I'm Afraid We're Talking Money Here
Yes, the stuff that's never enough. More specifically, we are talking about stocks and shares, which is hardly sufficient to get the pulse pounding and the blood moving, so instead of a graph here's one I saved earlier. Art!
As I snarkily replied to "Soxic", it's not new. For one thing, gabions, as they're known, have been around for centuries. In ages past they were made of wicker and filled with earth or stones, as a kind of do-it-yourself barricade and bulwark. Art!
Then you have what some wag called the "Impoverished Range" of British military kit conjured into existence post-Dunkirk, where a bad vehicle now was infinitely better than a good vehicle six months down the road. This gave birth to the 'Armadillo', a truck turned into an "armoured" vehicle - Art!
That cab or - ahem - 'armoured fighting compartment' in the truck bed is actually formed from two spaced sets of timber, the gap being filled with stones. Exactly how bulletproof this cut-price arrangement was is questionable, as the Armadillo was never put to the test, being used for airfield defence in This Sceptred Isle.
ANYWAY we come back to that tireless creator of content for the blog, namely Bloaty Bafune Biffer Boy. Don't complain, we spent yesteryon not mentioning him once. You see, Donald Buck recently oversaw a merger of two companies into one, Trump Media and Technology Group, which then listed itself on the South Canadian NASDAQ. "National Association of Securities Dealers Automated Quotations" since you ask. This is one of the big three South Canadian stock exchanges. Art!
TMTG's sole asset is "Truth Social", a knock-off of Twitter, created for BBBB when he got kicked off that latter platform. You may not have heard of it before, which is entirely understandable, as it's not very successful. In fact, the only thing it has going for it are Donnie's 'Truths', which tend to BE IN UPPER CASE, randomly capitalised, with tortuous grammar and nonsense words. Jack Smith - yes, that Jack Smith - skewered him nicely on Twitter. Art!
Back to TS. First, a comparison. Take Twitter, which Elong Tusk did, for the vastly over-inflated price of $44 billion. It counts 360 million users per month, even after a lot of people left post-buyout. For revenue, let's bring in a graph. Art!
Like or loathe it, Twitter (none of that "X" nonsense here) is a big hitter. Truth Social? Not so much. It has a total of 860,000 users, or less than one-quarter of one percent of Twitter. It brought in $5 million in revenue in 2023, which makes it sound like a modest success, except it actually spent $30 million.
What does this have to do with the stock price? Everything! Because 78.75 million shares were issued for this turkey, which debuted at $70 per share. DJ Tango got 54% of them, to give him a controlling interest, and the breathless blurb is that he stood to make BILLIONS. BILLIONS I TELL YOU!
However - and you knew that word would be in here somewhere - he's actually forbidden to sell his stock for six months. Meanwhile, those who already have their shares without any limitation on when to sell are getting rid. Art!
It debuted and promptly began to lose value; the chart above is four days old and represents a single day's trading. If you look at a longer-term graph the path is compellingly clear. Art!
Actually scratch that, the 5 Day option isn't available. Let's have the very latest update. Art, again!
The esteemed, Pulitzer Prize-winning author Suzanne Craig, who has an instantly identifiable hairstyle, cautioned that this kind of 'meme stock' may bounce back within the next six months, or - it may end up at $2 per share. Art!
Suze - rocking the foxy Older Chick look
ORLON
Not to be confused with "Orlan", because that's a crappy Ruffian drone that they got stung for, retailing at $120,000 per unit, when it actually costs about $5,000 at most. The only Ruffian thing about them was the cap on the fuel tank.
ANYWAY you might be thinking "Ah, yes, 'Orlons', those were the brutish aliens that the Daleks used as muscle, weren't they? Art!
No! You bafune!
Those were the OGRONS. Do keep up! I can see you stroking your chin and thinking "Okay, okay, obviously it was the supercomputer that had a schizoid personality and ran the Tesh in -"
NO! THAT WAS XOANON! Stop guessing. Art!
It's a textile made of acrylic fibre. Wonder Wifey acquired a dress made of it that was over forty years old and still looked brand new, which was the problem, as it just doesn't decompose when dumped. Alien archaeologists in millennia to come will be able to dig orlon clothes up and wear them, should the fancy take them.
What's that? You suddenly realised -
Go away and stop being stupid.
Mikes Dark Recommendations
We're now up to Number 4 on his list of Dystopian or Post-Apocalyptic Novels, and he chose "Swan Song" by Robert McCammon. Art!
A worryingly accurate depiction of the two main protagonists
This one is both supernatural and apocalyptic. You get to see the apocalypse happening as global thermonuclear war breaks out, and the aftermath. On one hand you have Snow, a remarkable young woman, and the shape-shifting, mind controlling epitomy of evil that tracks her down. There's also Sister Creep and her magic glass totem full of jewels, and Josh the wrestler, and Colonel Macklin - and a whole lot of other characters. It's a long read, about two inches thick, but it's never boring. Conrad recommends. Only superficially similar to another work that comes in at Number 2 - Conrad is also cross he threw his old copy out as it's worth a mint now <sad face>.
Just discovered this:
Adaptation[edit]
On Jan 19 2024 it was announced Swan Song is being adapted as a television series With Greg Nicotero from The Walking Dead directing the pilot episode and writing as well.[3]
Interesting!
"City In The Sky"
We are still with the Americans in New Orleans, uncovering mischief and mayhem.
That ruled himself out. He’d
never been off the base. Werner and
Mower hadn’t been on leave for over a year.
When he discreetly examined staff logs, one name stood out – Chief
Engineer Murakow. The Chief regularly
travelled to
Already he realised that the tall tale Veep Waukegan had spun wasn’t so
tall after all. Murakow hadn’t ever
mentioned visiting a voodoo priest on his leave, only ever historical sites or
family residences, and that damn spooky witch doctor didn’t show up on
infra-red like a human being did.
‘Right. We go in and take the
spook down. Any resistance, any display
of force, slot him.’
Boyce didn’t mince words or euphemise.
He hadn’t explained exactly what the Veep had warned about, and the
other soldiers might be expecting a Chinese spy.
They rushed the shack and Boyce, a hard and wiry officer, hit the
crooked wooden door with his shoulder and ripped the door off it’s hinges. It clattered noisily inside and the trio
witnessed an unbelievable sight: Chief Murakow sitting – more accurately
slumping – in a crude wooden chair, eyes wide, jaw slack, drool running down
his chin. A wire headpiece sat on his
scalp, the wiring running back to the voodoo priest’s clawlike hands and a
small device there. Most stunning of
all was the giant gash in the priest’s
chest, easily a foot in diameter, and a giant snake’s head poking out of the
gap.
'Tall tale', hmmmm?
Finally -
Time to go do another wash as I have now figured out the Bosch.
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