[Editor's note: I've never had a thing to do with the stock market (and we try not to think about those options I got just before the Dot Com Bomb), but my dad follows such things. I know some of you do, too, so this post's for you. Dave feels your pain...]
(from the emails of David G. Morris, with permission)
Mein Gott, the stocking market, today, exploded in my face (also, did it last week in a lighter fashion) and wounded the lovely smile on my countenance. My sweet old granny of Swedish origin would have said to me, "Oh, Dafit [she couldn't pronounce 'David'], sing someting [someting, not something] or whistle while I play my guitar and sing Rock Candy Mountain." Stomped her foot as she plucked, she did. I was too young to know that was the forerunner of "rap."
Among other things of value, guess I'm gonna have to up and sell my Lamborghini along with my prized '78 Ford Pinto Cruising Wagon (what a great car that are -- no rear windows on the rear side panels, just a couple of portholes). Damn the S&P and it's cohorts, wantin' to do me in! Haji Baba and A Siss-boom-Bah! What time is it Portney, and bring the wine!