Recession has been cancelled. AI bubble must keep growing.

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Would you rather have 10 btc that you must hold for 5 years, or 250k cash today?

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wow, must be a great time to invest in TSM

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Must be nice holding anything that actually goes up

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He must have shorted when I bought.

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cant sleep either. must be contagious

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i must say this 30k shares spy ah pump has retard strength

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Your port like your bum hole must be blood red

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’Twas the night before earnings, when all through the sub, Not a bear was stirring, not even a cub. The portfolios hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Jensen soon would be there. The apes were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of tendies danced in their heads. And mama in her hoodie, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long market nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. Wait, no, scratch that, it’s a black leather sleigh, Pulled by eight GPUs, overclocked all the way! With a driver so dapper, in jacket so fine, I knew in a moment it must be St. Jensen Huang. More rapid than H100s his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: “Now, Hopper! Now, Blackwell! Now, Grace and Ampere! On, Volta! On, Turing! On, Pascal and Kepler! To the top of the charts! To the moon we will call! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the housetop the GPUs they flew, With the sleigh full of tendies, and St. Jensen too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little proof Of earnings so juicy, a beat so immense, That NVDA’s mooning, no more market suspense. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Jensen came with a bound. He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with silicon soot. A bundle of chips he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

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You must be very regarded in your field. All the data centres companies beat gold and silver easily

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