A lot of feverish hatred in the comments section. By hatred I mean absolute silence of the deafening type — with Le Fly candidly bowling on fuckers from atop his steeply placed estate, up 14 out of his last 15 trades. I invite you to try to stop me, or dare I suggest challenge me to a stock picking contest. I will absolutely poleax you into another realm.
That being said, Admiral Fly made several bold moves today, plenty in the high beta, degenerate fields of the market. I closed out the session a winner — 10% cash, 100% win.
Markets moved up a bunch, breadth was weak, and most people got fucked today in fantastical ways — specifically because you’re not keeping up with the trends. The reason why you’re trading poorly is lack of information. You’re a low info invalid.
I woke up this morning and had another runner. It’s not a big deal really, only a 12% sprinter out of the gates. I sold TWOU for profit and now find myself hampered with an outrageous cash sum of 5%, not knowing where to place it. Maybe one of you could offer me an idea or two? This poor Fly is getting old and his brain doesn’t work like it once did. Maybe you could find the kindness inside of your little hearts to offer me some financial advice so that I might profit and perhaps earn enough money to eat a steak sandwich one day?
Just kidding — and the fuck out of here.
Do you think a man, such as myself, motherufucking Space Alien Magician (SAM) would ever take advice from the likes of you? You’re part of the reader class of people, whilst I am the writer, the artist — toiling atop of a hot hot laptop, trading like the fucking wind. Any idea how hard it is to do this shit?
NOT HARD AT ALL, as a point in fact — because I am of genius intellect. I can spit out trades and blogs like spitting gun out into a baseball field in between innings. It comes natural to me. I can pick a fucking stock today, and see it run higher tomorrow. I do this shit all the time.
Will I teach you to become a better trader?
ABSOLUTELY NOT. The fuck out of here with that shit. If you’re 40 years old and can’t trade well — you never will trade well. You are here simply for the fish that I provide. This is a white glove service, old sport. Enjoy it while it lasts — because nothing lasts forever.
I cooked an exquisite Beef Bourguignon this evening on a level that you couldn’t even begin to imagine. I started cooking at 12:30pm, staring with a homemade beef stock — made from grass fed bones and fucking marrow. Last night, as a point in fact, I marinated the beef chunks in red wine, a little garlic, onion powder, salt for tenderizing. Then I went ham fucking wild today, cooking like a master in the kitchen. Pots and pans flying all over the place. I had the flour and pepper mills doing backflips and the wine, onions, carrots, mushrooms, potatoes and bacon doing fucking somersaults. Trust me when I tell you — I am a fucking master chef, in the kitchen, angrily punching the food into the pans until it tastes good.
To top it off, I siphoned some of the fat from the stew and used it to make Yorkshire puddings. I whipped that shit up real quick, like POW, BOOM, ZAP, and next thing you know people were treating me like a fucking God in the house. I would’ve served it with red wine, but the kids don’t drink wine and my wife seems to think I’ve taken a liking to it much too fondly, looking at me sideways whenever I take a sip. So now, I’ll need to dry out for a few weeks just to prove to her I am not chemically dependent upon booze. Women.
Futures are higher. I can’t wait to bite into the heads of bears tomorrow, taring their faces off indeud.
Big busy titted day at House Fly. We’re preparing for some company from up north, welcoming them into the bosom of our southern home — providing sustenance and comfort. One might say Master Fly is providing a northern form of southern hospitality, which is increasingly intelligent and wondrous.
This is the easy time of year for investors. One could simply kick back and drink bourbon all day, toss money randomly into stocks, and make some money. In the event your comfort level isn’t on par with a sub 50 IQ gorilla, here is some data from Exodus.
BTW: My new German programmer, TR3WAY, has promised to have a working beta version of Exodus 2.0 by Black Friday. As a point in fact, he said should he not finish it insofar as providing said beta version, he would commit to chopping off his own German arms. An Exodus 2.0 means all sorts of great things — because I have a great mind and now with the ability to code something great, only great things can happen. I have an Alpha version working for Exodus 2.0 and it far exceeds what Exodus 1 can do already. Why subscribe to Exodus 1.0 now? Well, there’s the matter of pricing and tiers and those in now will be grandfather’d in. Also, Le Fly is on an unbelievable winning streak — pitted up against his Arch Nemesis @Fryguy aka Diddy inside the Pelican Room. Winner takes all, loser dies. Our contest lasts from now thru Black Friday.
