THE CITY SQUARE IS BUSTLING WITH NEWLY MINTED EUNUCHS

Ladies and gentlemen,

This isn’t supposed to make sense. The market was down 120 before the Fed meeting and stocks were sucking dick. Then, the statement came out, which removed the word patient, and for reasons unbeknownst to anyone, the market took off like a fucking raging bull out from hell.

We can hem and haw all day, thinking of reasons for this glorious occurrence. But anything that we say will get condensed to one simple, unalienable fact: there’s a conspiracy to induce malcontents of our society to sell short stocks. Once those malcontents are firmly embedded in their shorts, government goons arrest them and usher them into the city square, for immediate and irreversible penis decapitation.

The city square is bustling with dismembered lads, running about the boulevard with Rickard Santelli autographed head-shots, tucked neatly inside of today’s issue of The Zerohedge.

As fate would have it, oil and gold are leading the way higher. Resist the temptation of buying those sectors. Stick to what’s working.

And the market went up like a lunatic escaping from hell.

I love my job.

You must be religious in your viewership of iBankCoin, otherwise you will only receive half of the story. As you readily know, I was a big advocate of energy stocks after the New Year. I bought lots of SLCA, DVN, OXY, PACD, EMES, FMSA, CHK and ECR–just to name a few. As prices rose, I started to sell, in order to lock in profits in what I deemed to be a damaged industry. My thesis was one of dead cat bounce. I never said anything about the fundamentals. The premise was “we should see a reflex rally off the lows, especially heading into driving season.” As such, I was positioned for this run higher.

But you know what happened on the way to the driving season?

THE FUCKING PRICE WENT LOWER, so I sold out.

You little shit-fuckers get me so fucking mad, always talking shit. How about this, pal? How about you pay attention to what I say, don’t disappear for three weeks, and keep track of my trades? The alternative is one of extreme annoyance, fielding questions all day long, such as “I though you were boolish on oil into the driving season?”

Well, fucked face, I was–but then the price tanked and I changed my mind. This isn’t a fascist country, last time I checked. I am permitted to change my mind, yes?

I am going to do you another favor now: adjust your risk profile immediately. Despite the market being flat for the year, biotechs are up 27%. This is fucking lunacy. What makes it worse is 90% of these companies do zero revenues. This is all a crap-shot. On the other hand, real pharmas, like JAZZ, probably have 20-30% upside left.

The gains are outrageous. Take for example, ESPR. I sold the damn fucker at $17 a few months ago; now it’s $100. FML.

It’s okay to have exposure to nut job sectors like this; but do so in moderation. For when this sector corrects, and believe you me it will, and you are heavily long at that time, you are going to regret the decision your mother made to conceive you many moons ago.

Botton line: The anti-oil trade reigns supreme. I like TA, MUSA, AAL, GRUB, DPZ, PZZA.

I’m not even going to say “red on a green day” or something corny like that. All that I can say is to eat hardy and sleep well tonight, for tomorrow you dine in hell, should Yellen lose her patience with you.

For the day, I lost a smidgen, 0.2%, buoyed by my two largest positions, GRUB, JNS, being up for the day.

I’m so gross, it’s almost sickening.

I added to my JNS position, in an effort to be ‘super-gross’ about my portfolio allocations. Aside from that, I am having a rather benign day, waiting and hoping and praying to the heavens above for olde testament judgement to be passed down from the Lord onto the heads of those betting against stocks today.

Amen.

This is the first year in many that I didn’t throw a St. Paddy’s Day party at Casa del Fly. It wasn’t in the cards this year, especially according to Mrs. Fly, who keeps herself very busy. ‘Tis is a day to drink lots of Guinness stout, setting aside that homosexual (no offense to gay guys of course) craft beer nonsense that you insist on getting fat with. And, because you’ll be so fucking wasted from the stout, the only method by which you will be able to cook is to boil some meat and potatoes. For your health, you can toss in a little cabbage with onions and carrots too.

If you’re cooking some corned beef, remember to properly dilute the brine that comes with the beef with copious amounts of water; otherwise, when you add in the starch and veggies, they’ll taste like you rubbed them about the surface of a fucking salt mine.

