All these paper-handed retirees panic-selling their 401ks to "buy lower" has me rolling my eyes so hard I can see my own brain. Listen, I get it – you're 65 with a small army of grandkids who "need" the new PlayStation, and suddenly you're having a full existential crisis because your portfolio dropped 3%.
Meanwhile, I'm over here eating ramen with hot sauce for flavor, checking my couch cushions for investment capital. Like, whose idea was it to have ten kids and then be shocked when the market doesn't cooperate with your retirement timeline?
Tank that market, Trump! I'm not asking, I'm begging. I've got my plasma donation schedule optimized like it's a Fortune 500 business plan. The nurses know me by name and vein preference at this point. I'll deliver packages at dawn, drive Uber at noon, bartend at night, walk dogs at midnight, tutor calculus at 3 AM, and sell my least favorite organs just to buy more shares when everyone's crying.
Grandpa's over there panic-selling while I'm wondering if my landlord would notice if I installed a tent in the living room and Airbnb'd my bedroom for more investment cash.