On a bad day, like today, why not tell the pizza faces from CNBC to go fuck themselves? After all, they make people nervous all day long, with their fucked up stories and jackass analysis. Whether you are long or short the market, the sentiment is unanimous: fuck CNBC and the mechanical rodeo horse it rides on.
All day long, friends, enemies, website people and a multitude of random fucktards were shitting their pants over today’s decline. They cite the downside volume, coupled with seasonality. They tell tales of calamity, all the while stuffing their fat fucking faces with expensive fish.
Let me tell you something, I didn’t sell anything today, nor did I buy. I don’t dance to the music that you and your homo friends prefer. “The Fly” is football fields ahead of you, with an IQ north of 155 and a market hand as heavy as a lead frying pan.
I close out today’s session, confident in history repeating itself. Certain readings from The PPT tell me we are very close, if not at, the bottom of this recent sell-off. If I am wrong, I will adjust accordingly. If not, it will go down as just another win for Senor Tropicana. And, most of you could just ignore how I nailed the market, yet again, while continuing to trade yourselves into a stupid homo box.
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