Every day (not really) I’m going to blog about how much I gained or lost in the stock market, why, and how it’s all connected to the impending financial disaster. Sounds juicy, huh? I’m even going to give you the exact balance of my account and the daily gain/loss for that day. It will be kind of like a financial porn selfie. Who else would be psychotic enough to do that?
I’m doing this for a few reasons. One is that I’m completely obsessed with the market and I might as well share my obsession. Also, I think it’s fun to watch a gambler self-destruct in slow motion. The third reason is that I want to help you. I really do think that the financial world is going to implode soon, and I do believe that the stock market is going to hell. Gold and silver will be one of the only refuges.
A note to Hadara, my baby’s mommy: don’t worry, I have Me’odi’s money in another account, safe.
Daily comment: yesterday, the market was up around 100 points. The S&P actually closed at an all-time, new high. But other averages are at least 10 or 15% off their all-time highs. My working theory is that the markets are being driven to new highs only because of the ridiculously low interest rates being caused by the furious money printing of the federal reserve and all the other central banks in the world. But like any narcotic, its effects are getting weaker and weaker the more its abused. This is also why I like gold so much. Gold, as opposed to money, is in limited supply.
Okay, so let me get naked now. I’m going to do a portfolio strip tease, stock by stock. Here’s a little explanation of my portfolio page below. On the left is a list of all of the stocks or ETFs that I own. After that, it’s pretty self-explanatory. To get a bottom line picture, look at the bottom line daily and overall totals. The last two stocks, TVIX and UVXY, are ETFs that track market volatility. The more volatile the market, the higher these ETFs go.
WARNING: The author of this blog is a compulsive gambler, and has already lost over a million dollars in the stock market over the last 30 years. Please keep this in mind when making any investment decisions. In other words, you’ve gotta be fucking out of your mind to listen to anything I’m saying.
In a cool café
With cool people
I coughed an uncool cough
I coughed an uncool cough
I coughed an uncool cough
The cool people carried on
I coughed an uncool cough
We go around like we’re still in driving school
We turn the wheel
We step on the gas
But we still think we’re 16
With a guy to our right
Who won’t let us
Do anything too stupid
Who won’t let us
Get hit by the oncoming tractor trailer
Who will have their foot on the brake
Their hand ready to jerk the wheel
Just in time
The neighbor’s boy came in naked
Asking could I have two toffees
I asked why he was naked
Because I want two toffees
Forgetting my question
Forgetting his nakedness
Me and her
Until she moves
I sincerely regret
Getting my eggs
Rather than having
Now I wear the yoke
Of that mistake
For the rest of the day
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I used to feel sorry for myself. I used to be jealous of those around me. I used to look at other people and say, “Oh they’re all married, or have boyfriends or girlfriends. They have families. They have kiddies. They work for giant law firms. They’re making 3 million dollars a year. They have a lot of friends. They’re not handicapped; they can be on top. They’re well respected in their communities. They get honored by their shul. People have to spend $400 a plate for their dinner.”
But then, a couple months ago, a friend from New York came for Pesach and I hung out with him, his wife and their three kids. He’s a famous architect. They have a gorgeous duplex on Park Avenue. They had a suite at the Waldorf Astoria for the whole Pesach. But what I noticed when I was hanging out with him was that he was absolutely miserable. He had to control everything, up to where are they going to find the best nuts in the Shuk. Everything with this guy had to be perfect. He asked me where the bathroom was, and I started to show him because it was a little complicated, and then he got very upset because it was taking me away from collecting for the Holocaust survivors. He got very angry because he didn’t want to take me away from what I was doing. I told him that I could take a break for two minutes, but he was furious. He has a great heart, but he’s a tortured soul.
That’s when it hit me. Why the fuck am I jealous of him? Actually, if anything, this guy should be jealous of me. I have all the freedom in the world. I don’t have to work 15 hours a day. I don’t have to manage a staff of 80 architects. I don’t have to make sure my kids are going to the absolute best schools and are getting the absolute best grades.
So what if I’m handicapped and in a wheelchair, and only have $240,000 and don’t own my own apartment, and spend my nights alone in bed, and have to have my caretaker put a catheter on me every night? I’m free. I can write exactly the kind of poems I want, no matter how offensive or upsetting they are to some people. I can spend my days watching the stock market and losing money, and I have no one telling me I shouldn’t be doing it. I go to the shul that I want. If I want to go to Chabad every day and put on tefilin, I do that. If I want to eat a cheeseburger on Shabbos, I can do that. If I want to have a baby with a lesbian couple, I go have a baby with a lesbian couple. I can fall in love with a Korean woman from Singapore and fly to see her, and she can come here to see me. I can run over missionaries with my wheelchair and not suffer the consequences (yet).
