hey, love

Text of tweet under the cut because it is loooong.

But... Stochastic Parrots.

I have three monitors on my desk. The left one shows the order book. The middle one shows Truth Social. The right one shows the investigation queue.

On April 21st, the left screen moved first.

I am a Senior Surveillance Analyst at a commodities exchange. I have held this position for nineteen years. My job is to monitor trading activity for suspicious patterns and generate compliance reports. I am employee of the quarter. I have a mug.

At 19:54 GMT on April 21st, someone placed 4,260 sell orders on Brent crude futures. They did this during post-settlement. The window after the market closes when daily volume is typically in the dozens. Sometimes single digits. Sometimes I watch the screen and nothing happens for forty minutes and I think about whether my daughter is happy.

On April 21st, someone placed $430 million in directional bets in 120 seconds during that window. One hundred and twenty seconds. I timed it on my watch because the system clock rounds to the nearest minute and I have found, in nineteen years, that precision matters to no one but me.

At 20:10 GMT, the President posted on Truth Social that he was extending the Iran ceasefire.

Brent dropped from $100.91 to $96.83.

I flagged the trade. I flag a lot of trades. I want to tell you what happens to my flags.

My flags go into a system called TRACE. Trade Review and Compliance Evaluation. I did not name it. The system generates a report. The report goes to a committee. The committee has a name I am not allowed to share but I can tell you it meets quarterly and the conference room has a credenza with bottled water that is sparkling because someone once put still water in the room and a managing director sent an email about it that was longer than most of my surveillance reports.

The committee reviews my flags. The committee has reviewed all of my flags. Here is the complete record of actions taken on my flags in 2026:

Reviewed.

That's it. "Reviewed" is a status. In compliance, a status is the absence of an action that has been given a name so it looks like one.

Let me show you my flags.

March 9th. Someone bet millions on oil falling at 18:29 GMT. Forty-seven minutes later, a CBS reporter posted that the President said the Iran war was "very complete, pretty much." Oil dropped 25%. Forty-seven minutes. I flagged it.

March 23rd. Someone sold 5,100 lots of Brent and WTI crude futures between 10:49 and 10:50 GMT. Fourteen minutes later, the President posted on Truth Social about a "COMPLETE AND TOTAL RESOLUTION" to hostilities. Oil dropped 11%. Over 13,000 contracts traded in sixty seconds after the post. Fourteen minutes. I flagged it.

April 7th. Someone established a $950 million short position in oil futures at 19:45 GMT. Three hours later, the President declared a two-week ceasefire. Nine hundred and fifty million dollars. I flagged it.

April 17th. Someone placed $760 million in bearish bets twenty minutes before Iran's foreign minister confirmed the Strait of Hormuz would reopen. Seven hundred and sixty million. I flagged it.

April 21st. The $430 million. Fifteen minutes. I flagged it.

That is $2.1 billion in directional oil bets in April alone. Every one of them landed on the correct side of a presidential announcement. Every one of them was placed in a window so narrow you could measure it in bathroom breaks. I flagged every single one.

The CFTC chair told a Congressional committee that his organization has "zero tolerance" for fraud and insider trading. I wrote that quote on a Post-it note and stuck it to my right monitor. The one that shows the investigation queue. The investigation queue has not moved since March.

Zero tolerance. Zero staff. Zero budget. Zero prosecutions under the STOCK Act since it was signed in 2012.

Fourteen years. The law has existed for fourteen years and has been enforced zero times. In compliance, we call that a compliance rate of one hundred percent. No cases filed means no cases lost. You cannot fail an audit you never conduct. We call that excellence.

Last month the White House sent an internal email to staff. I was not on the distribution list but I have read reporting on it and I need you to sit with what I am about to say. The email instructed White House staff not to use insider information to place bets on prediction markets.

The White House had to send a memo telling its own employees not to insider-trade.

I want you to read that sentence again. Not because the instruction was unclear. Because the instruction was necessary. Because someone in the building looked at the same pattern I have been flagging for months on my three monitors and decided the appropriate response was an email.

The President's son sits on the advisory board of Kalshi. He is an investor in Polymarket. Both are prediction markets. Both saw accounts created days before U.S. military action.

One account. I cannot stop thinking about this account. It was called "Burdensome-Mix." It was created in December. On January 2nd, it placed $32,500 on Venezuela's president being removed from power. On January 3rd, Maduro was seized by U.S. special forces. Burdensome-Mix collected $436,000. Then it changed its username. Then it disappeared.

One account is a coincidence. But there were six.