Futures are lower; but I don’t give a shit. I’ve been plagued by ‘night terrors’, hallunicinatory dreams of grave danger and horrors. I think someone might’ve spiked my tobacco pipe with some LSD. Nevertheless, “The Fly” remains committed towards the disembowelment of Rickard Santelli and his cabal. I don’t know why I have such pent up anger inside of me. Believe you me, it has nothing to do with some fucked up complex. I think this job makes me want to kill people. If I were to be a sanitation worker, or a goat herder, I’d probably be as happy as poor people on food stamps. Instead, I get to toil about the battlefield of capitalism, surveying the decaying corpses, dodging incoming scud missile attacks.

At any rate, on this day of drunken foolness, I’d like to offer a toast, an early one at that, to you, the bedraggled microbe reading this here blog. Without you, my life would be exponentially more interesting and enterprising. God only knows how much this site has set back my career. Oh, actually, I don’t need God to answer that for me. Let’s go ask Mrs. Fly what she thinks about all this?

One final note: I had an idea for a sitcom, one loosely based on my life. I wrote scene 1 and think it’s okay. I could probably do better; but I might share it with you soon to get some feedback.

Ciao

The number one trade in the hedge fund world now is to borrow in euros and get long US equities. This trade is working like a charm, but poses a significant future headwind–should the current trend reverse. For example: if the euro spikes higher, these riverboat gamblers are going to be forced to sell their JNJ and DIS, in order to pay back their loans. There are certain risk thresholds that will need to be adhered to.

Also, should US markets drop, precipitously, euro fuckers will find themselves in the unenviable position of being fucked.

But, for now, everything is working out, rather stupendously. After all, what could go wrong?

As it stands now, the fate of western finance, and all corridors of the civilized world, hangs in the balance. This is a balance that is very much interested in knowing if Janet Yellen is “patient” or not. If we find out this Wednesday that she is not, in fact, patient, hell will break loose and 66 seals of hell will be broken–paving way for actual centaurs to roam Wall–kicking people in the faces with their hooves.

On the other hand, if Janet is patient and says so, we’re all going to make an absurd amount of money.

To celebrate this future occurrence, I am prepared with corked bottles of champagne and jumping jacks. Upon my success in the capital markets, “The Fly” will travel down to Wall in his 1980’s style stretch limo, roll down the windows, and begin popping corks into the faces of pikers who pass by. After I am done, I will toss out a flaming cardboard box, with Blustar’s skull inside of it, wrapped in a dozen or so jumping jacks, for the kids. You know, they like to see the vibrant colors, and all.

Today was a crucifixion for bears, as they were thoroughly routed from the field of battle–forced to find refuge inside of fucked up cold caves. What makes matters exponentially worse, there is significant upside to this current run because the Fed will not remove the word “patience” from their idiotic message to the markets.

How do I know this?

Fucking time machine.

In the event that Biff grabs hold of my time machine and somehow changes the future, forcing Yellen to remove the word “patience”, you’d be wise to run for the hills–because there is ZERO rationale to hike interest rates, not now, not ever.

A new era of hedonism and cocaine highways is upon you.

I reallocated much of my cash today, reducing it to 7%– left aside for the rare occasion the market sells off post Fed. Bear in mind, the market is barely up for the year. We should all be enjoying the spoils of war by now, drinking pina coladas from the skulls of our enemies, whilst attending festivals at our harems! This back and forth nonsense is going to stop; and when it does, you’re going to regret the day you decided that stocks were “too risky” for your money.

Pussies.

Each and every year spring comes about, Mrs. Fly enters my office and demands that the landscaper “do without mulch” this year, for she doesn’t like the smell of it. My retort, as always, is “if you want to have beds you absolutely need mulch, otherwise it will be a wild, fucking, jungle out there.” This, naturally, falls upon deaf ears, especially since she has nothing to do with the landscaping and has absolutely no idea what a weed looks like. Alas, the conversation ended in another Fly victory, firmly declaring “domain over the brushes and shrubs yonder”; be gone woman and never speak of this silliness again!

In between all of that, I added to my JNS position–because I’m really Gross.

This is precisely the sort of fucked up snap back rally that literally decapitates short sellers. I prefer to be long during markets like this, overtly violent and onerous to those who bet against it. It’s like that Jack in the Box you played with as a wee lad, only this time Jack pops up and stabs you in the face.

Into courage, I exhibited a bit of wisdom and added to my SGEN, MUSA and JNS positions.