Time on my hands.
There they sit...
There they will sit...
There they have sat...
in a rundown Bar & Grill at the end of the universe
comparing their market predictions and patting each other on the back.
The end of the universe is the perfect place for such discussions of
mutual praise because by the time you're at the end of the universe,
time itself has been condensed into a belly buton-sized dehydrated wad
that can easily carried in you fanny pack and reconstituted when necessary
to make your point.
(As a side note, you can arrive here for any seating without prior reservations
because you can book retrospectively, as it were, when you arrive. Neat, huh?)
Their market predictions are, of course, never wrong, and only come down to
a matter of grammar, that is, how one describes something that is about to happen
in the future market prior to what will happen in the past market.
One's ultimate prediction is therefore described according to whether one is
talking about it from the standpoint of their own natural time, from a time
in the further future, or a time in the further past and is only slightly complicated
by the possibility of one's need/desire to take an actual market position
in another time, preferably the past, with the intention of becoming
your own mother or father, so as to catch IBM.
Aside from never being wrong, the obvious advantage of this place and
the time warp produced in reaching it, is that
you can invest one cent in a savings account, and when you arrive at the end of the
universe, and therefore Time, the operation of compound interest will pay
for your trip and meal and leave you some extra for investing in the market upon your return. |
