I sprayed insecticide on my mouse pad, and the market index dropped dead on the spot
Your Young Master has hit a rough patch lately. I suspect some invisible miasma hovering over my desk has been messing with my fortune—or maybe little bugs have been secretly gnawing away at my bullish convictions. To cleanse the energy once and for all, I specially ordered a bottle of industrial-strength insecticide online and went wild spraying it around my mouse pad and keyboard. I figured this time I’d poison all the bad luck and turn things around. As soon as I finished spraying, I solemnly hit the button to place my order. But the moment the chart loaded, its previously mild little line suddenly started convulsing like it had been poisoned. Then the whole green candlestick lurched downward, foaming at the mouth right there on my screen and dropping dead on the spot. And it gets worse: the insecticide smelled so pungent that it made Your Young Master sneeze more than a dozen times. My hand jerked, and somehow I accidentally hit the “close entire position” button beside it. At last, Your Young Master understood: insecticide can kill pests, but it can’t kill the market’s merciless mockery of me. The big players aren’t into biological pest control. Their only KPI, around the clock, is to wait until I’ve finished eliminating the imaginary enemies on my desk—then send my account straight to the crematorium.
Your Young Master has hit a rough patch lately. I suspect some invisible miasma hovering over my desk has been messing with my fortune—or maybe little bugs have been secretly gnawing away at my bullish convictions. To cleanse the energy once and for all, I specially ordered a bottle of industrial-strength insecticide online and went wild spraying it around my mouse pad and keyboard. I figured this time I’d poison all the bad luck and turn things around. As soon as I finished spraying, I solemnly hit the button to place my order. But the moment the chart loaded, its previously mild little line suddenly started convulsing like it had been poisoned. Then the whole green candlestick lurched downward, foaming at the mouth right there on my screen and dropping dead on the spot. And it gets worse: the insecticide smelled so pungent that it made Your Young Master sneeze more than a dozen times. My hand jerked, and somehow I accidentally hit the “close entire position” button beside it. At last, Your Young Master understood: insecticide can kill pests, but it can’t kill the market’s merciless mockery of me. The big players aren’t into biological pest control. Their only KPI, around the clock, is to wait until I’ve finished eliminating the imaginary enemies on my desk—then send my account straight to the crematorium.