DAYTRADING: The Highs and the Woes
I was unusually anxious as I drove to see my shrink, the brilliant and former Barney
Fife hairdresser, doc Kronkite.
Miss Tushbumper, the doc’s voluptuous receptionist must have seen the anxiety in my eyes, for she came right to me and enveloped me in a tight hug. I could feel her bodacious ta-ta’s press firmly against my chest. I felt better immediately.
The doc usually keeps keep me waiting for a few moments which bothers me not in the least as I use the time to sneakily pitch some woo in Miss Tushbumper’s direction.
But not today. “You must see doctor immediately” she cooed and ushered me into Kronkite’s office. Drats.
“Assume the position,” he bellowed. This of course meant I was to lie down on his lumpy leather couch. I did as I was told. After all he was a specialist.
“So talk on me already. I tee-off in an hour.”
“Gee doc, it’s been awful this week.” I cried.
“Another poor trading week?” he asked.
“No doc, it’s all this recession talk. It’s getting me down.” I said.
“Rescession? What means recession? I treat depression. Talk on me about depression and I’ll cure you. I cured Albert Epstein when he went ten years trying to invent regularity. I cured Izzy Newton when he was five years trying to invent gravity. That was an easy one; I shinnied up an apple tree, told Izzy to sit down, plucked an apple and whipped it. Did I ever tell you the Yankees gave me a tryout when they needed a pitcher? Hit Izzy smack on the noggin. “EUREKA!” he cried, just before he toppled over unconscious. A mild concussion. And thus gravity was invented. Five minutes it took. A hero I made him, famous. They gave him a Noble prize for Science even. But did he ever pay me my modest fee? A connection agency I had to turn it over to. (Doc was a bit of a malapropist.) I cured O.J Simpson and Tricky-Dick Nixon. The list is endless. Did I mention I was a specialist? Hurry up, I tee-off soon. Can’t want to try my new niblick.”
“Doc, a recession is when the economy turns down. And when the economy turns down, stocks go down. What am I gonna do? You gotta help me doc.”
“Help, schmelp. I’ll cure you in ten minutes.”
“Doc, that’s great!” I cried. “But how?”
“Didn’t I read somewhere that Alan Greenspan was drooping interest rates?”
“Yes doc,” I said, “He’s lowered interest rates five times this year. But doc, it hasn’t helped. The economy keeps contracting and stock prices keep dropping.”
“Impatience. That’s your problem; you’re too impatient. Lower interest rates always work. Mendelbaum the fund manager told me that.”
“But doc, didn’t you fire Mendelbaum?”
“Mmmm. You’re right. I got rid of him after he put me into AMAZON at 100 and told me to average down all the way to 20. And then he put me into RAMBUS at 118 and had me average down all the way to 15. He rooned me, is what he did. And when I told him to go jump in the lake he said, “You’ll be sorry. Those stocks will make new highs in a couple of months. Mark my words, mark my words.” Feh to Mendelbaum.”
“But doc, if Mendelbaum was wrong about the stocks he put you into, how can you be sure he’s right about lower interest rates pulling us out of the recession?”
“Recession? We’re in a recession? What’s a recession?”
“See doc, the market’s been awful and lower interest rates haven’t turned things around. And doc, I’m getting a bit worried. I toss and turn, can’t sleep. And sex? Forget it, I’m simply too distressed about the recessions to ah, perform my manly duties if you know what I mean.”
“Of course I know what you mean. I studied with the master, Sigmund Froid in Cienna. Fine city.”
“No!”
“Yes, every morning for five years. In deep analysis he put me. Said I had to be
recessed. Anna brought me wonderful schtrudel. He hyptonized me even. Say, maybe that’s what a recession is all about. I could hyptonize you, cure your recession in five minutes. Then I’d make my tee-time. We’ve got a foursome you know; three of my colleagues and me. I’ll show ‘em what I can do with my new niblick.”
“Gee, that’s swell doc. Maybe hyptonization will work with me. It just might take. Ok I’m ready.”
“Time’s up. Out you go. See you next week, same time.”
I was crestfallen. I walked out and into the reception room. And there was the magnificent Miss Tushbumper. Doc Kronkite flew by, niblick in hand, me so I thought I’d stay. I feigned a few tears and suddenly Miss Tushbumper was embracing me, hard. Mmm.
“Perhaps you’d like to talk to me for a while” she said, planting a wet smacker on my cheek. “It might help.”
Help? Help? Of course it would help.
“See,” I began “I think I have a slight case of recession that’s causing me to lose all interest in sex. It’s awful Miss Tushbumper” I whimpered.
“Perhaps I could help” she cooed. “Let me try.”
“Gee, if you think it might help, sure.”
