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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.”

I'm actually a pretty advanced bait station designer. While my formal education is a bit lacking, my cad and computer animation skills are really good, and I have some truly paradigm shifting ideas for bait stations, both vr and non vr. currently in the beginning stages of seeking VC funds, really trying to move my operation from San Antonio to Austin, a second location could triple my revenue right now. Obviously right now all our orders are high end custom stations, way out of reach for the avg wsb user. Its my dream to one day be able to produce real bait stations in a production environment. Right now my company is in talks with several engineering firms out of Seoul to take our cum recycling system and some how use the energy from the spent cum to recharge the batteries. While the technology is new. It has huge applications. Imagine when you go to charge your tsla, its powered completely by cum. No longer must we let our nonbiological female prostitutes flush our GOLD down the toilet post coitus, that shit is going to drive our new society. The money we save as a society on sock costs alone is tremendous.

In the beginning, Jerma showed many signs of being thoughtful, compassionate, and a loving human being. He worked at animal shelters, participated in charities, and created many characters in the Jerma Universe which he loved dearly. However, once Jerma started streaming on Twitch, something changed in him. At first it was a very small change, where he would make occasional threats and insults to his chat, but most of the time he seemed mentally and emotionally stable, just like the old Jerma on YouTube. But he soon began to degrade rapidly on a mental and moral level. It seemed he had grown to hate his chat, hate many of the games he played, hate many of his memes, and began became increasingly greedy for bits. He started having frequent mental breakdowns on stream, where he would throw insults and scream at the top of his lungs for just the smallest things, such as problems running and streaming a video game.

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.

I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out- pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha-- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. Mom, Dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi--" A single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty country road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

WOW kid you just got r/WOOOOOOSHED!!!! 😂😂👀 "Wooosh" means you didn't get the joke, as in the sound made when the joke "woooshes" over your head. I bet you're too stupid to get it, IDIOT!! 😤😤😂 His joke was so thoughtfully crafted and took him a total of like 3 minutes, you SHOULD be laughing. 🤬 What's that? His joke is bad? I think that's just because you failed. He outsmarted you, nitwit.🤭 In conclusion, I am posting this to the community known as "R/Wooooosh" to claim my internet points in your embarrassment 😏. Imbecile. The Germans refer to this action as "Schadenfreude," which means "harm-joy" 😬😲. WOW! 🤪 Another reference I had to explain to you. 🤦‍♂️🤭 I am going to cease this conversation for I do not converse with simple minded persons.😏😂