You fuckers really have no idea what’s going on here. You come here, like a dog with bone, feeding off my sage financial advice—like homeless men on Park avenue. Some of you put the ingratitude aside, by way of subscribing to The PPT. Others email me with asshole suggestions, as if I need your advice.
Listen to me, I don’t need your advice now, later or ever. “The Fly” is in a league of his own, making retard bloggers, like TIM, look like babies shitting in the big boy pool.
With regards to the market:
I am hoping it gets harder. At this rate, I will book my first triple digit return since 2003. But, to be honest, as opposed to outright lying to you, it’s not about the money anymore. It’s about my winship, something you little fucking ball jugglers can’t fathom.
Why do I bother?
Here it comes:
“Fly, ummm, I know you’re busy, but can you please tell me when to sell.”
I get paid handsome sums of money, helping people CHANGE their fucking lives, by way of BALLOONING their net worth. Think about that, before you email me with asshole advice.
Off for a late night drive.
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