You know, sometimes you’re the goat and other times just a goat. When I saw futures skyrocket last night I had wondrous visions of cocaine rallies starring myself sashaying throughout the office, ensconced in winship. I was going to be terrific, boasting and bragging about my IQ and how it permitted me to foresee the rally to come. The Era of Joe was to kick off with Le Fly gallivanting through the markets like a naked champion, chiseled, dragging a 10 inched cock.
But instead of all that, for whatever cosmic reason out there, I am getting clobbered — as if stocks were down 2,000 points. My Quant is -225bp, trading -250bps and my new LT dollar cost avg portfolio is -500bps. These are not returns you simply wash over and ignore. This is the sort of stuff that causes a man, a man such as myself, to spiral into a manic outrage — punching holes in the sheet rock, blaming random relics around the room for my misfortune.
Luckily for me, I have a great sense of humor and have discarded my ego some time ago. However, this rally is built from play dough and it looks like it will soon unravel and fuck everyone severely.
Or, it will keep fucking me, and I will lament the Era of Joe as if it were a toxic poison that needed demonic exorcism. Hopefully brighter times are ahead during this new paradigm. So far, I hate it.
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