making “little Fly” embarrassed/agitated.

I snapped.

I stepped off the fucking mound and threw a fastball into the opposing teams dugout, screaming: “fuck you assholes.”

Shortly thereafter, “little Fly” was removed from the game, kicking and screaming, ordered to leave the ball park.

As I walked home with my Mother, all I heard was “Scooter, Scooter.”

Cocksuckers.

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