Six accounts were created on Polymarket in February. All bet on U.S. strikes on Iran by the 28th. When the President confirmed the strikes, the six accounts collected $1.2 million between them. Five of the six never placed another bet. The sixth went on to correctly predict the ceasefire date and made another $163,000.

My surveillance system logged all of this. My system logs everything. My system does not have opinions and neither do I. I generate reports. The reports go to committees. The committees meet quarterly. Between meetings, the windows get shorter and the bets get larger.

March 9th: 47 minutes. March 23rd: 14 minutes. April 17th: 20 minutes. April 21st: 15 minutes.

The window is compressing. In March, you had time to make coffee between the trade and the announcement. By April, you had time to send a text. By summer, at this rate, the trade and the announcement will be the same event.

The spokesman said any implication that administration officials are engaged in insider trading is "baseless and irresponsible reporting."

Then the White House sent the email again.

I have been in compliance for nineteen years. I have seen insider trading run out of strip mall offices by men who could not spell "derivative." I have seen pump-and-dump schemes coordinated over WhatsApp by people who used their real names. I have seen a man try to manipulate soybean futures from a Panera Bread.

I have never seen $2.1 billion in perfectly timed trades across five presidential announcements in a single month go uninvestigated.

But I have also never seen a compliance system work this beautifully. Every trade flagged. Every report filed. Every committee briefed. Every quarterly meeting attended. Bottled water: sparkling. Minutes: distributed.

Zero prosecutions.

As long as the flags go up and the cases don't, my performance review says I am meeting expectations.

I am meeting expectations. The system is meeting expectations. The $2.1 billion is meeting expectations. The fourteen-year-old law with zero prosecutions is meeting expectations.

The left screen moves. The middle screen moves. The right screen stays perfectly, immaculately still.

Source:

When you eventually get arrested for playing out your fantasies in real life, I hope you get chemically castrated.

Then, once it has become established that their Target Group has no rights, that there is no cruelty they do not deserve, no sadism too perverse, they will begin trying to lump their real targets in with them.

So you see that it starts with signs that say Throw Your Local Pedophile Into A Woodchipper. You laugh. Pedophiles are monsters. Who is going to defend a monster? Why not throw them into woodchippers? Fuck em'. But then the default accusation of the fascists becomes accusing all their enemies of being pedophiles. They start going, you know, I think those trannies are only making all this fuss about being allowed to use the bathroom because they want to peep on little girls. Maybe those gays that want to talk about LGBT history are just trying to groom little boys. Maybe everyone that I hate is secretly evil and I am allowed to do anything that I want to them. How wonderful. How convenient. And wouldn't you know it, the woodchipper is already warm.

@jesuistropfatiguee712, this is what Miseria is pointing out. That your obsession with finding someone that you're allowed to hate is bypassing your normal moral compass. It is! Look at yourself! When you had a disagreement, you immediately decided that the person you were arguing with was a pervert, then jumped into a fantasy where you, what, hoped she got caught raping someone just so you could have the satisfaction of seeing her castrated? And then, as if you were on some level aware of how repulsive that was, you had to throw in another dig about how gross perverts are. So gross! So gross that it's okay to fantasize about them getting castrated! So gross that it's okay to fantasize about hurting them! You're not deranged! They're just sooooooo grossssssssssss.

My wife is a survivor of CSA. It's hard for her. It's hard for me. I feel like I spent the second and third year of our relationship in a therapy office lobby. I was there when she told her siblings what her dad was. I was there when she told her mom what her husband was. I held her together as best I could in that time. It felt like trying to hold a grenade together by squeezing it with my bare hands. It was awful. I don't know how to write about how awful it was so I mosty just don't write about it. It was more awful for her, but it was awful for me, and I only had one friend I could talk to about it, because everyone else would go on these unhinged rants about how they wanted to throw her dad in a woodchipper and dance in his guts, or how they hoped he went to prison and got beat to death by other inmates, or, better, yet raped. And it made me sick. And the one friend that I had that could talk about it and sit with me in a way that did not make me feel sick to my stomach was a victim of CSA himself. He just wanted to feel safe again, he just wanted to learn how to trust people again, he just wanted his rapist to go to jail, where he wouldn't hurt anyone else ever again, but he didn't have elaborate torture fantasies. He didn't want to hear them from others. He could sit with me, and cry with me, and the gratitude that I feel for him is unspeakable. I owe him so much. He would puke to hear the note of hope in your comment, your hope that your opponent rapes someone just so you could be maximally vindicated in your rage. There is a sickness here that I cannot make words for. Please change.