The grander narrative, however, is a tale of tepid cooling-no implosions, thank heavens-where buyers, like overzealous chaperones, guard technical levels with the fervor of a Victorian maiden clutching her corset. Long-term momentum, though, lingers in the shadows, a specter refusing to be exorcised by short-term tremors.
Whetstone, it appears, sold all 79,172 shares of monday.com during the final quarter of 2025. The estimated value? Approximately $15.33 million. Which, when you consider the sheer scale of the universe, is roughly equivalent to the cost of a particularly extravagant cheese sandwich on a planet orbiting Proxima Centauri. (The price of cheese, naturally, fluctuates wildly depending on the local gravitational anomalies.) This disposal resulted in a $15.33 million decrease in their portfolio value, factoring in both the sale and, rather predictably, the movement of the share price. It’s a classic case of numbers going up and down, which, frankly, is a bit of a shock to the system when you think about it.
It is this latter inclination that draws the eye, perhaps, to Sirius XM, a name that evokes a certain… obsolescence. A company in which Berkshire Hathaway, that venerable institution, maintains a substantial, if somewhat enigmatic, stake. The share price, currently languishing ninety-seven percent below its former heights, presents a curious spectacle. Is it a bargain, a relic, or simply a fading signal in the vastness of the digital ether?
In the wake of this frenzied activity, the data reveals a spectacle most grotesque: 1.6 billion XRP, a sum so vast it boggles the mind, hath been bound to the altar of futures contracts. A 2.56% increase in open interest, they say-a mere trifle, yet enough to stir the hearts of the faithful. But is this a sign of resurrection, or merely the death rattle of a dying beast? Ah, the irony! The more they stake, the deeper they plunge into the abyss of uncertainty.
Thus it is with Bristol Myers Squibb, a name now whispered with a certain melancholy on Wall Street. The company finds itself upon the precipice of what is termed a “patent cliff,” a rather prosaic description for a potentially devastating event. Revlimid, a drug once a pillar of their revenue, has already begun its descent, its sales diminished by nearly half. Sprycel follows, its strength fading with each passing month. But the true reckoning lies ahead, with the looming expiration of patents protecting Eliquis and Opdivo, two titans that currently sustain the company with a combined revenue of $24.4 billion – a sum representing, as it were, the very lifeblood of the enterprise. To witness such potential loss is to contemplate the vanity of earthly endeavors, the impermanence of even the most carefully constructed fortunes.
The question, then, dear investors, is this: which of these companies merits our confidence, our precious capital? Which shall prove the more astute player in this game of technological one-upmanship?
During January, Energy Transfer’s units appreciated 11.9%. While trailing the broader energy sector’s performance, this increase warrants examination. The company’s business model, characterized by fee-based services, provides a degree of insulation from the volatility inherent in upstream commodity pricing. Unlike exploration and production companies directly exposed to fluctuations in natural gas and crude oil prices, Energy Transfer’s revenue stream is predicated on the transportation, storage, and processing of these commodities. This distinction is critical in evaluating its long-term sustainability.
The timing, naturally, is…interesting. Six Flags, you see, is not exactly thriving. A loss for the past year, a rather monstrous one at that, was partially obscured by a $1.5 billion ‘non-cash impairment charge’ – a euphemism, if ever there was one, for acknowledging that certain assets have lost their luster. It’s like admitting the Emperor has no clothes, but doing so with an accountant’s meticulous precision. Vora, having accumulated these shares over the past year, suddenly found itself afflicted with a peculiar impatience. One suspects the specter of diminishing returns haunted their spreadsheets.
The company, on the twenty-seventh of January, deigned to reveal its quarterly accounts. A penny’s surplus upon predicted earnings – a triumph scarcely worthy of trumpet blasts! – and a revenue of one hundred and thirteen billion dollars, falling short of expectation by a mere trifle. A trifle, one might say, that nonetheless pricks the balloon of complacency.
They gave away $4.5 billion to shareholders. That’s a lot of money. Enough to make a small planet uncomfortable. They did it through buybacks and dividends. A perfectly reasonable way to distribute wealth, if you happen to have it. And Marathon does. They have quite a bit.