[Copypasta] Bears after a green day

It’s 4:01pm. Bears solemnly log out of their devastated brokerage account, get up from their makeshift desk made up of a stack of empty Michelina’s frozen lasagna dinners, head up the stairs of their father’s basement, grab the keys to their tan ‘97 Chevy Cavalier and a cloth mask embroidered with the word “VOTE,” and drive down the street to the local gay bar for a holiday themed burlesque show.
December 2021

WallStreetBets

I used to be a real ad
More WallStreetBets Copypastas

Hopefully the FBI can find Jack Ma

FBI set up a tip line for people to send in videos and pictures of the people who stormed the capitol yesterday... I’ve been sending them pictures of Jack Ma. Hopefully they can find him.
January 2021

WallStreetBets

Bloomberg terminal vs toilet trading

Imagine spending 20K on a bloomberg terminal and thousands on hardware just to get smoke checked by some retards on the toilet trading on their phone that are not only on the spectrum but might be the actual spectrum.
December 2020

WallStreetBets

Wallstreetbet's Christmas break

Gonna be checking the market every chance I get while pretending to think my brother-in-law's Cards Against Humanity answers are funny.
December 2020

WallStreetBets

Christmas for a wsb trader

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.
December 2020

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.
December 2020

WallStreetBets

Text-to-Speech Playing