The Stock Market Is Like A Dick

Sometimes it will get in a happy mood and decide to rise…and rise. It can stay that way for years.

You wonder whether your financial account is on some kind of drug. There is an urgency to recognize it and do something with it. At the very least, you feel like dropping your designer suit pants and sitting down to polish it (so to speak), to tweak your allocations and lube your glowing scepter of cash generation. You try to pump it up even more. Maybe you should stick the results somewhere, such as in new sports cars, yachts, private jets, gifts from luxury stores (and XXL condoms) and openly declare to the world your now huge endowment.

It doesn’t care about reality and pays no heed to sales reports, price/earnings ratios or repeated warnings of deflation. It might not make any sense but it decides to become a hard arrow on a chart that only points up. You might worry that somebody will see just how much you’ve really got, producing problematic envy in them. When your investment reaches for the ceiling, it could be embarrassing. On the other hand, part of you doesn’t mind freaking out other guys (Wall Street traders, NBA players) with your stunning size/wallet.

Your rod of riches is already big and then amazingly it gets spectacularly bigger. Talk about strong, masculine capital gains. Your bucks and your balls are definitely impressive to you and to others. You think about just whipping them both out and comparing funds, confident you will win any contest. You’ve got it to spare, to show off to restaurants, Aspen ski resorts, Sotheby’s art auctions and all potential business partners. You throw off your towel and walk with pride, supported by muscles made of greenbacks. It is very visible: your appendage of cash sways and swings heavily to and fro with your every step. You almost need to hire an assistant just to help you carry it around. The good times are here with your long, thick, bountiful possession. No need to strap down, brother.

You strut (in the locker room, the bank’s wealth management department and especially on your Excel spreadsheet) where it’s safe to show off your strong, excited (loaded) weapon although you know it is not supposed to be that sturdy and filled. You think about different ways to wield your power and force. You can be generous (want some?) to a few “deserving” persons.

It’s time to spill some of your incredibly excessive contents. You have the ability to enter/buy almost any thing or place. The knowledge alone, even if you restrain yourself, will nevertheless be intoxicating. You think with the dividend and interest head between your legs. Spending cautiously is no longer a rule. Your stash is overflowing, so why not sow some wild oats? Your assets scream that they really need to come flying out of you anyway. When they do, you know it will be a blast.

It seems like your bulging Dow Jones and your swollen brokerage shaft will never go down. Who would really want them to do that anyway? But deep down inside you know that your tumescent treasure won’t remain like an iron cannon throughout all time, even if you surely wish it would. It is not meant to never take a break.

Eventually your swollen club (membership) will go down, sometimes suddenly. It will confuse and defy you. Adding insult to injury, its condition will be announced every night on the national news. Everybody will be talking about it and everybody will know. It will hang quite limp for a while and you’ll be disappointed. It will give you a false start and appear to rise again, then stop and go back down rapidly. Something will hit your golden gonads with a dose of cold, maybe freezing, market water. Your giant johnson and its wad of capital will experience shrinkage. Talk about a recession or worse, a depression. You will want to hide your losses and not think about them.

You will look for someone to blame (business partners, wives — no, politicians, yeah!) and you will become very irritable, even angry. You will tell the other guys that your net worth manhood is not small, that you retain the ability to grow beyond belief (just not now — where’s that damn Viagra). Your competitors will want to tease you except that their own once formidable, affluent poles of plenty will have shriveled up as well, without a hint of the diamond-like state (value) they once had when all of them were bragging (with famous models holding onto their arms and cooing into their ears). Everyone will just wish that their flaccid holdings will expand back to their former glory.

Well, it was all hot and good while it lasted.

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