If any of you uncommitted psychotic traders out there are wondering why you haven't heard from ET's primo psycho lately, it's because we here at the PTI (Psychotic Trading Institute) have him so tripped out that he can't even spell ET. It took a cocktail of antipsychotics that would shut up even Jack to do it. Or so I thought. When I went on rounds to his elegantly padded cell, he leapt up like the maniac that he is, grabbed me in a bear hug (it's that kind of a market now, better that than a bull tupp), kissed me, and expectorated into my mouth a partially-metabolized antipsychotic spittle. For those of you who might find this hypoerotic, let me assure you that it was anything but for me. I know that the cocktail I prescribed has a paradoxical effect on the sane. So I'm in for a long night where reality is indistinguishable from fantasy. Sort of like daytrading. I swooned, and the next thing I knew, I was immobilized in my office chair looking at a one-second chart of NQ. "You see that, Doc?" he slobbered maniacally. "It's proof positive that the market is a bitch! You're nice to her, she cuts your balls off! You're mean to her, she loves you!" I fainted, but not before I had the presence of mind to hit shift-Prt Sc. Chart to follow. But not until the first shift orderlies rescue me. Until then I am spooning with a delusional drooling psycho-trader. The lamb may lie down with the lion, but the lamb won't get much sleep.