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Honeywell International (HON), that industrious but slightly befuddled baronet of the industrial world, has decided to play host to a most unconventional social event: a corporate divorce. With the dexterity of a man untangling a Christmas cracker, it is in the process of dividing itself into three separate entities-materials, automation, and aerospace-each to flounce off into the stock market’s ballroom as independent dancers. The materials division, one suspects, will twirl away this year or next, while the others will take to the floor in the latter half of 2025. Whether Honeywell itself will remain in the Dow or be replaced by some upstart interloper is as uncertain as the weather in a bygone era. But here’s the rub: while its corporate structure has been as tangled as a cat’s yarn collection, its forward P/E of under 20 and a 2.2% yield make it a most inviting dance partner for those with the patience to wait for the music to change.

Yet in 2022, the Guild began quietly packing its bags, and by 2024, the stake had vanished entirely. Was this a premonition of market turbulence, or merely the Oracle of Omaha’s latest case of “investment ennui”?²

What madness is this, to cling to such a stock when the winds shift? The faithful chant “net dollar retention of 128%!” as though salvation lies in arithmetic. But I ask you-does a man build a cathedral upon the shifting sands of sales, or does he seek stone? Let us descend from this fevered height and gaze upon saner pursuits.

Since then, the president, that steadfast actor in this grand farce, has clung to his tariffs with the fervor of a man who believes the world revolves around his own delusions. When the Bureau of Labor Statistics, that ungrateful servant, presented a weak jobs report in August, he dismissed it as “rigged,” a term as flimsy as a stage curtain. The next report, alas, was worse-27,000 jobs added monthly, a figure so dismal it would make even the most jaded playwright weep.

Nvidia’s chips are like that overpriced coffee machine that costs more than your rent. They’re powerful, sure, but if you’re paying for a latte, you’d rather not have a 200-page manual. Broadcom? They’re the guy who says, “Hey, I’ll make you a cup of tea. It’s not fancy, but it’s not going to burn your tongue.”

The quarterly missive from the Washington-based sorcerer’s apprentices arrived on September 25th, bearing tidings of $86.2 billion in revenue – a modest 8% incantation over last year’s numbers. Comparable sales rose 6.4%, a figure that would make lesser retailers weep into their inventory spreadsheets. Yet here, in the shadow of the bulk warehouse colossi, even strong numbers feel like parlor tricks.

Let’s address the elephant in the room: Wolfspeed’s balance sheet resembles my aunt’s holiday cookie jar-empty, with a faint smell of desperation. $758 million in revenue last fiscal year? That’s less than my gym membership costs. And profits? They’re as mythical as the free toaster promised at the bottom of a spam email. In June, they filed for Chapter 11, which I assume is a fancy way of saying “we’re rebooting the Netflix series where we’re the tragic startup.”

But this year? Not so much. Lululemon’s stock has taken a nosedive, down 65% from its peak in late 2023. So, what’s going on? Weak consumer spending, competition from bargain brands, a rise in baggy sweatpants (because, why not?), and management’s own slip-ups. They’ve admitted it: their styles weren’t keeping pace with the ever-demanding lounge-and-social fashion scene. Ouch. Also, they sold out of hot styles too quickly. Classic fashion faux pas.

Before Lucid went public, its co-founder and then-CEO, Peter Rawlinson, took a verbal jab at Tesla. He basically said, “Tesla’s the only car company that experiences *production hell*. The rest of us? We’re just sailing along, sipping lattes and manufacturing perfection. What’s that? A new car every year? *Easy-peasy*.”