Taking Stock of the Market

The stock market's unreliable and sometimes it loses value? Who'd a-thunk it? That reminds me of how sometimes it rains and sometimes it's sunny. WILD.

That's not to say that the investment world doesn't deserve a solid lampooning. I'd argue that more often than not it deserves a roundhouse kick to the face. And this is why I haven't been contributing to my company's 403B--the thought of those snakes getting their greasy mitts on my money makes me want to bitch and moan to a faceless Internet audience.

Now that I've been at said company for a year, said company is automatically contributing an amount equal to 5% of my salary to said 403B. I tried to get the HR lady to just leave the 5% under my desk in unmarked bills, but she wasn't having any of that. Which is sad, because I had big plans for that money, all of which were guaranteed to make more than investing in a random string of numbers and letters:

• I was going to bury it all in coffee cans in the backyard in the hope that more money would spontaneously generate in said cans due to the combined influence of geologic pressure and quantum rays.
• I was going to spend it all on stock in underwear companies. People always need underwear, and they often need to replace it. Accidents happen.
• I was going to use it to buy the food needed for a giant barbecue. Whenever I barbecue, the money I spend on food is always paid back to me double in the value of the booze my guests leave behind. This is just sound business.
• I was going to buy the gold '66 Cadillac Pimp Mobile up the street and rent it out to Don Magic Juan.
• I was going to use it as start up capitol for my own pyramid scheme.
• I was going to take it to Good Times and win enough Skee-Ball tickets to get a speedboat. OH WAIT I CAN'T BECAUSE OF THOSE DAMN SWEDES.

I'm done. Let's be real: I was going to take it to the Kowloon, by myself a pu-pu platter and a half dozen mai-tais, and play Keno until I got kicked out.