[Copypasta] Anyone basing trades right now on fundamentals is a fucking tool

So many arrogant fucks here love talking fundamental analysis when they can't even tell me if lil’ Yachty got another Ferrari much less how stuffed the fucking Oreos are now. Fucking clowns, all of them. Shut the fuck up and do your trades. If you really need a valuation multiple you can't even derive to tell you whether you should buy a stock or not, you deserve CHGG. Newsflash, the stock market never made sense nor will it. Best you can do is trade gourd futures you know about and feel with your hands that it hasn't been spotted by any number of fungal pathogens in the complex ecology of modern supply chains. Or alternatively manipulate markets like the rich investors who funnel you into silver every fucking time like clockwork. Warren Buffet's dad was Paul Revere, if you think that shit didn't help The Wizard of Omaha then not only are you retarded but also delusional. Now stfu about EBITDA and long term debt-to-equity ratios. If you actually knew what the fuck was going to happen you'd be chilling in r/lounge with a fat chick, not on wsb posting "anyone basing trades right now on technical analysis is fucking tool.”
February 2022

WallStreetBets

A parody of this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/wallstreetbets/comments/shrexz/anyone_basing_trades_on_technical_analysis_right/
(▀̿Ĺ̯├┬┴┬┴ Psst... kid, you wanna disable adblock?
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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.
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Graham Stephen is stingy

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Mr. Musk I don’t feel so good.

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The Battle of Gamestop rages on.

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Darth Bearish the Regarded

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