JOST A MON

Met a chap the other day. He spoke to me about trading models. He said that it wasn't difficult to develop a strategy that would make small incremental gains consistently over a period of time. Then, he said, it would collapse spectacularly, and you'd get, erm, slaughtered. Look at carry, he said. It did very well for years, and then the markets spooked, he said, and everyone got, erm, murdered. And you know what, he said, because the markets expect to collapse one day, buying protection against that collapse is always more expensive than you think. If you want to make money, he said, you should sell out-of-the-money puts, and you can sit on your profits till you get, erm, buried. By now his face was a spectacle, and he looked like he was running out of synonyms for crash and burn. But no! He went on, getting increasingly animated. ... And that's a strategy that works nicely until you get, erm, cremated, he said. He was quite happy with cremated for he used it a couple of times more. Then he floundered. He ground to a stop.

Met a chap the other day. He was getting married and he had invited his ex-girlfriend to the wedding. His name was Rob. Aren't you upset? I asked the bride. No, she said, and urged Rob to tell the story of his ex-girlfriend. She, it seems, had gotten married to some other fellow after she broke up with Rob. Strangely enough, said Rob, her husband's name is also Rob. We stood around and ruminated on this coincidence. I met Rob, said Rob. Or, said Rob, I should say Rob 2.0. Yes, chuckled his bride. Rob 2.0 is not balding. And he's younger. Definitely an improvement on Rob.

Met a chap the other day. He had a lisp. He spoke to me about King Henry the Eighth, who, he said, took a thucthethion of mateth. And inthithted that the monkth were a lazy bunch of thkunkth.