Dreading the Red

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I used to absolutely live for mornings like this. I mean, you’ve got:

  • Every single asset in a free-fall;
  • Miserable bulls;
  • The prospects of my positions (both real and pretend) exploding higher;
  • A Federal Reserve which looks absolutely idiotic.

I mean, that sounds like every day in heaven, doesn’t it? I could get used to that, 365 days every year.

And yet every single time this happens — Every. Single. Time. – – whatever traitorous scumbag is heading the Fed screws things up for us bears (and I’m probably going out on a limb even using the plural at this point, even on a planet of 7 billion people). Greenspan. Bernanke. Yellen. Powell. They’re all the same.

But here’s the thing: there will come a time when, unbeknownst to everyone – – me, you, the Fed – – that the market simply will have had enough. There will come a time that however badly the Fed sells off the country’s future, and no matter what shameless machinations ensue – – it just won’t work anymore. And Jerome Powell will stand there, at the podium, absolutely impotent. And the world will learn to hate him as much as I always have. Just him, his limp dick dangling for all to gaze upon, and a once-great Republic in complete tatters.

The fact is that a gargantuan top is still in formation, and should it complete, we could be in for a life-changing collapse. Musk’s foolishness was the cultural high water mark of this insanity. There’s never been a better signal. They say no one rings a bell at the top? The world’s richest man clowning around on an unfunny comedy show was the only bell any of us ever needed.

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