I slapped a limit-down talisman on my mouse, and the market immediately launched a rocket
This young master has been on a serious losing streak lately. I suspect it’s because my fingers haven’t been touching my peripherals with enough reverence, causing the bulls to miss me by a hair every single time. To turn things around once and for all, I stayed up all night hand-copying a red “Stay Steady, Don’t Fall” ward and firmly taping it to my mouse’s left button, convinced I could finally pass my bad luck on to the big players. Fully armed, I solemnly clicked the button to open a position. But as soon as the chart loaded, the barely alive price line suddenly started twitching like it had been electrocuted. Then the entire green candlestick began shaking violently on the screen, before spewing out a whole green waterfall right downwards. And that wasn’t even the worst of it: the talisman, heated by the mouse’s prolonged use, curled up and jammed the left button. It then went on a clicking spree, firing off eight clicks in a row and somehow sending me straight back into a fully loaded short position that I’d just stop-lossed out of. I finally understand: hand-copied talismans can comfort ordinary mortals, but they can’t soothe the market’s merciless mockery of me. The big players don’t believe in superstition; their only KPI, around the clock, is to wait until I’ve locked myself inside a black hole of physical metaphysics, then turn my account into a crispy-on-the-outside, tender-on-the-inside roast.
This young master has been on a serious losing streak lately. I suspect it’s because my fingers haven’t been touching my peripherals with enough reverence, causing the bulls to miss me by a hair every single time. To turn things around once and for all, I stayed up all night hand-copying a red “Stay Steady, Don’t Fall” ward and firmly taping it to my mouse’s left button, convinced I could finally pass my bad luck on to the big players. Fully armed, I solemnly clicked the button to open a position. But as soon as the chart loaded, the barely alive price line suddenly started twitching like it had been electrocuted. Then the entire green candlestick began shaking violently on the screen, before spewing out a whole green waterfall right downwards. And that wasn’t even the worst of it: the talisman, heated by the mouse’s prolonged use, curled up and jammed the left button. It then went on a clicking spree, firing off eight clicks in a row and somehow sending me straight back into a fully loaded short position that I’d just stop-lossed out of. I finally understand: hand-copied talismans can comfort ordinary mortals, but they can’t soothe the market’s merciless mockery of me. The big players don’t believe in superstition; their only KPI, around the clock, is to wait until I’ve locked myself inside a black hole of physical metaphysics, then turn my account into a crispy-on-the-outside, tender-on-the-inside roast.