I’m free, thank G-d I finally see it.
I’m the kind of exhibitionist
Who takes great pleasure
In standing naked on 42nd St
Then cries when someone points
At my inadequate penis
I check my watch
Every 3 minutes
Just to show the world
That I know how to tell time
That I’m also living
On standard human time
My mom said
To your present doughnut
It’s soft and fresh now
There’s a new movie coming out, “Me Before You,” about this rich guy who gets paralyzed in an accident and then falls in love with his pretty, poor girl, caretaker. But despite this, he still goes through with his pre-planned, physician-assisted suicide.
The disabled activist community is having a shit fit. Their big claim against the movie is that disabled people don’t want to commit suicide and that it perpetuates negative stereotypes, as if the disabled have nothing to live for and can not in any way have productive and happy lives.
Well, they’ve got many sets of big balls. How dare they speak for all disabled people? How dare these highly-functioning, successful, motivated, positive-thinking activists (probably with money) speak for every disabled person on earth? I can bet that there are many depressed, isolated, frustrated, poor disabled people who really do want to kill themselves. The disabled activists are trying to shove another stereotype down our throats: the Super Crip. This is the cripple who can do everything; be a neurosurgeon, go skiing, get a PhD. And me, a disabled 58 year old guy with severe CP, highly resents it.
Are they saying that disabled people shouldn’t kill themselves? Don’t we also have that right? It may not be pleasing to them, but we have a right to do it, just like I believe some depressed people have a right to kill themselves. Is that so un-PC? Even this handsome, smart, rich guy in the movie; doesn’t he have the right to cash it all in?
I live in Israel and there are not as many of opportunities for disabled people as there are in America and Europe. 40 years ago, a lot of disabled Israelis were put into homes that weren’t the best. I see them in the street or in the market, and they don’t look happy at all. I say hi to them and they barely react. This makes me think about how lucky I am that I was born in America in a certain time when the disabled starting being treated like regular people. Because I was middle class, I was able to go to college and grad school. I lived and NYC and practically everything was open to me: bars, jazz clubs, whore houses. Also, by some quirk of nature, I had a very strong will to say “fuck everyone, this is what I want. I want to go to porno theaters. I want to drink in bars. I want to dance at discos. I want to go to Columbia. I want to work in advertising.” The disabled people I see here in Israel did not have any of this. So what’s so bad if they are tired and want to hang it all up?
I often think about how I would like to end it if things got too tough for me. I think about what would happen if I needed a feeding tube and couldn’t get out and go to my favorite cafes and synagogues, or to the shuk. Furthrmore, Hollywood is one big stereotype. They don’t portray life; they portray fantasy, which is why most people go to the movies. Why should the disabled expect any different? Do we want special treatment just because we’re disabled? Isn’t that hypocritical?
Boy, I’m really worked up. I’m starting to eyeball the 500mg Advil tablets. That would show these guys. But not before I take 10 of my friends to go see “Me Before You” on opening night.
How can anything not be about
You say umbrella
I say underneath
You can do it
In the rain
Its only 8 inches north
From you know whats
The only thing
Not about sex
Is sex itself
Sex is about everyting else
On Sunday, I had another painful encounter with missionaries. I was in my wheelchair, heading up Ben Yehuda st., and suddenly I heard, “Jews must see the light! Jews must recognize Yehoshua!” This guy, who sounded American, continued shouting through a microphone. I immediately reacted. I came up to him and told him to “shut up, go to hell, f-ck Jesus.” I couldn’t help myself. I was so outraged that this guy was saying these things in the middle of Jerusalem, the capital of the Jewish People. No one else was doing anything. Everyone was just passing by like it was another fine Sunday afternoon. I couldn’t stop. I saw a group of people standing with him. I shouted at them too. One guy even gave me a plastic bag full of coins, thinking that would shut me up. I threw it back at him. The guy with the microphone continued. I started chasing after him. They started telling me Jesus will save me, and take all the venom out of my soul. This only provoked me further. I started screaming for other people to help. I said in Hebrew, “They’re missionaries! Help me!” People just stared blankly. The man with the microphone began to move, to get away from me. Finally, some others started to yell at the missionaries. They told me “Calm down, you’ll get sick, it’s not worth it! Go home!.” My response was, “You’re not doing anything! This is like Germany in the 1930’s! We didn’t do anything!” I continued chasing the guy with the microphone, who then stood on a planter and continued his rant.