DAYTRADING: The Highs and the Woes
I was unusually anxious as I drove to see my shrink, the brilliant and former Barney
Fife hairdresser, doc Kronkite.
Miss Tushbumper, the doc’s voluptuous receptionist must have seen the anxiety in my eyes, for she came right to me and enveloped me in a tight hug. I could feel her bodacious ta-ta’s press firmly against my chest. I felt better immediately.
The doc ususally keeps keep me waiting for a few moments which bothers me not in the least as I use the time to sneakily pitch some woo in Miss Tushbumper’s direction.
But not today. “You must see doctor immediately” she cooed and ushered me into Kronkite’s office. Drats.
“Assume the position,” he bellowed. This of course meant I was to lie down on his lumpy leather couch. I did as I was told. After all he was a specialist.
“So talk on me already. I tee-off in an hour.”
“Gee doc, it’s been awful this week.” I cried.
“Another poor trading week?” he asked.
“No doc, it’s all this recession talk. It’s getting me down.” I said.
“Rescession? What means recession? I treat depression. Talk on me about depression and I’ll cure you. I cured Albert Epstein when he went ten years trying to invent regularity. I cured Izzy Newton when he was five years trying to invent gravity. That was an easy one; I shinnied up an apple tree, told Izzy to sit down, plucked an apple and whipped it. Did I ever tell you the Yankees gave me a tryout when they needed a pitcher? Hit Izzy smack on the noggin. “EUREKA!” he cried, just before he toppled over unconscious. Concussion. And thus gravity was invented. Five minutes it took. A hero I made him, famous. They gave him a Noble prize for Science even. But did he ever pay me my modest fee? A connection agency I had to turn it over to. (Doc was a bit of a malapropist.) I cured O.J Simpson and Tricky-Dick Nixon. The list is endless. Did I mention I was a specialist? Hurry up, I tee-off soon. Can’t want to try my new niblick.”
“Doc, a recession is when the economy turns down. And when the economy turns down, stocks go down. What am I gonna do? You gotta help me doc.”
“Help, schmelp. I’ll cure you in ten minutes.”
“Doc, that’s great!” I cried. “But how?”
“Didn’t I read somewhere that Alan Greenspan was drooping interest rates?”
“Yes doc,” I said, “He’s lowered interest rates five times this year. But doc, it hasn’t helped. The economy keeps contracting and stock prices keep dropping.”
“Impatience. That’s your problem; you’re too impatient. Lower interest rates always work. Mendelbaum the fund manager told me that.”
“But doc, didn’t you fire Mendelbaum?”
“Mmmm. You’re right. I got rid of him after he put me into AMAZON at 100 and told me to average down all the way to 20. And then he put me into RAMBUS at 118 and had me average down all the way to 15. He rooned me, is what he did. And when I told him to go jump in the lake he said, “You’ll be sorry. Those stocks will make new highs in a couple of months. Mark my words, mark my words.” Feh to Mendelbaum.”
“But doc, if Mendelbaum was wrong about the stocks he put you into, how can you be sure he’s right about lower interest rates pulling us out of the recession?”
“Recession? We’re in a recession? What’s a recession?”
“See doc, the market’s been awful and lower interest rates haven’t turned things around. And doc, I’m getting a bit worried. I toss and turn, can’t sleep. And sex? Forget it, I’m simply too distressed about the recessions to ah, perform my manly duties if you know what I mean.”
“Of course I know what you mean. I studied with the master, Sigmund Froid in Cienna. Fine city.”
“No!”
“Yes, every morning for five years. In deep analysis he put me. Said I had to be
recessed. Anna brought me wonderful schtrudel. He hyptonized me even. Say, maybe that’s what a recession is all about. I could hyptonize you, cure your recession in five minutes. Then I’d make my tee-time. We’ve got a foursome you know; three of my colleagues and me. I’ll show ‘em what I can do with my new niblick.”
“Gee, that’s swell doc. Maybe hyptonization will work with me. It just might take. Ok I’m ready.”
“Time’s up. Out you go. See you next week, same time.”
I was crestfallen. I walked out and into the reception room. And there was the magnificent Miss Tushbumper. Doc Kronkite flew by, niblick in hand, so I thought I’d stay. I feigned a few tears and suddenly Miss Tushbumper was embracing me, hard. Mmm.
“Perhaps you’d like to talk to me for a while” she said, planting a wet smacker on my cheek. “It might help.”
Help? Help? Of course it would help.
“See,” I began “I think I have a slight case of recession that’s causing me to lose all interest in sex. It’s awful Miss Tushbumper” I whimpered.
“Perhaps I could help” she cooed. “Let me try.”
“Gee, if you think it might help, sure.”
Oh my!
Lee Kramer |
