Sort & Cull

The doorbell rings for the hundredth time and you start to growl about irresponsible parents, juvenile greed, and tooth decay spreading like Ebola. Thankfully, your exponentially better half grabs the candy bowl and greets the latest wave of trick-or-treaters with an appropriate level of mock horror and seasonal generosity.

"Come see these spooky goblins," your wife says, insisting that you once again vacate the La-Z-Boy in the dubious name of Halloween fun. "It's the Commodity children. I swear, they always have the best costumes in the entire neighborhood!"

"Let me guess who's who," I say, struggling to get in the spirit. "The beautiful Princess Elsa of Frozen must be little Miss Corn. Didn't you come as Warren Buffet last year with pockets stuffed full of money? It's so sad how even pretend wealth can disappear in a flash once an ambitious producer really takes her gloves off. And there you are sweetie, left holding the bag."

"That was too easy," your spouse laughs. "Please identify the handsome caped crusader behind the Superman mask."

"It's a tough call, to be sure," you admit. "I'd guess one of the ever-bullish twins, either the boy wonder Live Cattle or his soaring sister S&P 500. Both have spent 2014 outrunning locomotives and leaping building after building with single bounds. To be more specific, I'd need a Styrofoam tray full of kryptonite."

"Where could we get that?"

"The freshly priced meat counter at Wal-Mart."

"Okay, Mr. Halloween Detective," your wife continues, "if you're so smart, tell me who is that creepy creature in the back? The one with the black hood, bloody scythe, and zombie make-up."

"Great look, Lean Hogs," you shout out to your former paperboy, a depressed and moody teenager who is no doubt counting the minutes until he can ditch his younger siblings and embrace the timeless traditions of egging and soaping windows.

"Just look how Lean Hogs drag his discounted foot and relentlessly points his boney fingers down. I've never seen the living dead done better."

At long last, the sugar high of the Commodity kids is satisfied, allowing you to lock the door, shut off the porch light, and claim the lone surviving Jolly Rancher. But before the book on Halloween 2014 can be mercifully closed, your partner in candy crime has one last question.

"I don't mind opening our door to young people like the Commodity Family," she muses. "But I sure didn't like that older fat guy who stayed in the shadows. Was that a costume or just a bad business suit? And whenever they chanted "trick or treat," he would snort something up his nose and take a pull from a bottle of what I hope was iced tea."

"Why, that was Father Commodity himself," you answer. "It was a great costume, one that suggested the very essence of volatility, random behavior, and unpredictable outcome."

"And who in the world was he supposed to be?"

"None other than Toronto Mayor Rob Ford, of course."

John A. Harrington

FEEL OF THE MARKET

http://feelofthemarket.com/…

(AG)