And to the community in general, you can't stand it, can you? That one strong person put ALL of you on ignore? ET is a cesspool of superstition:
Belief that the lunar cycle influences market pricing through its correlation with the menses. Though they drive men mad, they do not yet demonstrably drive the markets, that last bastion of male rationality.
Belief that indicators actually INDICATE something.
Giving imaginary price patterns wild animal names, as primitive man once anthropomorphized the inscrutible heavens by naming the constellations.
Giving pride of place to feeble forgetful old men who can only reminisce about how great they thought it was in the good old days.
Inventing boogey men to explain the stochastochaotic. "The smart money moved it!" "THEY screwed me!" "Watch THEM build a wall!"
Calculating wildly mystical Liberace levels to seven decimal places!
Trembling in fear and awe as ET's wild-eyed medicine men cast knuckle bones and sacrifice scrawny free range chickens: Doaks calculates a wholly fraudulent "osculator" with slide rule and pencil. Hershey draws arcane lines in crayon on the sidewalk and casts baleful glares at all who dare to doubt. Merchant makes computers squeal like docked hogs when price crosses lines visible only to himself.
Why, do you know? I correspond privately with traders who think they can PREDICT the next stop price will make? Who see the market as nothing more than an elaborate Pachinko machine? "Look, Duref!", they hiss. "I drew this magic line on my screen, and it is such powerful mojo that price is afraid to cross it!"
Innumerist amazement that a straight line can be forced to pass through two widely separated points.
Feverish, febrile old defense engineers facilely and fervidly but fallaciously apply finite mathematics to a process which has infinite non-zero derivatives and an infinite impulse response.
Infantile fantasies that money is lying on the floors of the exchanges only waiting to be picked up, as if those who rested it there weren't watching it with raptorially predatory eyes, waiting for the cheese to tempt the wretched ravenous field mice.
Ignorant savages, the lot of you!
Belief that the lunar cycle influences market pricing through its correlation with the menses. Though they drive men mad, they do not yet demonstrably drive the markets, that last bastion of male rationality.
Belief that indicators actually INDICATE something.
Giving imaginary price patterns wild animal names, as primitive man once anthropomorphized the inscrutible heavens by naming the constellations.
Giving pride of place to feeble forgetful old men who can only reminisce about how great they thought it was in the good old days.
Inventing boogey men to explain the stochastochaotic. "The smart money moved it!" "THEY screwed me!" "Watch THEM build a wall!"
Calculating wildly mystical Liberace levels to seven decimal places!
Trembling in fear and awe as ET's wild-eyed medicine men cast knuckle bones and sacrifice scrawny free range chickens: Doaks calculates a wholly fraudulent "osculator" with slide rule and pencil. Hershey draws arcane lines in crayon on the sidewalk and casts baleful glares at all who dare to doubt. Merchant makes computers squeal like docked hogs when price crosses lines visible only to himself.
Why, do you know? I correspond privately with traders who think they can PREDICT the next stop price will make? Who see the market as nothing more than an elaborate Pachinko machine? "Look, Duref!", they hiss. "I drew this magic line on my screen, and it is such powerful mojo that price is afraid to cross it!"
Innumerist amazement that a straight line can be forced to pass through two widely separated points.
Feverish, febrile old defense engineers facilely and fervidly but fallaciously apply finite mathematics to a process which has infinite non-zero derivatives and an infinite impulse response.
Infantile fantasies that money is lying on the floors of the exchanges only waiting to be picked up, as if those who rested it there weren't watching it with raptorially predatory eyes, waiting for the cheese to tempt the wretched ravenous field mice.
Ignorant savages, the lot of you!
