Fly Sell: FTK

An end of an era. I sold 100,000 FTK, closing out my position.

NOTE: I just did “the million dollar roll” on my personal aggressive account.

I get alarmed when things are going too well. Unfortunately, I am a bit paranoid in this regard and find it hard to restrain myself from thinking about worst case scenarios. I am well aware of how the Earth and water coexist with one another and how one person’s sin is another person’s sacrifice. Making money like this, well, it’s too easy. My comfort zone is one that is far more tedious and arduous for the soul to bear. Perhaps it was the way I was raised, dodging bullets, fending off knife attacks; but I prefer to face the abyss, just prior to dining at a three star Michelin eatery.

Having said that, I made myself oatmeal this morning. It’s been many months since my last bowl. After I poured the water into the ancient wooden bowl, I just sort of watched it getting cold. I found myself unable to enjoy the fruits of my labour [sic], even as little as eating a warm bowl of horse food. Instead, I ate it cold. I suffered through the cold horse food, in order to make a few hundred thousand dollars in personal gains this week. The world is off-balance and someone needs to set it straight.

As an aside, my monstrous sized mug of coffee is empty now, so I need to scurry along. I’m buying MOTR and SOL with vigor.

NEVER BET AGAINST THE GUY WHO WILL EAT COLD HORSE FOOD ON PURPOSE TO WIN IN THE STOCK MARKET. EVER.

I bought another 20,000 MOTR and started a new position in SOL.

Good day to you.

One of the downsides to blogging on the internets is the constant flow of new people eyeballing my site. These people come here, with a typical American give me attitude, always wanting—in need of assistance. They ask me all sorts of fucked up questions, ranging from the size of my book of business to the methodology behind picking stocks. Well, every so often, a certain post is required, by my person (with my own hand), to set the proletariat straight. I will have you know, you are reading such a post right now.

To put it plainly, I will offer you several analogies, in order to make pictures inside your small brains so that you can understand me better.

If you were fortunate enough to meet with Ty Cobb or Babe Ruth, or any of the great baseball players, being an aspiring ball player yourself, what type of questions would you ask him? Would you ask the Babe: “how do you swing a bat?” Or would you ask Mr. Cobb, “if a pitcher tells you to fuck a fire hydrant, then hits you in the helmet with a fastball, what should you do?”

Of course not.

Asking great men elementary questions is a grave insult, punishable by death in select countries around the world. Do not ask Einstein “how do you use arrays when multiplying numbers?”

I spit on your face. I stomp on your nose.

Quit asking me questions, for I am not obligated, nor inclined to help you. The popularity of my blog is NOT by design, but by the will of space and time and all celestial beings. I never asked to be a Space Alien Magician, able to bank coin in Nagasaki, circa 1945; I just do it. It is my burden; it is my crucible. It’s as natural to me as metal attracting to magnets or ridiculous losses plaguing the NY sports scene. What you witness here, day in and day out, is nothing short of greatness, on the level of Ty Cobb or Babe Ruth, only in money management realm—my domain. If I was on the teevee, managing a gagillion dollars for misfits in bow ties, you’d revere my writings as if they were gospel. Instead, because of the venue, many of you simply chalk the science conducted here on iBC as mere “child play,” not so much different than the low-end pyramids at Giza.

Watch it happen, over and over again and ask yourself: is he lucky?

At this stage, I don’t even need to research stocks. I can simply look at a ticker for 10 minutes, watch it trade, and tell you the direction with “magic ball” accuracy. If you want a leg up in this business, put in the fucking work and invest in your trade. My greatest investment, life to date, was creating The PPT. More recently, launching the trading group 12631 (accessible to PPT subs only) is shaping up to be my second best venture on iBC to date, thanks to the prescient help of my partners: Chess and RC.

So, in summary, if you want advice, go fuck a dog and kick an old man down a sewer drain. That will make you feel a lot better about yourself. But, if you want to learn, invest in yourself and quit being a leech.

I’m a motor boating son of a bitch. That’s all.

For you PPT’ers: tomorrow I do the “million dollar roll.”

My personal aggressive accounts are now stretched to the max, fully leveraged into Christmas. Going into today, my portfolio consisted of BBRG, CX, EK, MGM, TTWO, REXX and EXK. However, I made a few changes today, selling out of some, adding in others. Bottom line: it is sling-shooting higher, despite your curses and ill wishes. “The Fly” is on a magic carpet ride,  ignoring assholes, banking egregious coin along the way.

My two new buys are promising: MOTR and BPFH. I really like the small banks here; hence the position in BPFH. And, I really like owning shit that corporate raiders own in this m&a environment. Hence, I own MOTR in my personal, alongside one of my idols: Carl “fuck you sideways, give me three seats on your board” Icahn.

You do not need to be a genius to make money in this market, just balls. I have enough for all of you fuckers combined here. Don’t get out of place, due to tales of Chinese men mixed with Christmas. Get on the carpet, fuckface, we’re going into orbit.

PPT Subs: My favorite small bank screen. Save it.

I bought MOTR in personal accounts and BPFH in others.

Disclaimer: If you buy the above stocks because of this post Santa Claus will kill your stupid dog this year, like Mike VXX. And, you may lose money.

I sold out of CENX (5th largest position).

UPDATE: I sold out of MGM, EK and some of TTWO and BBRG

It was December of 1983. “The Fly” was 7 years old and his mother was a widow for two years. My sister and I were hungry, so Mom called the local Chinese eatery and ordered some beef with broccoli. You know, to get our “health game on.”

Twenty minutes passed and the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there stood a Chinese delivery man, age 45, dressed in what looked like “farm-hand clothes.” My Mother came to the door, paid for the food, thanked the greasy man at the door and said “goodnight.” Mom served up some beef with broccoli to my Sister (it was her favorite dish). However, much to her chagrin, it didn’t taste right. The broccoli tasted “somewhat pungent.” Alarmed, Mom called the local eatery back and asked if she could be refunded, for money was tight and the food was no good. The person on the other end of the phone said “okay,” and proceeded to send back the delivery man.

About 45 minutes passed and a series of knocks were heard at the door. I remember them vividly, as it disrupted my day dream, staring into the Christmas lights on my Douglas fir tree. I answered the door and the Chinese delivery man was standing there, somewhat annoyed, asking for “your Mother.” Mom came to the door and told him “the beef with broccoli is no good. Please give us a refund.” Immediately, he became aggressive with his mannerisms, agitated by the request. In a deep accent, he said “ret [sic] me see.”

Mom walked over to the table, leaving the door open; he followed her into our apartment. She gave him the carton of pungent food and said “here, take this back and give us a refund.” He retorted “it’s a good. I don’t take a back. Look.” He then proceeded to put his hand into the beef with broccoli carton, shoveling its contents into his mouth with great force and vigor, declaring “see it’s a good.”  Sauce dripped off his hand onto my dining room floor.Mortified by these events, young Fly darted and hid under the table. Mom blurted out “get the fuck out of here you crazy son of a bitch,” just prior to taking the beef with broccoli carton from the gentlemen from the far east and tossing it into his chest.

Because of these egregious events, “The Fly” never eats Chinese food near Christmas, just in case you were wondering.

The Giants acted like the Mets/Jets and Knicks combined today, getting lit up by “The Dog Killer”, in an epic 4th quarter catastrophe. Just in case you didn’t know, their season is effectively over.

It is the will of The Stock Gods to punish the team of Jakegint for his transgressions against Le Fly.

Good day.