Finally, six young policewomen came by, and asked the guy to stop, because it was upsetting me so much. I asked them if it was legal, and they said it was. They sweetly offered me water, and one even supplied a straw for me. But the missionaries did not move, so I continued my pursuit. The police told me to stop. I asked them to please arrest me. They answered, “God forbid! Just calm down!” It ended when I heard one of them discuss calling an ambulance. That got me scared; I imagine a straight-jacket. I said, “todah rabah,” and started to leave. A minute later I looked back, and did not see the missionaries anymore.
I feel so strongly, how dare people come to our city wanting to convert us to Christianity, after 2,000 years of being persecuted and killed in the name of Jesus! Don’t we deserve some peace in our own country? Would they go to Ramallah and start announcing that the Muslims should find Jesus? They wouldn’t dare. Even the Pope declared that missionaries shouldn’t missionize to Jews.
This is not the first time I have done this. In past encounters, attractive women come up to me and feign interest. After a few minutes, I figure out what’s going on. These people prey on the weak. But I don’t want to continue screaming like a crazy person. I want to do something constructive. I would like other people to join me. I would like to stand outside the Jews for Jesus office at 9 am when they open, and show them our intense displeasure. Maybe we can help to make new laws, restricting their right to publicly evangelize. I want to stop this obscenity from going on in our capital.
I do believe in free speech, but isn’t it like shouting “Fire!” in a crowded theater? Please write to me if you feel passionate about this issue and want to do something about it.
Don’t ask me
Unless you are
Fully clothed in
Deep sea diving equipment
And are ready to dive
With me deep down untethered
Where there is much beautiful corral
Mingled among floating hordes
Of raw sewage
There is no light so we grope
For all the shit and beauty we can
Moshiach is now
Beautiful yid ass
Walking on yid street
Under strong yid sun
Moshiach is now
Yid garbage man
Picking up yid garbage
Shouts gut shabbes from new yid garbage truck
Moshiach is now
Yid stocks trade in yid symbols
In yid money
Moshiach is now
Yid kids go to yid schools
Kipa, no kipa
Learn Bialik, Toysfos, how dates grow
Moshiach is now
Big yid boys in yid green shirts
Carry big yid guns
Keep out big bad non-yids
Moshiach is now
On Shoah day
Hundreds of yid sirens scream
Drown out hiss of goy gas
Wow I get to
Eat a bagel again
See girls again
Watch the S&P go uppie downie again
Where’s the ticket guy?
I want to buy a full-day pass
Possible malignant tumors included
I like to demean people because I feel demeaned.
During the average day, I call people stupid, I tell people they should shut up. I yell at financial analysts on CNBC; telling them they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. In shul, I make fun of the old guy who holds out his hands in front of himself like he’s beseeching G-d. I say to my friend Baruch, “The guy is tripping.” To Arabs, I say, “Hey, why don’t you blow yourself up today?” To my assistant Ariel who’s typing this now, I completely denigrate her complements on my writing. I say, “What the fuck do you know?” If she makes a suggestion for a title of a blog, I 9 out of 10 times say to her, “You’re a hack.” I tell my helper Kumara, if he doesn’t understand something on the news, “Well, you’re black, you don’t have to know about this.”
Of course most of the time when I say this stuff, I say it as a joke and it’s funny. And usually I do it to people who I really really like and feel comfortable with. But in my heart, I feel like I’m exorcising my demons of hate. It’s like when someone got sick and the doctors would bleed them to let out the disease. That’s the way it feels when I put someone down.
It’s because my whole life, I feel completely demeaned by the whole fucking world. Every time I go out and I’m seen in public, or I go into a store, or I order a burger, or go on a bus, I feel like a freak and everyone’s looking at me like I’m a freak. Of course when I open up my mouth and speak in my palsy speech, it’s ten times worse. It always feels like I don’t even sound human. It feels like I’m one big, bad mistake and I’m living on the wrong planet. I should be living on some kind of freak moon. I have no idea whether people really think of me like this, or whether it’s all in my own fucked up mind. But in the same way, it doesn’t matter. It’s my reality.
