Zeev,
The halcyon days of message boards are past. One quarter short of three years into a secular bear market, the boards loom as dust bowls. Wryly, there are not enough monied dispossessed to go around. Against this backdrop, many formerly influential voices have dropped out or assumed lower profiles, and you have decided to leverage the Zeev Hed brand. Your prolix Doppelganger's blatherskite boilerplate is everywhere. Links to crisp thinking, such as you would share with another egghead, are so rare as to be unexpected. And the curriculum of a fading subculture grows counterproductively Zeevcentric.
Yo. Quit basking in your own centricity and be reminded: Socratic irony is not your best schtick.
As the standardbearer, you are watched. By Zeevites and Zeevologists. (Got you again, you big zeeving ham.) When you cite a forthcoming earnings release from, say, AMAT or QLGC, as causative agent for a top or rally, that is fudging. The fundamental development is foreign to the model which produced the turn date. Fudging, the population will agree, is bad, but to anticipate measures that would trigger a HFTH (sic) call is a considerably higher crime, and kangaroo court is in session.
Here are some givens: You choose to associate with your wide sweep of riffraff cyberfriends. You willingly allow yourself to be held accountable for your pronouncements. You are not above taking a vainglorious swipe at Don Hays or Stephen Roach, and when the moon is full, you skulk over to SI--heeding the call of your raging Sicilian blood, Godfather--to upbraid the uppity. There is a pecking order, and a smug parvenu rates an Old World kiss.
Ours is a community which regularly heaps abuse on impure pundits. Safe targets, commonly. Street-employed talking heads. The likes of poor Abby. Say it with me: poor Abby. (If Abby the Robot married Larry Dudash, would congress produce...Hal? Ohmygod! Larry, you DIDN'T! Say it ain't so! With the LIGHTS on?! Alternatively, if Abs married Augieboo...I know what you're thinking, Zeev. He's been looking at Courbet again. Well, yeah.) We hate these bipedal lizards because they are full of shit, and is our money coming out of their wazzoos.
Now, Zeevcentrically, even the most callow Turnip flower child knows that the water is rising when the Hippy Dippy Weatherman-Mad Hatter (go ask Alice, my trippy friend) doffs his shiny bull horns and races to the dry cleaners for his bearsuit.
[The judge pops an aspirin and massages his temples.]
The bench recognizes that the accused, by dint of his skillset, life experience, and native candlepower, is first among equals in the democratic Turnipville of his founding. But, gently, gently, gently, NO ONE KNOWS WHAT THAT BLASTED CRAZYASS DOPPELGANGER HOOEYMONGER OF YOURS IS ZEEVING ABOUT! Furthermore, you/he/the both of you have the surpassing gall to traduce innocents as reading-challenged.
Order in the court. Bailiff, remove the trader who fainted.
Zeev Hed, as I understand your work history, this is not your first brush with stripes. Mister, there is an air of danger and a potential for harm in your zeeving. You have created an atonishingly rich online persona, but there are times when the real, buttoned-down McCoy must surface. Properly, a greater transparency is warranted. There should be a clear delineation of the basis and expections for this and future To The Hills'. Static quantifiables are required. If this should result in the inauguration of a Climb A Tall Tree call...I do not even want to think about it. The court is deeply troubled to learn that a Grand Nassacre wildfire is building across the Internet. For this sin alone, thirty minutes of penitential housework are ordered. The court orders the purchase of software which will prohibit the posting of the words erubescence and kimono. You, sir, are a shameless recidivist, and even Hefner wears pajamas. And no more fudging. Verbotten. Capiche?
Finally, to the innumerable mugs, knaves, and vulgarians who stepped forward to attest to the Zeevster's good works and fundamental rectitude: Middling Horse Sense beats Weak TA over eight furlongs.
aldaka
