Investors have coal in their stockings

A new twist on an old Christmas poem…

 

Visions of Sugar Plums

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through The Street

Not a broker was stirring, not even a tweet;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

Investors were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar highs danced in their heads;

 

From a ten-year bull market, whose gifts did accrue,

A correction had come, from out of the blue;

Their 401(k)s had taken a hit,

Yet Cramer refrained from pitching a fit;

Trade wars and shutdowns and too much QT,

The weight of it all was no cup of tea;

From Bernanke and Yellen, they were all spoiled,

Now thanks to Jay Powell, their diapers were soiled;

The Fed was their friend, to stocks it did boost,

Had 8 years of ZIRP come home to roost?

 

I tossed and I turned, and went into a sweat,

Ghosts of bubbles past, I could not forget;

“Stocks for the long run” and “just buy the dip,”

Should I double down now, or abandon ship?

We just need the big guy, all trim in his beard,

Six trillion in stock wealth has just disappeared!

 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than algos his tickers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Facebook! now, Netflix! now, Salesforce and Apple!

On, Tencent! on, Tesla! on, BABA and Google!

To the up of the trend! to the top of the chart!

Now dash away! dash away! Make me look smart!”

 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a smirk;

He wolfed down my cookies and crumpled my note,

He grabbed some spare change and tossed in his coat.

He cleaned out the fridge and clawed at a wreath,

In the light of the moon, I could see his sharp teeth;

As he gave me a wink, to my great surprise,

It wasn’t St. Nick, but a bear in disguise.

 

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