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More WallStreetBets Copypastas
Bears after a green day
It’s 4:01pm. Bears solemnly log out of their devastated brokerage account, get up from their makeshift desk made up of a stack of empty Michelina’s frozen lasagna dinners, head up the stairs of their father’s basement, grab the keys to their tan ‘97 Chevy Cavalier and a cloth mask embroidered with the word “VOTE,” and drive down the street to the local gay bar for a holiday themed burlesque show.
It’s 4:01pm. Bears solemnly log out of their devastated brokerage account, get up from their makeshift desk made up of a stack of empty Michelina’s frozen lasagna dinners, head up the stairs of their father’s basement, grab the keys to their tan ‘97 Chevy Cavalier and a cloth mask embroidered with the word “VOTE,” and drive down the street to the local gay bar for a holiday themed burlesque show.
The Battle of Gamestop rages on.
The Battle of Gamestop rages on.
Pre-market we could hear the bears in no-man’s land, baiting us towards higher prices so the shorts could do their dirty work. I was stationed at the 13.80 line, and knew the morning was going to be hot. I shoveled a breakfast of tendies and said a quick prayer to Father Cohen.
When the bell rang, the bears surged into our trenches. Blood and rainbow fur filled the air and littered the ground. The Diamond Division has seen worse days, and we held firm. As the bears retreated we gave chase to retake ground we’d lost in the past week.
As I caught my breath near the 14.50, I could see bodies everywhere; paper hands who had fallen in earlier battles. One of them groaned and reached a hand towards me. I spat on him and kept moving. No honor in retreat, and no sympathy for self-inflicted wounds.
This war won’t be won in a day, but it will be won. Tell my wife’s boyfriend to tell her I love her.
The Battle of Gamestop rages on.
Pre-market we could hear the bears in no-man’s land, baiting us towards higher prices so the shorts could do their dirty work. I was stationed at the 13.80 line, and knew the morning was going to be hot. I shoveled a breakfast of tendies and said a quick prayer to Father Cohen.
When the bell rang, the bears surged into our trenches. Blood and rainbow fur filled the air and littered the ground. The Diamond Division has seen worse days, and we held firm. As the bears retreated we gave chase to retake ground we’d lost in the past week.
As I caught my breath near the 14.50, I could see bodies everywhere; paper hands who had fallen in earlier battles. One of them groaned and reached a hand towards me. I spat on him and kept moving. No honor in retreat, and no sympathy for self-inflicted wounds.
This war won’t be won in a day, but it will be won. Tell my wife’s boyfriend to tell her I love her.
Bear King Burry vs TSLA
Bear King Michael Burry in the ring, slappin TSLA with a metal chair. His glass eye open wide with rage as he batters TSLA relentlessly.
"The valuation..." crunch "makes...." crunch "NO.... " crunch "SENSE!" he roars with maniacal autistic glee.
TSLA struggles for the edge of the ring, but coughs blood as each hit lands, and eventually stops moving. Bear King Burry drops the chair.
Bear King Burry turns to the crowd
"Was this your champion!? Was TSLA supposed to be your chosen one!?"
A child in the crowd turns his face into his mother's side and cries.
On the side of the ring WSB can barely move. TSLA was supposed to tag them in, but couldn't make it to the side in time.
"Get up TSLA" WSB whimpers hopelessly, a single tear rolling down their cheek. "Get up..."
Bear King Burry turns to WSB
"Now it is your portfolio's turn. Get in here you little bitch."
"Excuse me." Someone replies from behind BKB. "I believe I can give you the fight you want."
A robed figure is administering smelling salts to TSLA. The figure puts TSLA on its shoulder and carries TSLA gently out of the ring.
"And just who the fuck do you think you are?" BKB rumbles ominously.
BKB's fingers squeeze so tightly on the chair that metal bends.
"Who am I?" the robed figure inquires.
The robed figure stands straight and stretches to their full height. They must be at least 7' tall.
The crowd stops crying and watches in stunned silence.
"Who am I?" The figure repeats menacingly.
The figure turns around to face BKB, ripping off his robe. A gleaming light fills the stadium. Before us stands a Golden deity, rippling with muscle. If there is an ounce of body fat it is currently in hiding, only to make way for seemingly endless coiled golden musculature.
The figure looks directly into Bear King Burry's eyes.
"I'm Goldman Sachs, and i'm here to kill you."
