Michael Kindt's Blog, page 48
June 14, 2016
[ Said in a whiny voice ] “I’m so liberal!” ; “I’m so...
[ Said in a whiny voice ] “I’m so liberal!” ; “I’m so conservative!” ; “I’m SO right about EVERYTHING!”
Both losers.
I’m so sick of politics right now. Let’s talk about something else.
SALT-N-PEPA - Let’s talk about sex (1991)
It's quite bizarre, in my opinion, that Brexit affects American stocks. So what if the UK leaves the EU?
It’s great that stocks are getting cheaper, though. That means more opportunity. Most independent investors–and I have become more and more convinced of this the longer I play the market–buy high and sell low, which makes them, unequivocally, a buncha dumb shits.
It’s looking quite likely that the UK will leave, or Brexit. I never understood why the UK wanted to be a part of the EU to begin with. You know, they’re not even physically connected. Plus, all those people on the Continent speak a foreign language.
;)
June 13, 2016
Current status: Needing another martini.
Current status: Needing another martini.
Alas, often have I slaked my thirst upon her briny water, the...
Alas, often have I slaked my thirst upon her briny water, the bitter relief mitigated shortly thereafter by projectile vomiting and firehose diarrhea.
And yet, I always return…
June 12, 2016
You always hear about pipelines, but you never really see one....
You always hear about pipelines, but you never really see one.
Seems alright to me. It ain’t leaking, at least.
I don’t get why this structure is political. I mean, don’t you drive, have electricity, look at porn and Tumblr on the internet? Go around your life and count the number of plastic things. Can you do without them?
Would you rather have it come by pipe or train, this force which through the green fuse drives the flower?
By the way, if you put your ear on it, you can’t hear anything.
Not even the ocean.
June 9, 2016
The June 9th Rapid City Flood. 1972. A disaster with its own...
The June 9th Rapid City Flood. 1972. A disaster with its own Wikipedia page.
Looking at the photos online, as well as the photos in my mother’s album, the disaster seemed to have a particular dislike for cars.
This was before Bernie Sanders dropped out.
I went to a party put on by my co-worker Tanner, who’s 23, and like many Millennials, he’s a socialist, in name only of course.
These Millennial socialists live in the land of plenty, created by capitalism, yet they choose to hate and disparage it. Hell, it gives them an “identity”, I suppose.
So we’re partying and there was a dude there in a leather vest with bare arms covered in tats. He was the most socialist of all. He was talking like it was sharing and rich people shouldn’t have all the money that they do. How dare they be more successful than the rest of us, the evil bastards! He was saying how we should steal it from them, their wealth that they had earned, under guise of law, and distribute it to EVERYONE, even some white people.
Blah, blah.
I was a little drunk. His leather vest wasn’t black but brown. It was more cowboy than biker. I admired it, and told him so. “Man, that’s a sweet vest!”
“Thanks.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“From my parents. It was a gift.”
“And what do they do?”
“My parents? Well, my mom runs a nail salon and dad is a manager of a convenience store.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Can I see it?”
“See it. What do you mean?”
“Lemme see it. The vest.” My hands were out.
Reluctantly, he took off the vest and handed it to me. Like all leather clothing, it was heavier than it looked.
“It’s a crime what they’re doing to Bernie Sanders,” I said. “A crime!”
“Yeah!” they all went and took off on the injustice of it all. Even the leather vest dude was busy being marginalized.
I snuck away to the car while they were indignant. I had a knife in the glove box and methodically cut up the vest into about 25 equal sized pieces. Then I walked through the party, going from the living room to the kitchen, distributing scraps of leather to each (confused) person. When I got Leather Vest, he was leaning against the sink. I had one scrap left and I handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Socialism,” I told him.
“Socialism? Where’s my vest? Didn’t you have my vest?”
I shrugged.
I quite enjoy trading stocks.
When I first began, I envisioned myself as a long-term income investor, buying stocks for the long haul. I would sit on them and earn dividends, I imagined.
But some of them began to take off, and I felt it was disrespectful to the money we had worked so hard to earn not to lock in profits when I could. I mean, if a stock you own suddenly goes up 80% over a 2-month period (from what you paid for it), it’s really hard not to sell and rake that money in.
Like I said, it felt disrespectful to me. My money works harder than me (I am currently reclining on the couch), and it should be respected and honored for its effort. If it wins, reward it by letting it win.
Not all of the stocks I have invested in are doing well, mind you. I got an oil stock on the verge of bankruptcy. Likely a total loss (which I will write off in taxes), but my overall profit margin in 2016 is 31%. If I book a total loss there, I’ll be sitting at a 23% profit.
I’ll take it.
You roll the dice in life. And you should respect your money. If you are a normal person, you earned it through labor. LABOR: it’s your baby. You squeezed it out. Man or woman, pull that shirt up, let it suckle upon your nipple. It will hurt at first, but after awhile it will feel good, just like Donald Trump.
I’m not exactly sure what I’m talking about. I’m very high.
