ANNOUNCEMENT: FLAWLESS VICTORY!

“Yes, hear the sounds of flawless glory, you small tailed rodent from hades!”

Just in case you’ve neglected to keep track, “The Fly” hasn’t lost money in 2012, not even on a solitary trade (well maybe just one, a rather small one at that). While it’s true, the market’s frenzied power-fuck higher has helped a great deal, that doesn’t mean jack shit.

What I am about to tell you will shock and ground many of you fuckers into dust. I can literally take your skeletons, if I wanted to, and drop them with my hand into my high-end Blendtec blender and drink you. That’s right, your skeleton would crumble into a fucking smoothie at Le Casa del Fly. You are all cordially invited.

At any rate, pardon my violent distraction; I truly meant no harm by it and do not intend to participate in outright cannibalism. I am fixed on this market like no man on Earth. I apologize to all of you who enjoy my trading loss stories, as they tend to illuminate a great deal about my person and how to deal with adversity. But, I do not intend to lose money, at all, in 2012–so the lessons of adversity will need to be learned elsewhere, Sir.

What the fuck is this person talking about, you ponder?

In the boldest stentorian tone you’ve ever heard, one that rattles the foundation of your bullshit trailer home, I am declaring that I will not lose money on a single trade in 2012.

How am I doing thus far?

14 for 15. My only loss was in the bastard of a stock, MWW (but that doesn’t count– because I wasn’t ready).

May the fires of hell take me into its wrath if I lose money on another trade in this glorious year of 2012, the year when the world is scheduled to end aka “The Year of The Fly.”

I’ve been taking advantage of my new unspoiled condition, inhaling the aromas of conquest, practically floating about the office, dressed in a Roman robe (all white like a senator), clad in wooden sandals (like a fucking warrior). The incense is burning with ridiculous intensity, much to the chagrin, if I might use such a word, to the indomitable Mrs. Fly.

She tells my person, with direct firmness “hey you, put out that smoke, it is causing me to die of suffocation.”

As always, I retort “woman, thou shalt not talk about the holiest of smokes with such a tenor. Go bake me bread, unleavened if you will, seasoned with rosemary and sage, doused with the oils of olive and rose, pal.”

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