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[Copypasta]Is that insider trading?
If you're a passenger on a newly recertified 737MAX and it starts to nosedive into the sea so you buy shitloads of BA puts over WiFi before impact, is that insider trading?
If you're a passenger on a newly recertified 737MAX and it starts to nosedive into the sea so you buy shitloads of BA puts over WiFi before impact, is that insider trading?
Time for our daily prayer:
Our calls, Who art in PLTR,
Perfect be Thy Timing.
Thy tendies come.
Thy expirations be done,
on earth as it is in Wall Street.
Give us this day our daily Lambos.
And forgive us of our puts,
as we forgive those who buy puts against us.
And lead us not into Debt,
but deliver us unto tendies. Amen
Time for our daily prayer:
Our calls, Who art in PLTR,
Perfect be Thy Timing.
Thy tendies come.
Thy expirations be done,
on earth as it is in Wall Street.
Give us this day our daily Lambos.
And forgive us of our puts,
as we forgive those who buy puts against us.
And lead us not into Debt,
but deliver us unto tendies. Amen
bears are fuk
I hate people saying bears are fuk or bulls are fuk. Stop saying that. It's very rude. Just say bears are fuk
As the tree blinks from white to red to green, you look at the void under the tree that previously held presents. Fewer this year than usual, but some.
How did you get here? Boredom? In March, you felt trapped with your wife and infant. You needed something to pass the time. Something you could throw yourself into fully.
“Are you coming to bed?” your wife yells down the stairs. It seemed harmless at first, but as the pandemic drew on, so did your investment. You’ll stop soon, though. “Soon!” you reply, and you hear her feet climb the steps.
The lights start to blink chaotically. You cringe because you could only afford the junk strands at CVS. Suddenly they halt—the alternation feature broken—on red. The red fills the room and covers your flesh. You look down at your hands, and they look like they’re bleeding. Like your calls.
After a time—hours?—you realize you’re sitting in complete darkness. Your lights have expired, worthless.
As the tree blinks from white to red to green, you look at the void under the tree that previously held presents. Fewer this year than usual, but some.
How did you get here? Boredom? In March, you felt trapped with your wife and infant. You needed something to pass the time. Something you could throw yourself into fully.
“Are you coming to bed?” your wife yells down the stairs. It seemed harmless at first, but as the pandemic drew on, so did your investment. You’ll stop soon, though. “Soon!” you reply, and you hear her feet climb the steps.
The lights start to blink chaotically. You cringe because you could only afford the junk strands at CVS. Suddenly they halt—the alternation feature broken—on red. The red fills the room and covers your flesh. You look down at your hands, and they look like they’re bleeding. Like your calls.
After a time—hours?—you realize you’re sitting in complete darkness. Your lights have expired, worthless.