The inventors of Santa Claus, Coca-Cola, can go fuck themselves. I am so tired right now, due to sleep deprivation, I am seeing shit in slow motion. I am punchy as fuck, causing me to be paranoid to a point where I find myself making wild accusations, a shopping induced delirium. Seriously, as an adult, I hate Christmas. It means nothing but thousands of dollars in additional expenditures. I have no issue spoiling my kids. But buying all this shit for strangers, neighbors, distant relatives, shiiiiiit fuck, those people can go fuck themselves. Needless to say, Mrs. Fly is greatly chagrined by my evil stance on pagan X-mas, the birthday of decadence, under the homo banner of Santa Claus aka a Coca Cola mascot.
It looks like I am enjoying the tail end of the old MOTR boat again, as the blades massage my fucking face. Little does that boat know, my face is made from titanium, like Terminator. I will eat their blades for breakfast, then proceed to buy it a nice sweater or bottle of cologne for X-mas. ‘Cause that’s how I roll, apparently.
SOL is ripping tits. I have plenty of shares in my personal account. I have coin coming out of my ears.
Into haut-monde day, I am heavily long EXK, REXX, CCJ, MOTR, PWER, VMC, SOL, ATPG.
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