Don’t Let Them Fool Ya

You did it, didn’t you? You bought into this afternoon’s strength. Which is fine, I suppose, if you have a stomach for whipsawlery (word?). This feat may result in you feeling a bit morose, however, if/when they pull the proverbial rug into week end.   And who, I say, who wants to deal with that shit during peak rays?

I’d rather pitch batting practice to Mark Maguire, PEAK STERIOD USE, sans cage, then chase strength this week.

YOU CAN HAVE IT, and MOAR.

And I don’t ill upon you, but I do heed caution to the laws of LOGOS.

Everyone’s waiting for the big one. The single day rally that literally slaughters bears by the forest lot. It hasn’t happened in a long-ass-time. A real barn burner—95% breadth, hedonistic wealth creation, the blow off of blow offs, a story chronicled in internet Leviticus.

If I miss said day, high on the pipe of bear hubris, by golly I may light this whole office aflame and dance on its ashes.

Something tells me the dancing will only be on the skulls of my enemies—the degenerate gambler class transfixed on their next round of juice (No Sosa).