Long-time readers know of my lifelong disdain for anything related to cruises. Having experienced a cruise precisely zero times, I nonetheless harbor an abiding loathing for the things, since I vividly imagine them to be gargantuan floating hotels, peopled with morbidly obese gastropods who are desperate to interrupt the emptiness of their lives with a brief bacchanalia lined with all-you-can-eat buffets. The entire enterprise disgusts me.
With that sparkle-eyed introduction, I am delighted to report that Royal Carribean Group (RCL) is getting absolutely nuked this morning. I suspect their profits have been severely diminished by the gluttonous blobs bobbing up and down on their ships, eating far too much fried chicken and cheesecake.
Not only am I short RCL, but I’m likewise short Carribean Cruise Lines (CCL), colloquially known these days as the Section 8 of the Seas. It appears that the activities these porkers engage in on these cruises consists mainly of eating, laying about on extra-reinforced lounge chairs, and – – God help us – – occupying their staterooms on the first night in a disquieting smushing of moistened folds and stiffened giblets.
I have been tilting at these windmills for quite some time, and I’m glad to see these grotesque things actually start to feel the weight of gravity.
Suffice it to say I shall be holding on to these positions for the foreseeable future, as they are preposterously overvalued.
