Template:Sjs short squeeze

Herculio: How now, Ser Jez: how fares thy short?
Ser Jaramey: Squeezed.
Unwarily I trod the basest range
And sold there what I borrowed:
A common stock of dismal prospect.
Herculio: A manful punt for so scant a likely gain?
Ser Jaramey: Aye but, I thought, yet safe enough —
That laggard scrip, housed around in bricks and mortar,
Whose hawkery of pre-loved flickish playthings
Casts surer shade across the purgatorial chapter
Than e’er it might upon some distant hea’enly host.
’Twas the surest thing: its only way was down.
Herculio: Oh? Did it not turn out so?
Ser Jaramey: A noisome band of amateurs did twist its price.
The instrument prescribed a path inopportune.
Herculio: Some sideways vol, perchance?
Ser Jaramey: How might I wish!
Nuncle: It went to the moon.
Ser Jaramey: The land lies low, and presently ah moist, or damp or —
Herculio: At any rate submarine? Underwater?
Ser Jaramey: Aye; more fathoms down than I can fathom.
And now the one who wrote my swap hath taken ill,
Though he be to the good and I am in the hole.
Nuncle: His condition doth precede him.
Ser Jaramey: My lance doth fetch aslant against the slipping sheen of Code.
O impermeable husk! Thou unfissur’d face!
No feint, nor jibe, nor fulsome thrust of cunning covenant
Could drive a piton strong to hoist so smart a scheme
To hold this debt. It falls away, a nul, a nought, a voided bowel.
Our claim demis’d.
We are no more than had we ne’er raised an oath to make this cashflow whole.
Nuncle: hold that thought. There’s something in ’t yet.
Ser Jaramey: ’Tis an empty supposition, Fool. Your riddles cannot make us whole.
Nuncle: Empty is as empty does, Sirrah. One cannot pick an empty pocket. What a man doth not has cannot be stole.