‘Luck of the Irish’ fails Wall Street on St. Patrick’s Day

After a lousy quadruple-witching Friday on Wall Street, let’s all head out and do something more productive at the local pub, why don't we?

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Looks like at least a few traders and investors took off early today in honor of St. Patrick, the better to head for the local pub and skip the lousy trading action in stocks and bonds. (Image via Wikipedia entry on leprechauns, GNU 1.2 license)

WASHINGTON, March 17, 2017 – Ah, to be sure, ‘twas no pot ‘o gold waitin’ at the end ‘o the tradin’ day Friday on Wall Street. All the averages were after goin’ down again, save for that crazy NASDAQ. Stocks over there had the good sense to glory in the wearin’ o’ the green—ink, that is—though that tech-plagued average was only up about a quarter of a single point itself, don’t ya know? We all shoulda’ stayed home.

Friday’s sad excuse for trading action was likely due to what they call over here in the States a “quadruple witching” Friday. Occurin’ once a quarter, ‘tis when three related classes o’ what they call “options” and “futures contracts” all expire at the same time along with individual stock futures options. Tends to make a mess o’ the numbers, as everyone’s after playin’ games or some such ‘ting, tryin’ to screw this fella or that. Plus, the lads tradin’ all dese ‘tings likely were nippin’ a few wee drams or pints earlier in the day as the spirit of the Great Saint moved ‘em.

After all, lads will be lads, they say, and that’s what it looked like today on the tradin’ screens, just dull as dirt, like everyone was out partyin’ a bit early then. But if you be lookin’ for some real action today, you’ll surely find it in your friendly neighborhood pub, startin’ almost any time and endin’ when the bouncers ‘trow the last shameful drunkards out after last call.

Here’s hopin’ they’ll spring for a cab, for these poor besotted bastards. I’d be getting’ nowhere near ‘em on the road, though it’s no problem for me as I’ll be doing me drinkin’ at home with the missus tonight. That’s what happens when you’re old and nearin’ the end o’ the runnin’ of your days like me. At least us walkin’ dead types can enjoy the pension for a few years before we peg off and go to meet our maker, armed in advance with plenty ‘o well rehearsed excuses. In this life, we have to prepare for the next.


When we’re all sobered up and back at the tradin’ screens on Monday next, we’ll be lookin’ to see if there’s any life left in the corpse of the rally that madman Trump got started last fall. Oil isn’t about to be makin’ decisions still as to its price, even though it closed up again today, though only a little. Seems no one knows a ‘ting these days and market predictions are gettin’ as inaccurate as the reports we get from the weathermen these days, with all their access to computers notwithstandin.’

So, Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, the hell with this week’s stupid stock market and all the robbers and ‘teeves what do they’re damnedest to fleece us all on a daily basis! Let’s all lift a glass now—or more than a few—and sing to the glory of St. Patrick.

Who was it, now, that said, “Livin’ well is the best revenge”? Ah, there was a prophet if there ever was one! Drink up, now, and we’ll have another!

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