I am cash poor now, after buying 7 fresh fish today. By next week I will be shoving said fish into the throats of those in Exodus — feeding their friends and families, permitting them to enjoy a fruitful and wonderful life.
I will have you know, Donald Trump has defeated China once again in the trade wars and has been doing so for the past 3 years. We look forward to future victories of this sort and magnitude in the not so distant future.
As it pertains to my future, a financial super hero, I will only point to profit. There are plenty of complexities when peering into the life of Dr. Fly, from his geographic locale, to his choice of music, to his preferred time on his eggs when cooked. But if we simply wash that all away and focus on the one singular thing that binds everything together — it is this.
The Fly is the greatest trader to have ever lived. With a bold statement like that one would surmise he’d be on the teevee or perhaps managing a gigantic fund — jerking off all day with fellow billionaires. But this is not life that was destined to be for Senior Tropicana — born into the sewers of Brooklyn — rough tree climber and player of the baseball — “The Fly” is a true populist and serves only to enrich those in a disadvantaged position for profit.
One thing is indelibly clear, markets are coiled and the upsurge of excitement has come, and with that the melancholy of doom all abated and all that comes with it, I can comfortably say that nothing at all can stop us from marching higher.
Listen to me now. Enough of your conspiracy theory fueled ideas. The time for that shit was in the summer, heading into the Fall. We’re past October and into the meaty month of November, a time and a place when Americans enjoy to stuff their faces with copious amounts of meat and gravy — mashed potatoes and cranned berried sauces. Do not bet against that. It’s not brave or heroic. It looks like madness.
As for me, I’ve been buying stock today, into a frenzied rally. True, it’s a Saturday and prices are up; but the fact of the matter is price has memory and that memory is mostly good now. When markets break record highs, often times it continues to run since overhead resistance is nil.
I won’t bore you with my philosophy, but simply remind you that more money is lost thru stubbornness than anything else.
You’re not special.
You don’t know more than the market.
Betting against them mob is a low probability bet.
We’re running good and hard today, flaying all of the bears along the way. By “flay”, I mean we’re skinning them while still alive. Think about being a bear and now think about their lives, desolate and pathetic.
I conducted two sales this morning, in addition to my Quant duties.
FTNT +13.6%
BILI +6.66%
That’s who I am pal…fuck you go play with your kids.
Halloween went swell, although I got caught in a rain storm like an idiot, whilst just about to enter a makeshift haunted house. I drank like 3 or 4 beers and knocked out like a child, woke up, had a martini, knocked out again. I like alcohol, but it makes me fall asleep too often. I’m having a very hard time getting addicted to the stuff.
What’s on the docket today?
MOAR buys. I’m fucking buying into this melt up. I like the GOOGL for FIT deal and feel maybe GPRO is next, maybe. Who knows?
Bottom line: we’re in a bull market pal. Fuck off with your TVIX purchases.
Tom got a nice bottle of Chardonnay from the mid-town Manhattan liquor store and grabbed an Uber to meet Melinda and her friends for an early dinner, scheduled for 5pm. The market was due to close in about an hour and he felt good about his XIV positions, especially for Grandma. The money he’d make for her might offer a guilt free trip to Italy, a place she always wanted to visit.
Back at the office Chris had been manning the phone all day, shoveling client assets into XIV. It became infectious. Almost everyone at the firm bought some, everyone except Stanley.
“Hi honey, sorry I’m a bit late — had to make a few trades before I left. My Grandmother gave me a rather large order and I wanted to get her a good fill.”
“My beautiful husband to be, always trying to get the best fills. Did you buy us any of this hot stock?,” cried out Melinda while drinking from a large goblet filled with white wine.
“You bet”, and Tom held out a glass and offered cheers.
Markets closed and XIV started to move rapidly to the downside. It closed above $100 and was now printing $85. Tom started to get text messages from the boys back at the firm. Mary texted too. Apparently one of Tom’s clients was gravely concerned about the price movement and wanted to know if there was any news.
“This can’t be. What in…”
“What’s the matter Tom? Something went wrong?”, asked Melinda
Tom looked at his phone and then Melinda with the pallor of a ghost and said “as a matter of fact, something is wrong.”
