Pinky's Tailing Box: a weekly Wednesday feature of At a Bottom Now for Gold...
The GoldBug
by Edgar Allan Gust (1998)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I squandered wealth gained dearly,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of jr. miners on the Vancouver floor,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came stop gapping,
As of some one there bear trapping, trapping at the bears some more.
"'Tis some investor," I soon muttered, "trapping at the bears some more--
Gold's up two bucks, but I'm still poor."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December
My every mining stock dismembered, sate the shorts upon the gore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- I vainly sought to margin borrow
From my stocks, surcease of sorrow- sorrow for lost chance to score--
For the rare and radiant metal also sought by Cambior--
And Zappa drills for evermore.
And the sullen, sad uncertain pulse test of each lens with dirt in,
Thrilled and filled me and G.T. with investment errors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"Is Warren Buffett buying silver? It's up two dimes but I'm still poor--
Some late investors buying silver;--it's up two dimes but I'm still poor
It's up two dimes, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "My broker today--a bid on Zappa I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, when the market started crapping,
And so the Fed began rate slapping, cutting interest rates once more,
That I scarce was sure a crash would ensue,"- here I bought Vancouver o'er;--
Darkness there, where drill bits bore.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming schemes for metals no one dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, like a spell of J R Tolkein,
And the only word there spoken was, "Drop the bid for Cambior."
This I whispered, and said an echo "The bid went thru--your wallet's tore."--
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the market turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a lashing somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is trouble for Wall Street blue chips:
Let me see, then, what the threat is, as jr. miners for gold explore--
Let my heart be still a moment as they prove more Zappa ore;--
'Tis Whirlwind and nothing more."
$
Open here flung I to silver, when like an idiotic dilbert,
In there stepped a stately goldbug of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
As if with mind of 1980, perched above my portfolio to my horror-
Perched upon the busting metals comprising my portfolio's core--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this golden bug beguiling, Morrie and Dean both into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy investments be shorn and frozen, thou," I said, "art sure no Skousen,
Ghastly grim and ancient Goldbug wandering from the COMEX floor--
Tell me should metals such as Platinum I begin to hoard?"
Quoth the Goldbug, "Nevermore."
$ $ $
From the Tailing Box...
Dear Whirlwind:
Is the pulse test for Zappa's La Plata going ahead as planned? --Ms. Systolic
Dear Ms. Systolic:
Zappa Didn't trade today so there's no detectable pulse that I can pick up. --Whirlwind |
