Stock market, baby! It’s never been more acceptable to put all your money in one basket. When everyone’s an investor, everyone is going to get rich! There’s absolutely no way that this infinite growth train of non-stop roulette wins could turn out badly for us long- or even medium-term.
When I was still a respectable stockbroker, before the Lobster Incident – I’m sorry, my biographer has now legally forbidden me from publicly talking about it as part of an elaborate NDA – I made some good money. Sure, I made most of it for my employer, a soulless investment bank that controls all aspects of human existence, but all of those air-cooled vintage Porsches and mansions stuffed to the gills with speedboat parts didn’t fall out of the sky.
Life’s funny, huh? Now we’re sitting here on the side of the road, heating up a single expired cocktail weenie over a can of lantern fuel. For me, it turns out that my award-winning trading strategy of “lose a whole bunch of money in the morning, only to make that money back by the end of the day” actually sometimes just lost a whole bunch of money. Pension funds figured it out at around the same time I told them that their accounts were empty, but we’re all hurting around here – I can’t afford a fourth speedboat on the shitty bonus they paid me.
What really made things bad for me was not the enormous trading losses, or the aforementioned Incident, but the fact that I was rude to a guy dressed as the janitor. You guessed it: genie in disguise. I was cursed for a thousand years for my bad manners. Tale as old as time. Wall Street is full of those fae, you know. Even Bay Street is, but they smell more like maple syrup and speak French, so it’s easier to avoid them.