Wouldn’t it have been nice to have bought – or have been gifted – shares in the Queensland Gas Company Ltd (QGL) back in the day before the share price spiked?
Man, unless I am reading the chart incorrectly – and I doubt it, because for once I am wearing my glasses, only because the tattooed teen found them down the back of the couch a year after I lost them – those goddamn cheap sh*t shares had a rocket stuck up their arse, and leaped from less than half a buck about a decade ago all the way up to six bucks and beyond with a bullet, to steal a phrase from Molly.
But who bought at the bottom and sold the bloody things at the top?
Some smart bugger, that’s for sure, and no doubt the Computershare registry will tell us who. You don’t need a share trade search or an inside source to tell you that whoever it was probably lives in the Hamilton heights however, or perhaps the flash Western suburbs of Brisvegas on a plot of land big enough to feed a couple of chooks, or bloggers, or nickel miners, or a good looking missus and a few equally handsome tin lids.
Dead set, it would be almost like backing Prince of Penzance a place in the cup to have bought those shares early in the piece, and you’d feel like Michelle Payne if you helped ride them to the finish line, or have cashed out at the clock tower at least, because you wouldn’t want to be holding them in the last half furlong, as I hear an earthquake or sixty might be coming, and those red-hot shares might turn ice cold as the trembles under the ground send them even further south than the once platinum Linc Energy stocks.
But hey, what the hell would I know? I’m just a mad blogger from the Bung, and the only share I have ever owned is in debt, so I’ll leave the buying and selling and spruiking to the blokes with their heads screwed on right who are in the know and know more than somewhat about public relations pitches and all that sort of jazz.
I’m just a Doubting Thomas, and I’ll start believing in miracles the day I start earning a six-figure salary starting with two, and get performance incentives without a name or number but written in script thrown in to boot.
Which will be never, or at least until eternity, or the last race in the Surat Basin, whichever jumps first.
All horse players die broke.
So brother do ya reckon ya can spare me a dime?