The Devil’s Market Dance: S&P500 Turns Midas-Touch Sales Receipts Into Pure Gold Overnight! 💰

Observe, too, the Nasdaq, flatter than yesterday’s prosecco, hovering at zero like a mathematician who forgot his own birthday. Yet fear not: across the trading floor one could hear zeroes high-five one another, which, in an economy drowning in numerical mysticism, passes for progress.

And who fueled this cosmic froth? First, the consumer-that legendary beast who somehow still roams the shopping malls, swiping credit cards while humming, “I’m starting to believe the economy is more art than science.” Second, none other than Warren “Grandpa Midas” Buffett, whose latest regulatory doodle revealed Berkshire hath snarfed up 5 million shares of UnitedHealth, causing UNH to leap like a goat on Red Bull. 🐐💸

In which the Retail Sales report visits the baryshnya of economists

Picture the PPI report-earlier, hotter, and dressed in last season’s inflation-as an unwelcome aunt who arrives at the bridal shower, shouting doom. But then, lo! July retail sales appeared in diamond heels, balancing 0.5% growth as gracefully as a Ukrainian dancer balancing a loaf of bread on her head. Remove the quarreling automobile sector, and voilà: +0.3%, the index equivalent of feh, still good.

June’s numbers were revised upward to 0.9%, which suggests the statistical gnomes were caught snoozing behind the curtain and later used sleight-of-hand to pretend they knew all along. Meanwhile, import prices rallied-yes, rallied, like Cossacks charging across a spreadsheet-because apparently everything, including sequined handbags and humble shoelaces, has become subject to the silent tyranny of global inflation.

In the grand finale, the S&P 500 now stretches toward its all-time high like a schoolboy raising his hand in hope of extra credit. Technology stocks, those digital dandies in silicon waistcoats, pushed the boulder uphill-only slightly complaining about their RSI cramps. Over the week: Nasdaq up 1%, Dow tangoing at +2%. Readers, stock certificates may soon be traded as deified relics, each sheet kissed by a Bloomberg priest. 📈🙌

Thus we end today’s tale: markets drunk on data, analysts drunk on metaphors, and humble readers drunk merely on hope-and perhaps a dash of kvass. May your assets blossom like a bureaucrat’s dacha garden, and remember: in the grand carnival of quotes and tickers, the only certainty is that somewhere, a cockroach in a vest is already planning tomorrow’s rally.