from a collection of market parables: BULLBLEEP
Once upon a time, a young man decided to ride the river seeking his fame and fortune. Investing heavily, he sought and bought what he'd heard to be the finest piece of boating, a specially fitted and equipped canoe; and, then, sparing nothing in his due diligence, he studied all the charts he could find, plotting his way to the path with the least resistance.
Fearlessly putting all doubts aside, and setting off on his journey, first pushing his canoe into the water, then leaping in to it, he pulled from among the gear a pair of expensive paddles, and started stroking his way upstream, and was pleased to discover how easily he moved forward. He was soon making good time. But, of course, this had been expected, for his paddles, bought with the high bid at an online auction, had been made from the hide of the bull. Naturally enough, they were known as 'bull paddles' and considered to be the finest kind to have for this type of traveling. It was even said that the pair he'd acquired had been handed down from the greats like Dale Carnegie and Bill Gates. Rumor had it that Jesus himself had used them on the Red Sea, and that the Lord blessed them. The auctioneer had actually cried while holding the 'bull paddles' as he told the tale of Moses carrying them through the desert.
Now, passing landmarks and junkyards, the young man took in the scenery. Despite the fact that much of what he might have seen lay obscured amid vague signs and shaded words, he found it all enticing. Everywhere he looked there was a promo plastered upon the trees. And standing at the edge of the water was a neon sign that called to him, beckoning him by his user name. But he did not find this a reason to stop, nor did he dare to pause, choosing to paddle onward instead, for despite his travelling upstream, it all seemed so effortless. Going faster and faster he hurried on.
#
An old man, he had survived the great crash, was sitting with his grandson. They were watching a young man in a canoe being drawn downstream, paddling furiously with bare hands, desperately trying to stay away from the bears that had come to the edge of the stream to leave a dump. Screaming his head off and begging for mercy he appeared to be at his wits end.
The grandson, old enough to know quite a few sayings, turned to the old man and said, "I know you'll tell me he got caught up the creek without a paddle. But we both saw him go by. And he had what looked to be a very fine pair of paddles. How could he lose them?"
The grandfather, wise with the years of experience, both good and bad, laughed heartily. "They weren't lost. It was the kind of paddle he had. I recognized it as the kind I had in '29. I'll never forget." Then he drifted off in thought.
Shaking him first and then looking into his eyes, the grandson prodded him on. "What happened? What won't you forget?"
With a sigh, the old man continued. "Though that paddle looked to be made from the hide of the bull, it's really made of bullbleep. It's a bad alloy that passes for the real stuff, but disintegrates in very little time. No matter what you do, you always end up going downstream. If you’re lucky, you manage to get out when the canoe overturns. But there's many a bear that can smell bullbleep a mile away, and usually shows up to do a lot of damage."
Pausing to catch a breath, the old man his head ruefully. There was nothing that could be done. The young man was far across the creek, and quite a distance away from the hill where the old man and his grandson were watching.
"Tsk, tsk,” said the old man. “He seemed like such a nice fellow to watch. I sure hope those bears are nice to him."
Then they rose and left. In the background they could hear the young man cursing his luck.
3
moral of the story: be careful what you buy into. you never know who's going to try and sell you their bullbleep.
