So I’m an AMC shareholder, which means I own some of the business. Because the stock kept getting halted today I decided to go to my local AMC and support the stock by buying some concessions. I went up to the stand and told the casher (his nametag said Melvin) that I was a shareholder and wanted to support the business. He looked excited and told me to close my eyes and hold out my hand for a surprise shareholder treat. I can’t believe it, but he just covered my hands in liquid butter! Now I’m typing this at home and cant get it off my hands, and my keyboard is all greasy typing this, What do I do?
I used to be a real ad
More WallStreetBets Copypastas
We can't blame market
To be fair "but I poop from there" wasn't an explicit "no". We can't blame market for doing what it did.
WallStreetBets
Oh my gourd, I am financially ruined (agricultural futures)
I have lost everything, and I'm not sure how to continue. This summer I invested $17,500 (six months salary and my entire life savings) into ornamental gourd futures, hoping to capitalize on this lucrative emerging industry. After watching a video about Vincent Kosuga and his monopoly on onions, I decided I'd try to do something similar with another vegetable. I did some research and found out many agricultural forecasters expected this year's gourd yield would be far smaller than the past, due to deteriorating soil conditions in central Mexico and a warmer-than-average spring. At first, demand soared around Halloween and prices skyrocketed, but the gourd bubble burst on November 12th. Unfortunately, the coronavirus caused a massive drop-off in demand due to fewer families decorating their tables for thanksgiving, and prices plummeted. I had invested early enough that I thought I would still be fine, but then on the morning of December 2nd, a new email in my inbox caused my stomach to turn into a pretzel. The massive gourd shipment from Argentina, scheduled for early March, had arrived. I was planning on selling off my futures right before this, in February, but this ruined everything. To top it off, the gourds in this shipment were absolutely gargantuan, some topping 4 pounds each, causing the price-per-pound to drop like an anchor into the range of 6 cents per pound. I am ruined.
Classic
WallStreetBets
I challenge you to “Turtle King”
Before my ban, someone challenged me to a duel with cocks.
I challenge you to “Turtle King” instead.
We each dock our unhardened cocks into each other, then we put on clips of Yellen speaking during FOMC meetings.
The first to effectively go from flaccid to erect and push the other out of the “dock” is crowned Turtle 🤴.
Dual me, I’m 4-0.
WallStreetBets
Unrealized losses
She runs her hand through your thinning hair and laughs. “What?” you ask absentmindedly. You’re looking at Futures, and you’re surprised to see them red.
“I want you to play with me.” She says it playfully, but the single ounce of you that isn’t totally aloof realizes she said this in earnest. And so you do. You throw your phone, and you pin her to the sofa, then the ground. You both roll about, wrestling, like lion cubs. Kissing, lightly biting. Sometime later, you both stop, breathing hard. She grabs an open bottle of red wine, and you pass it back and forth. Eventually she says, “I want to do that more.”
But you’ve already found your phone again to check Futures. Still red. “Uh huh,” you say, distracted. She stares at you for a long moment, but you don’t realize it. Silently, she gets up and goes to bed, and you don’t say a word because you don’t notice.
She hasn’t left you yet, but she will soon.
Unrealized losses.
WallStreetBets
Stonks only go up. But you don't.
You watch her as she brushes her hair. She’s humming a song you can’t quite hear and smiling to herself. Not for the first time, you wonder why this person chose you.
She turns. “What do you want for Christmas?” You want to scream Save your money!, but you only shrug. “Nothing, really.”
“Nothing?” She crawls into bed and touches your leg. “Are you sure?” Again, you wonder why this person chose you.
As she takes the weight of you in her hand, your mind wanders. To your puts. They’ll expire worthless, like you. After several minutes of failing to conjure your manhood, she asks, “What’s wrong?”
Stonks only go up.
But you don’t.