Behind a desk of candy bar wrappers, empty Coke cans and a 6 screen day-trading setup, sits one of the world’s richest men and foremost investors. Sweat running down his face and a furrowed brow he screams “screwwwwww you Tesla!!!” and slams his rainbow colored Bloomberg keyboard on his desk. With a moments pause and the look of resignation he refuses to acknowledge my presence. He quietly whispers “dead for 800 years and Fibonacci still screwing me.”
Once a proponent for long-term investing with a preferred hold period of “forever” he now compares his investing style to a “sorority house panty raid.” “In-and-out. Get the goods. Make that money and roll” he calmly explains as we roll down the street in his new Bentley Mulsanne.
“I played the airline stocks a lot last quarter. Sold a lot of naked puts and then hit the iron condors hard. Vol and beta really messed me up.” Warren slams on the breaks in a parking spot with his name on it in front of Omaha’s most expensive steak house, Omaha Prime. He lays on the horn and 3 waiters rush out to his car with a sack full of food and a Coke in a silver mint julep cup embossed with his initials. He pulls a fist full of hundreds out of his snake skin wallet, looks the waitress in the eyes and says, “it’s Mr. Buffett” as he slams the car into reverse and skids out of the parking lot.
The incessant sound of incoming text messages hit his phone on the way back to his office. The screen on his car flashes “Becky” as he casually comments “clingy woman needs to learn what quid pro quo means.” His phone rings and his broker is on the phone “I know, I had 48 hours to put the cash in. Just liquidate the Goldman position then.”
As I leave his office I can’t help but wonder what created this huge shift in styles after a life long commitment to the teachings of sound investing principles? Warren simply responds “Todd. Stupid Todd.”