(Most of this was written rather hastily, rather carelessly, before the GME event. Tread cautiously.)

Dear Reader,

Did you happen to stumble upon the subreddit that’s hijacked the public discussion the past few weeks? Did you watch all the funny vidyas on the Tube to then proceed vicariously, in solidarity with the hordes of insolent ignoramuses on r/wallstreetbets? Did ya buy GME? A share or two? How about AMC? Did you buy at the tippy top? Or did you begin at the mouth of the tidal waves crashed just a few days ago.

Are you a New Booty, dear reader?

You might ask, what in the country-fried devil is a New Booty? Let me explain…

While your landlord pounds at your door as your power shuts off and you run out of food… you can buy overpriced lottery tickets on a UX-perfect app called RobbingHoods! See, you deposit your entire checkings and savings, you get FEDCOINs in return, and you can use those FEDCOINs to buy portions of companies and pretend you own them. (Stop calling here, “I demand to speak to the Bezos!”) It’s a pretty cool game and while there’s no lootboxes (yet), they do offer you a swipey-swipe that you can beep and buy as long as you like, until it declines and your wife’s boyfriend foots the bill at Benihanas, while he clasps her thigh and gives you the ‘getting real sick of your shit’ look. It’s nice to see he’s so protective of her.

When you buy up all the same day expiry OTM option contracts you can get your retarded knubbins’ on, simply… navigate to this here website:

and attempt to pump the stock you just bet it all on, hoping people will think you’re one of those private equity Yale alumni types [like the guy who told you to buy 100 calls he just wrote to collect that sweet, sweet premium from your head-ass] and start the domino fall to become the next DeepFuckingValue (which makes sense because you’re a normie who believes whatever those fine newspeople at Time Warner tell you about how you should perceive the going events, and even though your post gets yeeted by the Automod, you spend every waking moment during the pre-market days of the weekend to check the share price) and–

—and it pays off! Your portfolio went from -99% to -80% and you can finally afford the prick of the…oh lawdy… that Rona Vaxxie hit boi. MMM.
The WSB gang (all 9 million of them Old Booties [sic]) are beginning to realize that when these vaccines roll out… every citizen will get hit with the ’tism, Robinhood accounts materializing on their phone screens thereafter. Meaning… more MOONS. MORE MEME STOCKS!

[We need Lithium… I know who we can tap!]

[What about the untapped market of the Down Under?!]

I’m gonna have to stop you right there, dear reader. I don’t understand the economy and neither do you.

I’ll admit it if you won’t. Numbers confuse me. Graphs, lines, candlesticks, and whatever the fuck a margin call is [don’t tell my wife], all these doodads remind me that the basement is where I belong and to stop it with the adulting. Maybe I’ll pick up vidya gaming–

You see it now, don’t you, dear reader…?

That is the origin story of the New Booty. Another fresh pair of buttocks to get royally fucked by the free market and its djinns.

Still unsure whether or not you’re a New Booty? I hear telling stories is the best way to communicate morals and pure, divine definition. Right, Josiah of Bethlehem?

Here’s an allegory, free of charge:

Confused New Booties blotted on pearly clown faces and chased the rampant bulls from the big-league Cowboys bucked off and gored by their entirely legitimate green bullcock shaped dildos for horns (it wasn’t your average Peachtree Rodeo). The pageantry carried out in jostling lines of loss and gain along a horizontal continuum, and the bull rode through, up more than down, but still up again. Bets were made all around. The New Booties, having zip experience gambling, decided, ‘welp, why the hell not?’ and went all in. Initially, the newbies witnessed their three-figure single moneys banging beautiful orgies, expanding in size from rapid impregnations, and thereafter birthed quadruple twins overnight to complete now four-figure families. To their surprise, they didn’t have to do much of anything! Though, they felt pervy watching the whole affair. New Booties, as green as the money that provokes them into stupid, temporary euphorias, fail to listen to wisdom until after the horny goring. They didn’t listen to the rectal examiners when they said, “the first one’s free”, as they checked for penetration from the bull’s parade. Asses intact. Then the rodeo was over. What was left were memories of profit. And sore asses, too. Profits that ought to have been taken and reinvested into more lively things were hodled and coddled by dimwitted gluteheads too needy to stop, too greedy to share. With the cavalcade gone away, the New Booties noticed the fertile earth beneath where the rodeo roared. They dashed worrisome powders on the land. Seedlings of an insatiable want to reenact the process of money coitus. Wishwells and the soil of thoughty-pots waiting to be germinated with more dollops of green, insta-transfer, Reddi-Wip straight from your favorite financial institution with clients as stupid as they. Rubbing their asses on the ground, they sat in wait for sprout. The New Booties were no longer. Now, they call themselves Swing Traders, whatever that means.

