Monday, February 5, 2018
Floating in New York Harbor, this message was found in a bottle:
Sorry to burst the bubble here but
What the hell happened at 3 o’clock?
Somebody yell fire in crowded theater?
Thundering herd, caught up in the Smoke and mirrors!
Blindsided by a Flash Crash?
Blame it on the ‘bots!
Gotta be them damn short-selling ghosties
in the machine
Oh . . . what the hey. . .
The last thing I remember, Doc
I slid into the curve.
Downward, I remember
Downward, I can tell you that.
In the winkin’ of an eye, and suddenly it’s every man for himself—
and the thundering herd turns tail, reverse
like some slumbering bearish curse,
Blind-sided by the ‘bots, or so I’m told.
Or did Jerome grab the punchbowl
Did he pull the plug?
Did he pull the rug
out, already, from under,
toppling now, asunder
the elephant in our room?
We’re coverin’ our assets here. But it’s hard to hit
a moving target.
So I’ was thinkin’
This is more dire than a bull in a China flop;
caught in a freefall only the ’bots can stop.
Or until the final bell doth drop
Hell! It’s 4 o’clock;
but I’m still in shock.
We didn’t see it coming, from near, nor far!
you know how your assets are?
What about my precious metals?
Now the dust settles:
punch bowl, where have we landed?
America has disbanded.
Yet the Eagles have landed.
Where the Eagles gather—’tis there the body’s found.
No more Patriot tricks to score touch down.
No, nay, hardly a sound
there’s no more joy in BeanTown;
might Brady has struck out!
Dynasty done, without a doubt.
Who’d’ve thunk it,
equivalent to a Philly gridiron dunk it!
Oh, you couldn’t hear the clock stop
as we watched the black swans flop.
No, we ne’er did detect that long-dreaded pin prick
as it burst our bubble like an e.d.wick,
yet we caught a twit from way, way down
in the beltway, political town
struck dumb now with some eerie Nunez memo
more cryptic than a dreary Ruuskie demo.
But I remember
it was 3 o’clock and then . . .
That’s all she wrote.