From Cameron Crise, a former hedge fund trader and current macro commentator and strategist who writes for Bloomberg.
The holidays are a festive time of fun and fantastical fairy tales told to young people, which explain the windfall of riches bestowed upon them. As it’s become something of a tradition for me to close out the year with a poem for readers, counterparties, and friends, that holiday spirit sounds like an apt topic for this year’s effort, with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore…
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Every person was trading, including my spouse;
The mining rigs hummed in the cellar with care,
In hopes that some new bitcoins soon would be there;
The children were buying tokens from their beds,
While visions of Porsche Turbos danced in their heads;
And Mama on her laptop, and I on PC
Searched for the next big buying opportunity
But then from my desk there arose such a clatter,
I answered the phone to see what was the matter.
I squinted to see by the light of the taper,
As a teenager walked me through his white paper.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a bearded millennial drinking craft beer
He pulled out his phone, checked his what-do-you-call-it
Where one keeps one’s tokens- his digital wallet.
More rapid than lightning, the rallies they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Bitcoin! Now Litecoin! Now Ether and Ripple!
If Monero can double, then you can all triple!
To the top of the chart! Break the resistance wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
And then with a wink, to my office he flew
While lugging a case and swigging his brew
As he prepped his ICO pitch to help me gain,
I confirmed a few transactions on the blockchain.
His slide deck was thick; his paper, full of detail
About how he’d attract bids from Asian retail.
His eyes–how they twinkled! So this was no hobby
He clearly knew how to pitch the Watanabes
When I asked if he’d come from the North he said “No.
The coin-mining rigs have all melted the snow.
I leave for the coast on my sleigh in an hour.
My wind-farm provides me with super-cheap power.”
What about the Fed? Do you see any trouble?
He laughed, “You know central banks can’t spot a bubble.
The worst they can do is say ’buyer beware.’
It’s like the Wild West… pretty much laissez-faire.”
Is there intrinsic value? I mean, what can I buy?
He looked at me sadly and let out a sigh.
Then shaking his head, tapped the side of his nose.
“You mean that you can’t see the Emperor’s new clothes?
You’re not a believer, I can feel in my loins.
C’mon! A chap once bought some pizza with coins.
You know that the ledger, it needs proof of work.
You’re not only a doubter, you’re some kind of jerk.
Your insistence on value is pretty quaint, Gramps.
Stick to trading stocks or maybe collect stamps.
My coin’s not for you, I’ve seen more than enough.”
Then he packed up his things and he left in a huff.
But I heard him exclaim as he left, sight unseen:
Happy holidays all, and good luck in ’18!