On the onset, it appears to be an agora of financial shitposts and a museum of rare mehmehs for broke and mid-wit brains to view. They don’t even know if they ‘stonk’ or not, but they’re certainly attempting to MONEY.

What you also see is thousands of new combatants in the Countrywide Coliseum of the stock market.

Most who enter are rendered lion meat like wounded gazelles for the feast: college grads and new booty NEETs getting burned repeatedly on meme stocks and toddler DD.
A lot or two are starving slaves as fodder for the blades of marketeers, waggies and savies spending workweek amounts of time managing IRAs, ESAs, DBAs, 401ks, or their Fidelity portfolios, though their humble returns would euthanize Buffet with boredom–good luck beating inflation.
Some are gladiators, freshly trained, readied for war: junior traders and millennial Xers swinging through the vines of strats fruiting with shitcoins to hodl and septic tickers to baghold.
Some are veterans glads, seasoned and grizzled from boom-busted markets of yester-millenia: boomer dads and hippie uncles who survived the 80s and have a Corvette to prove it, scoffing at Thanksgiving dinner (paper handed boomers) while their sons rave about this penny stock about to cure cancer. Very few… are warlord barbarians blessed by the curse of GUH: actual spergs and Blackrock rejects generating consistent profits on shiny margin accounts with real, grown-up brokerages, pretending they can’t speak English when the ghoulish IRS auditors show up to their trailer villas.

If the stock market is the Gladiatorum, then Wallstreetbets is the special Olympics. Pure competition.

“Just because I was born a bit tik-tokked because my mom played tard-to-get and my dad had a surplus of chromosomes doesn’t disqualify people like me from participating in the game and risking my entire savings on TSLA because Elongated Muskrat announced the new, automated, self-fucking fleshlight feature.” — New Booty #2883001

This subreddit appeals to sentient lugnuts like me because I don’t read and my disposable income honestly has a better home in Robinhood’s doors than in bureaucratic coffers to appease the Derp State or the cash registers of meaningless retailers or anywhere else I can think of. To see my virgin gains juxtaposed with the madness that occurs weekly as I lurk this subreddit entertains me immensely.

That’s an aside worth inversing. The fact of the matter is: Wallstreetbetters put their money where their mouth is and show the end results, unlike the scammers and grifters shilling courses and spitzers, getting rich off your errors in dither… the retards are admirable, ballsy little bolds that entertain and gain tremendously. And New Booties can learn from them.

The hazards of trading as prolifically as these retards include but are not limited to: disappearing 401ks, box spreads, metaphorically hitting the lottery, estranged wives, counterfeit Rolexes, priced-in FAFSA loans, banned Robinhood accounts, successful predictions of crashes, spending what you owe to the IRS on MU $69 Puts, $BECKY and $ROPE… And this dude eating a cardboard box.

Instead of committing securities fraud at the institutional level, Wall Street can now offshore those long hours of nepotistic coercion, proprietary corporate details, and conference-room sexual favors, to the donguses that manage to herald their posts past the hetereo-filter of the gay mods. (Besides, Bateman’s contact at Boeing said that due to COVID restrictions, pilots would now be teleworking and this wouldn’t be public knowledge until after all those planes crashed, and look, the stock fucking tripled in a month.)

These guys know. They’re on the money. In the pocket. Finger on the pulse. Slamming Nos like water, jamming those stimulant suppositories so far up their dirt stars they can taste their synapses firing and see everything in technical analysis. So clairvoyant and correct in their predictions that they actually collapse the wave function and create a fissure in reality where they’re entirely wrong, so you’d do well to “inverse” the going positions posted in droves. Yes, I know what you’re thinking… surely the asps are self-aware enough to realize their stratagem is so right on the money, can’t go tit’s up, that it must be wrong. Right? Sure. Then they inverse themselves, that’s the logical progression. And when they do that, you inverse their inverse.

But that doesn’t explain shit. 

If you want logic, this isn’t the right timeline. Go back 15 pages. Try again. (Just don’t do it on margin, y’all.)

In summation.

Any idiot with a desire for cash and strapped for ass will throw spare smackeroons on the digital horse race of the DOW.

And like any fanbase that grew too large and annoying, the New Booties be taxing, my G. Spamming hivemind inside-jokes next to disgracefully stupid positions usually within the comment sections of Chinese manufactured, IP infringed memes. You know, the Kind Stranger redditors, except within its own microcosm. It’s getting better, though.

Notable OGs argue this recent influx of users marked the end of a certain golden age of the subreddit. A classical age of solid shitposts (not the soft serves of today), well-thought-out DDs, u/haupt1’s gifs, et cetera. But these OGs are whining boomers, afraid of the coming winds of loss porn and gain envy.

I say, bring it on. 9 million strong.

To the moon, my fellow retards.