jΞff (🥅,🥅)

From 2010 to 2025 I worked third shift at a plant that made bathtubs. I ate beans and rice six nights a week. The seventh night was rice and beans, for variety. I drank a 40 oz King Cobra every morning at 7 a.m. on a lawn chair with one working leg, and I want to be clear: that was the best lawn chair I have ever owned. My wife hates me. She has hated me since the Obama administration. She smokes two packs of Pall Malls a day and has told me, on the record, that she’ll outlive me out of pure contempt. I believe her. She is the most reliable thing in my life and the closest thing I have to a moat. So when the market drops 40% and a guy on CNBC with a $3,000 haircut says “capitulation,” I don’t feel fear. I feel nostalgia. You can’t scare a man with poverty when poverty is where he had his best years. The worst case of every position I own is a return to the King Cobra lifestyle, and frankly I’ve been eyeing the lawn chair. That’s the whole secret of deep value. The guys in Palo Alto can’t hold a stock at 3x earnings for two years because they’ve never once been broke. They’ve never had to decide between gas and groceries and chosen the cheaper beans. One red quarter and they’re selling at the bottom and posting about “mental health.” Meanwhile my stocks have looked like my toilet bowl after a heavy night of Mexican food and drinking. My wife says I’m an idiot. She’s said that since 2012. She’s been wrong for fifteen years and smoked through every one of them. Go ahead and tell me about your stop-loss, hoss. Tell it to a man who spent fifteen years molding bathtubs he couldn’t afford to sit in and called it the good old days. Panic-sell your position at the bottom in front of third shift at the tub plant. Try that in a small town, hoss.