Bear King Michael Burry in the ring, slappin TSLA with a metal chair. His glass eye open wide with rage as he batters TSLA relentlessly.
"The valuation..." crunch "makes...." crunch "NO.... " crunch "SENSE!" he roars with maniacal autistic glee.
TSLA struggles for the edge of the ring, but coughs blood as each hit lands, and eventually stops moving. Bear King Burry drops the chair.
Bear King Burry turns to the crowd
"Was this your champion!? Was TSLA supposed to be your chosen one!?"
A child in the crowd turns his face into his mother's side and cries.
On the side of the ring WSB can barely move. TSLA was supposed to tag them in, but couldn't make it to the side in time.
"Get up TSLA" WSB whimpers hopelessly, a single tear rolling down their cheek. "Get up..."
Bear King Burry turns to WSB
"Now it is your portfolio's turn. Get in here you little bitch."
"Excuse me." Someone replies from behind BKB. "I believe I can give you the fight you want."
A robed figure is administering smelling salts to TSLA. The figure puts TSLA on its shoulder and carries TSLA gently out of the ring.
"And just who the fuck do you think you are?" BKB rumbles ominously.
BKB's fingers squeeze so tightly on the chair that metal bends.
"Who am I?" the robed figure inquires.
The robed figure stands straight and stretches to their full height. They must be at least 7' tall.
The crowd stops crying and watches in stunned silence.
"Who am I?" The figure repeats menacingly.
The figure turns around to face BKB, ripping off his robe. A gleaming light fills the stadium. Before us stands a Golden deity, rippling with muscle. If there is an ounce of body fat it is currently in hiding, only to make way for seemingly endless coiled golden musculature.
The figure looks directly into Bear King Burry's eyes.
"I'm Goldman Sachs, and i'm here to kill you."
GME revamp
GME should keep their retail stores but make it more of an experience like Hooters. Workers should be hot big tiddy goth girls or whatever other fetish gamers have. Bonuses if they have active social media (Instagram, Tik Tok, Only Fans, etc.) and extra bonus if they also stream on Twitch. 100% guaranteed increase traffic and sales in stores (simp farms). Literally cannot go tits up.
GME should keep their retail stores but make it more of an experience like Hooters. Workers should be hot big tiddy goth girls or whatever other fetish gamers have. Bonuses if they have active social media (Instagram, Tik Tok, Only Fans, etc.) and extra bonus if they also stream on Twitch. 100% guaranteed increase traffic and sales in stores (simp farms). Literally cannot go tits up.
Am I The Asshole for not being able to trade options for my dad? I’m 6.
This started about 4 years ago when I was 2 years old. My dad started to supplement me picture books and cartoons with beginner options books and Martin Shkerli's live videos on how to pick pharmaceutical stocks. Over the course of these years I have retained absolutely nothing even though my dad has spent every waking minute trying to make me understand. He has done almost everything including having Jerome Powell's speeches play while I am sleeping and only having Warren Buffet on the TV to try and make me understand the market. Yesterday, he got to a breaking point when I couldn't differentiate between a straddle and a strangle even though we went through different strategies for almost a month straight. My dad finally convinced my mom that they were doing the right thing when he said that I will soon be a Wendy's worker begging my wife's husband for a weekly allowance because I will never amount to be anything. He couldn't fathom raising a kid who was not able to able to make a profit from trading options by the time he was 10. With all that said, if anyone wants a 6 year old child who is shitty at market strategy, plz adopt me from Eternal Sunny Orphanage in Omaha, Nebraska.
This started about 4 years ago when I was 2 years old. My dad started to supplement me picture books and cartoons with beginner options books and Martin Shkerli's live videos on how to pick pharmaceutical stocks. Over the course of these years I have retained absolutely nothing even though my dad has spent every waking minute trying to make me understand. He has done almost everything including having Jerome Powell's speeches play while I am sleeping and only having Warren Buffet on the TV to try and make me understand the market. Yesterday, he got to a breaking point when I couldn't differentiate between a straddle and a strangle even though we went through different strategies for almost a month straight. My dad finally convinced my mom that they were doing the right thing when he said that I will soon be a Wendy's worker begging my wife's husband for a weekly allowance because I will never amount to be anything. He couldn't fathom raising a kid who was not able to able to make a profit from trading options by the time he was 10. With all that said, if anyone wants a 6 year old child who is shitty at market strategy, plz adopt me from Eternal Sunny Orphanage in Omaha, Nebraska.
