One has to wonder why the nit wits go on and on take it so personal the defense of RSH. Is it from the losses that are now gone they feel a kinship to the company to one day recover these losses? I wonder how one can completely ignore the fundamentals of a company and demise of companies in the same space and forge on even defending on the reality of a wealth of information points a clear path towards bankruptcy. It also a hoot as some of these devoid of reality investors call out posters as disgruntled former RSH employees. We do have some ex employees that give great color to how the company works and that has been a very useful tool to investors if used properly.As for disgruntled it would appear they are very happy shorts raking in the dough from insider knowledge on how broken this company really is. One can only deduct these posters are either retired or have plenty of cash to spend the day posting. Certainly not the work of min wage clerks at the RSH electronic counter. In any case its a very common thing. You see these die hard cheerleaders holding on till the end.
Sounds to me to be a lot like the women who fall in love with the three times loser guys. You know the type. They dropped out high school because they drank too much and smoked too much dope. They've never been able to hold onto any job more than eight weeks. And their last two girlfriends had to get protective orders and relocate because the lunkheads don't understand what 'I want you out of my life' means. These deluded women think they're going to craft a Prince Charming out of the town alcoholic. Shortly after that, be it six months or two years, they become #3 who has to relocate and take a protective out on the bum.
Some people just don't recognize crap when they smell it and other people can't cut their losses when they buy into a very bad deal. Stupid is as stupid does.
Just my 2 cents - the nit wits are those who only want to read the ledger sheets and don't have enough sense (or care to) to look deeper to see the REAL condition of a company.
Crap wrapped in a pretty box is still crap.
Well put. Let's see...You can bag it up and sell it as fertilizer, but it still came out of a cow's #$%$ and it still stinks! And the nit wits have absolutely no ability to read people. I used the same technique I use with pts. Sorry, patients. Look them up and down from head to toe, noting how they were dressed, the shoes they wore, the kind of watch on their wrist, their haircut, their clothes. Took me about two seconds. Then I'd look them straight in the eyes and offer my hand, "Hi, I'm Eric Stratton, and I'm damn glad to meet ya. Sales or psychotherapy. Makes no difference. If they don't trust you within five seconds, they never will, and you're sunk. You've lost the sale. Radio Shack used to teach almost that exact technique to new sales people, and it worked. You see, just as in therapy, you're selling yourself, not a product. People would ask me some question, and I had no clue as to the answer. Most of the idiots today give up and stop there. I'd say " I haven't a damn clue! Let's see if we can find out." Figure out that dynamic for yourself. My arm hurts.
Now they have threatening conference calls and store visits. They've fired all of us with brains, They've gone through God knows how many Corporate Executives in a couple of years, paying 'em ridiculous salaries and bonuses. The stores are now the ninth level of hell (any current employees get the reference? Not likely!) to work in. But old wounds and age were taking there toll, and I was developing serious medical problems requiring surgery to my Cervical spine, which was kind of dissolving. That's about as simply as I can put it without getting into serious medical- speak. As that was after a year starting to heal a stupid woman used me and my beautiful cafe racer Triumph,old technology that I took to the limit. I sent to Australia for the pipes, Staintunes, the best in the world for Two-Cylinder Triumphs. Big heads and cylinders, ported and polished valves, Enlarged and seated by this ancient English guy. Clip on bars, dual discs up front, nice little fairing, too much to mention. Every piece of metal I could get rid of I did, fibergl#$%$ and plastic are wonderful things, really. Once on vacation on a really long stretch of road I told my wife I was going up a bit, and would meet her at this hot dog stand near Starved Rock, just beautiful mountain country. As soon as I was out of her sight, I shifted down into 4th and twisted the grip quickly but smoothly. I shifted at about 10 grand into fifth, and just g#$%$ed it. When I saw 143mph on the clock, i hadn't yet hit red line, but enough was enough. Under the seat I had mounted a device that stored every kind of information you would want off a race track, and the digital speedo said 146. Outstanding. I rode to cool it down, (my jeans were starting to burn) 'til I got to the hot dog stand. Jo asked me how it was running. "Pretty damn good, really. Pretty damn good!" fifty five year old idiot, but man, what a ride! Then I had the best Chili Dog in the world, my wife and I sitting on a picnic table as the pipes cooled down from the Cherry Red the heat had turned them. I kind of sneaked around looking for oil leaks or other signs of imminent disaster, everything looked okay, so we took on the last little leg to Starved Rock. Started right up, the pipes setting off some car alarms in the picnic area as we wheeled out of there ever so slowly. I relaxed for the rest of the trip, just loving the little secret that that two-cylinder bike would now surprise many a kid on his stupid sport bike he'd just had mom and dad write a check for. I hate crotch rockets They don't even look like motorcycles. And then one day my drawer needed some cash, and I decided to take the bike. Right after I 'd p#$%$ed the police station, I saw mere feet in front of me and pulling into my path a blue Toyota, right from the parking lock of a strip mall. The last thing I remember was " She's not going to stop." No time to even hit the brakes. Terrible noise, and I'm flying over the hood of this idiot's car. It seemed to take forever before I hit the asphalt. I didn't feel anything yet. I just rolled for what seemed miles until I stopped. I looked over at my motorcycle, which was as far as I could tell was a write-off, as are most car vs, bike altercations, so i looked away and never saw it again. A really cool young guy stopped, immediately telling me he was a paramedic from another jurisdiction and that he would help me until the Ambulance arrived. Police were already there, and had secured the scene. I told the PM my Medical credentials, and that we could speak medical. I knew who I was, where I was, and what had happened, referred to as oriented in the usual 3 spheres. That's good thing, indicating no probable bad brain damage. He had a penlight so we checked my eyes, pupils were equal in size, reactive to light and accommodation (I won't explain that one, but it's good) He asked me what hurt worst, I told him My left shoulder was either dislocated or broken. My knees were torn to pieces, and I was bleeding profusely from an injury to my forehead, The ambulance was on the scene, and we were ahead of the game because of the luck of the paramedic being there. He reported to them as they got me in the ambulance and began cutting off my clothes. Off came pants, and they were about to cut off my rare Triumph jacket, which I put a stop to. No Way! says I. "It's gonna hurt like hell to get it off" "Not if you start the IV in my femoral vein (leg) and pump me full of Morphine first" They thought that was an excellent Idea, and called the hospital for the orders. They did so, got the orders, started the IV, and pumped away. Ah, much better, We got my jacket off, started stopping the blood from draining out of me as we roared off to the hospital, which was pretty close. As luck would have it, my wife's car was on a rack at Goodyear having the muffler replaced. A kind bystander called her and I talked to her, which calmed both of us immeasurably. A cop had told me the woman who hit me was more concerned about the ice cream in her car than the guy she'd left bleeding in the street. I just love people. Jesus! I'm sorry about the extreme tangent I went off on. How'd that happen, other than no sleep last night and being really full of drugs. I dunno...Sorry...
Sentiment: Strong Sell