I am living Victorian style, finally.
Who needs the basic luxuries of modern refrigeration when you have perfectly good coolers filled with ice to preserve provisions with? Sure, the $800+ amount of WFM groceries that had to be idly tossed away was a write down; and yes, it’s a bit of an inconvenience to be forced to eat out each and every night. But we will manage and prevail, yes?
Why haven’t I purchased a new fridge, you ponder?
Apparently, Mrs. Fly is hellbent on seeing her warranty honored. The yam eating repairmen are all on vacation, cavorting about the Disneyland in search of dipping dots, while I am here in the 19th century tending to the melting ice. After all, what better use of the Space Alien Magian (SAM) than have him dealing with menial tasks, such as preservation of perishable goods?
Markets are starting to look dicey. I was mocking them this morning, while down just 130. But now we’re down over 220 and the fucking NASDAQ is no joke to the downside. I’m not even gonna get emotional over this. I know you’re waiting for me to pop off, pissed off about this or that. It’s not gonna happen this time, lads.
“The Fly” is a new man, a person of great distinction and emotionally recalcitrant to the modus operandi that rules your body, minds and souls.
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