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Due to local fluctuations in the tropopause, the jet stream has been shifting rapidly in a counterclockwise vector, causing a rapid disincorporation of the Hadley vortex cells in the lower ionosphere. Because of this, the geostrophic solar wind balance has deteriorated rapidly in the northern hemisphere. In essence, autumnal weather patterns in the western United States will lead to the biggest ornamental gourd yield in recorded history. Investing in gourd agricultural futures could likely produce up to $1600 per day in passive income. However, investing at the apex of the curve would be the most conducive to profit as the arbitrage (particularly 12b-1 fees) will develop at a market share higher than the back-end load. Basically, no one will be able to buy the stock at a higher price than you, and all value invested will be retained. A preliminary market penetration investment of $50,000 would be most efficient in generating this revenue.

You can't stop what's coming leafboy. I walk all over leaves every autumn, you think this year will be any different? Your flag is a fucking leaf. You chose the one part of the tree that dies every year. Not only that, but it's one of hundreds of leaves, thousands if it's a big tree. All dead come winter. Every winter. A vicious cycle. Totally insignificant. As soon as the tree has had it's way with you you are cast to the Earth to be trod by all other living things. Ants? They not only stomp about you, they will steal your corpse and use it for their people. Birds steal your lifeless shell with impunity. Leaves not only die once, but every year. A brave man dies only once, but leaves die a thousand deaths, or at least 20 or 30 if the tree lives that long. Perhaps more. Every year, leafs crunch beneath my boot. This year shall be no different. So it shall be written. So it shall be done. The day of the rake is at hand because every day is the day of the rake and has always been.

Bear King Michael Burry in the ring, slappin TSLA with a metal chair. His glass eye open wide with rage as he batters TSLA relentlessly. "The valuation..." crunch "makes...." crunch "NO.... " crunch "SENSE!" he roars with maniacal autistic glee. TSLA struggles for the edge of the ring, but coughs blood as each hit lands, and eventually stops moving. Bear King Burry drops the chair. Bear King Burry turns to the crowd "Was this your champion!? Was TSLA supposed to be your chosen one!?" A child in the crowd turns his face into his mother's side and cries. On the side of the ring WSB can barely move. TSLA was supposed to tag them in, but couldn't make it to the side in time. "Get up TSLA" WSB whimpers hopelessly, a single tear rolling down their cheek. "Get up..." Bear King Burry turns to WSB "Now it is your portfolio's turn. Get in here you little bitch." "Excuse me." Someone replies from behind BKB. "I believe I can give you the fight you want." A robed figure is administering smelling salts to TSLA. The figure puts TSLA on its shoulder and carries TSLA gently out of the ring. "And just who the fuck do you think you are?" BKB rumbles ominously. BKB's fingers squeeze so tightly on the chair that metal bends. "Who am I?" the robed figure inquires. The robed figure stands straight and stretches to their full height. They must be at least 7' tall. The crowd stops crying and watches in stunned silence. "Who am I?" The figure repeats menacingly. The figure turns around to face BKB, ripping off his robe. A gleaming light fills the stadium. Before us stands a Golden deity, rippling with muscle. If there is an ounce of body fat it is currently in hiding, only to make way for seemingly endless coiled golden musculature. The figure looks directly into Bear King Burry's eyes. "I'm Goldman Sachs, and i'm here to kill you."