The steaks arrived and Tom’s guests were chatting away with Melinda, who kept one eye on them and another on Tom.
“Mary, hi this is Tom. What’s going on with XIV? Why is it tanking?”
“No idea Tom. Your Grandmother called and said she told all of her friends at the bingo hall to buy it and she hoped to speak to you tomorrow morning.”
“Great. Hey, I’m at dinner now and really can’t talk. Where is the stock now?”
Mary looked at her computer and said to Tom in a deadpan voice “Sixty-Five.”
“SIXY FIVE! How the hell!”
“Do me a favor, Mary, buy another 20,000 shares of it for my personal account now. I’m sure it’ll bounce tomorrow. This has to be some sort of fat finger flash crash — right?”
Mary replied “20,000 shares. Got it”, and hung up.
The more Tom ate the more XIV crashed lower. By the time his dinner was complete, XIV closed after-hours trading down 80% to $21.
“What the fuck is a termination clause?”, asked Melinda
“I have no idea honey. They’re saying the fucking thing is going to zero. ZERO! They’re saying a termination clause had been triggered and that it was all in the prospectus,” cried Tom. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it. That’s it,” said Tom desperately.
Melinda enraged by the debacle, screamed out “WHO SAID THIS? Who said it was in the prospectus? We will kill them before they think they can take all of our money and piss away with it.”
“Cramer, hun. Jim Cramer said people were morons for not reading it. He said it was all there in black and white.”
“This isn’t Charlie and the Chocolate factory, Tom. Stocks just don’t close at $100 and open at zero. Cramer can go fuck himself.”
The night cast its shadow over NYC and Melinda and Tom were so incensed by what had happened — they just sat at their kitchen table contemplating the ramifications of Tom’s wayward actions when the phone rang out.
“Who the hell is calling us at this time of night?” yelled out Melinda.
“It’s probably a telemarketer — I’ll get it,” said Tom.
Tom picked up the phone and he heard someone on the other end breathing rather heavily. He could also hear the sound of chewing and the sound of a 4 day old beard brushing up against the receiver of the phone.
“Who the hell is this? I don’t have time for games,” cried Tom.
“I told you.”
“What. Who is this?”
“That’s what happens when you get hooked. I told you not to get involved with that.”
Alerted by the language used, Tom said “is this Stanley?”
“This is what happens when you get that exuberance.”
“How did you get my number, Stanley. What the hell is going on here?”
Stanley just chewed on his cigar, rested the phone between his shoulder and his head and began reading from page 128 of the XIV prospectus.
“If we accelerate the ETNs, you will only receive the Closing Indicative Value and will not receive any other compensation or amount for the loss of the investment opportunity of holding the ETNs; or JHD exercises their right to cause an early acceleration due to the termination of our agreement with them under certain circumstances. ”
“Shut up Stanley. You, you shut your God damned filthy cigar filled mouth.”
“Who the fuck is that Tom?” cried Melinda with a cigarette in one hand, bottle of wine in another.
“I think it’s the devil hun. It’s Stanley, but I think he’s the devil.”
Stanley kept going, reading directly from the XIV script, concluding:
“The long term expected value of your ETNs is zero.”
Stanley turned the page, licking a finger to grab some traction, “If you hold your ETNs as a long-term investment, it is likely you will lose all or a substantial portion of your investment.”
“Stop it Stanley, for the love of God. Stop it,” cried Tom.
In the background Melinda could be heard talking to herself “what a marriage this is going to be. I married a gambler, a degenerate gambler who just lost our honeymoon money.”
Then panic struck Tom, remembering he had given Mary an order to buy $1.3 million worth of XIV in the after-hours at $65. His entire account was worth less than that. This trade was placed on margin.
“Oh no. God no,” mumbled Tom, pulling at his hair.
Tom dropped the phone and Stanley began to laugh maniacally on the other end. Melinda was drinking directly from the bottle and Tom was pacing back and forth trying to subdue his panic attack, when the doorbell rang.
Melinda put down the bottle and extinguished her cigarette into a crystal ashtray — and said to Tom “who is coming to our apartment at 9 o’clock at night?”
Tom just stood there, dumfounded, silent.
Melinda opened the door and greeted her surprise visitor and yelled out to Tom “Tom honey, come over here your Grandmother just paid us a visit.”
“How nice of you to come, Grandma. I love your dress. Tom and I were just talking about you.”
