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[Copypasta]Is that insider trading?
If you're a passenger on a newly recertified 737MAX and it starts to nosedive into the sea so you buy shitloads of BA puts over WiFi before impact, is that insider trading?
If you're a passenger on a newly recertified 737MAX and it starts to nosedive into the sea so you buy shitloads of BA puts over WiFi before impact, is that insider trading?
I discovered recently if I am on a date and I’m not that interested in a second, all I need to do is start talking about my stocks. They won’t ask for another one then, I won’t have to politely decline.
I discovered recently if I am on a date and I’m not that interested in a second, all I need to do is start talking about my stocks. They won’t ask for another one then, I won’t have to politely decline.
Which one of you fucks got reddit to send me this shit
"Hi there,
A concerned redditor reached out to us about you.
When you're in the middle of something painful, it may feel like you don't have a lot of options."
Which one of you fucks got reddit to send me this shit
"Hi there,
A concerned redditor reached out to us about you.
When you're in the middle of something painful, it may feel like you don't have a lot of options."
Bloomberg terminal vs toilet trading
Imagine spending 20K on a bloomberg terminal and thousands on hardware just to get smoke checked by some retards on the toilet trading on their phone that are not only on the spectrum but might be the actual spectrum.
Imagine spending 20K on a bloomberg terminal and thousands on hardware just to get smoke checked by some retards on the toilet trading on their phone that are not only on the spectrum but might be the actual spectrum.
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.