Not getting laid, not being tongue kissed, and not going out with anyone for over two years doesn’t exactly sooth my anger beast either. Whiskey and coke would also help, but I haven’t done that shit for 30 years.
As a result of this misguided behavior, I pay a big price because I end up hurting the people who are dear and close to me. I think also I turn people off who may want to become closer to me. I know for sure that I destroyed a few possible relationships with wonderful women because of my foul mouth. Boohoo me.
Having my new beautiful baby and having a close relationship with her two mommies has softened me a little bit. I am so scared of saying anything wrong to them and possibly damaging my relationship with them and the baby, so I really am quite careful of what I say (they would both laugh hysterically at this). Maybe that’s part of the problem and part of why I can get away with the awful shit that I say because I don’t have a job, I don’t have a wife, and I’m not a respected member of the community. So I don’t have much to lose. I can just shoot off at the mouth with whatever I want to say. Also, people let me get away with it because they feel sorry for me, or they think it’s cute. I fully take advantage of that.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Morris, you’re a beautiful person. You’re funny, you’re smart, and you have a good heart. We love your humor. You should love yourself. You should love your palsy. You should give yourself a big kiss in the mirror right on your palsy lips. Lots of people love you.” But to be honest, I really don’t want to love myself. When I ask myself if I really want to change, I immediately want to say to the whole fucking world, “Fuck me, fuck you, and fuck the entire universe.” Sorry.
This Purim, I was a dog. I put on some ten shekel Dalmation dog ears and got my nose painted red with whiskers. Then I went to the Shuk, collecting for my Holocaust survivors. This was Thursday evening and Friday morning when the Shuk was really packed. So picture this: a guy with CP in a wheelchair, face painted like a dog with stupid dog ears, a big plastic jar hung around his neck with a big sign sticking out of the wheelchair saying, “I am collecting for nine needy Holocaust survivors.” To top it off, I’m also going “woof woof” to anyone coming close to me. How do you think people reacted? It was the reactions that were really fascinating to me. So here’s a list of what I learned.
- Most people acted like it wasn’t happening. (I later learned that Israeli dogs don’t go “woof woof,” they go “hav hav.”) They just wanted to buy their schnitzel and get the fuck out of the crazy Shuk.
- If you’re fucked up in your mind or in your soul, you really don’t want a crippled guy going “woof woof” in your face. You can barely deal with the fact that you have to function as a human being.
- The best reactions were from happy people who were dressed up themselves and were with friends. These are the people who not only smiled at me, they gave me a “woof woof” back. They also gave me tzedakah.
- Arabs didn’t particularly appreciate it. I knew this from the year before, but I couldn’t help myself from trying. I’m pretty sure they thought that I was mocking them.
- I thought kids would respond more, but it turns out that they were just as freaked out as adults. The older ones responded better and I got some smiles out of 8-10 year olds. No kids “woof woofed” back though.
- Dogs were equally unresponsive. The fucking bitches didn’t even look at me.
- You can’t always tell who is going to respond. I would purposely “woof woof” at the super uptight looking people, and sometimes, miraculously, their whole face would change and they would give me a beautiful smile.
- Asian people didn’t get it, and I really barked extra hard for them. I think one nodded politely.
And what did I learn about myself?
- I crave attention so much that I’m willing to bark like a dog in the middle of the Shuk for four hours.
- I want to be understood so much, even if it means barking. I want to connect with people and speech gets in my way. That’s why it was so wonderful to bark. It was such a clear communication.
- I get so angry when I’m ignored. When I was doing this, I realized that it was much better when someone showed an annoyed face than nothing at all.
- I found myself wanting to be petted like a dog. Sometimes when a pretty woman stopped to give me money, I would crane my neck towards her, hoping.
- I think liked it so much because when people looked at me like a freak, I could tell myself it was because I was barking like a dog and not because of my palsy.
- I am an animal. Finally, I got to fully acknowledge the big animal that’s in me. I barely controlled myself from biting people.
If all of this learning wasn’t enough, I collected twice as much money as I normally do. In two hours, I collected over 700 shekel. One guy actually gave me 300 shekel. Of course it was Purim and it’s a mitzvah to give money to poor people, but I’d like to think that my palsied barking aroused the most charitable feelings in others. Next year, I want to be a grunting pig.