Tale of a short: $MED Late-summer of 2021, got an email from a short specialist firm recommending MED as a potential short candidate. Stock has been weak, which I attributed to earnings seasonality

it’s a great day to be an $amzn bagholder

nah zelnick says this doesn’t matter $ttwo

it’s giving rachelormont.com

$MU 10:1 split incoming

is bloat the new chubby?

fuck man how do i be like u when i grow up

Lmao, who made this??

tysm yoav hadari for making us look bad

Two nine-year-old girls stood in a Berlin schoolyard in May 1939, holding each other and crying like the world was ending. For them, it was. Annemarie Wahrenberg and Ilse Kohn had been best friends since they were six. They went to the same school, the same synagogue, the same ballet classes. They spent afternoons in each other’s apartments eating too much candy, laughing until they got in trouble, and dreaming about ordinary things little girls dream about. But by 1939, the Nazi laws had already stolen the city from them. No parks. No pools. No theaters. Just each other’s company in a shrinking world. That morning, their fathers walked them to school for the last time. In the yard, the girls clung to one another and made a promise: they would stay in touch. They would find each other after the war. Then their fathers gently pulled them apart and led them in opposite directions. Ilse’s family had scraped together enough to buy passage on a freighter from Italy to Shanghai — one of the last places on Earth still accepting Jewish refugees without visas. Annemarie’s family was still desperately searching for any exit. A few weeks later, Ilse wrote her best friend a letter from Shanghai. She told her where she was. She said they would see each other again someday. Annemarie never wrote back. For the next eighty-two years, each woman carried the quiet grief of believing her best friend had been murdered in the Holocaust. Ilse — who later became Betty Grebenschikoff — survived the war in Shanghai with about 20,000 other Jewish refugees. She eventually moved to Australia, then New York, then Atlantic City. She married, raised five children, and had seven grandchildren. She became a Holocaust educator, wrote a memoir for her family, and spoke in schools for decades. In nearly every talk, she mentioned her childhood best friend by name: Annemarie Wahrenberg. She recorded it in her 1997 USC Shoah Foundation testimony, hoping against hope that somewhere, somehow, Annemarie might hear her voice. Annemarie — who became Ana María — escaped with her family to Santiago, Chile, in November 1939. Her father had been arrested and released by the Gestapo; they knew time was running out. She learned Spanish, built a life, married, had two children, six grandchildren, and ten great-grandchildren. She too became a Holocaust educator, speaking to students about what it meant to be a Jewish child in Berlin in those final months before the world caught fire. She searched databases. She asked questions. She never stopped wondering. Both women had changed their names. Both had moved across continents. The spellings and surnames no longer matched. Search after search turned up nothing. Over time, each quietly accepted that the other had not survived. Then, in November 2020, in the middle of the COVID pandemic, an archivist named Ita Gordon at the USC Shoah Foundation was watching a virtual Kristallnacht event from the Interactive Jewish Museum of Chile. A 90-year-old woman from Santiago began speaking about fleeing Berlin as a little girl. She talked about her best friend. The schoolyard. The goodbye. Something clicked in Ita’s memory. She went into the archive, typed in names, schools, and synagogues. She found Betty’s 1997 testimony — the one where she spoke Annemarie’s name with such longing. Ita made the call. She connected them. In December 2020, Betty and Ana María saw each other on a Zoom call for the first time in eighty-two years. Their families gathered around, crying. The two old women looked at each other, started speaking German — a language Betty’s grandchildren had rarely heard — and then they began to laugh. Not polite laughter. Real, giddy, nine-year-old laughter. “We’re not the girls we used to be,” Betty later told a reporter. But in that moment, they were. They started weekly Sunday phone calls. They talked about the old neighborhood, the candy, the ballet, the people they lost. In November 2021, Ana María flew from Chile to Florida. At the airport, two 91-year-old women hugged for the first time since that terrible morning in 1939. They drank champagne. They appeared together at the Florida Holocaust Museum. They held on to each other like they were making up for eight decades in a single year. Betty Grebenschikoff passed away in February 2023 at the age of 93. Ana María still lives in Chile. Of all the millions of painful goodbyes said in 1939 — on schoolyard pavement, train platforms, and doorsteps — these two found their way back to each other before the end. Not because of fame or fortune, but because one persistent archivist refused to let a small detail in a testimony disappear. Their story wrecks me every time I think about it. Not just because it’s a miracle of survival and reunion, but because it shows how stubborn love can be. How two little girls who promised to find each other kept that promise across continents, name changes, wars, and decades of assumed loss. How the human heart can hold onto hope long after logic says it should let go. In a world that often feels divided and cruel, this story whispers something powerful: some bonds refuse to die. Some friendships are stronger than history. Some promises outlive the people who tried to break them. The schoolyard in Berlin is still there. There’s a memorial stone listing the names of the children from that school who never came home. It’s a long list. Annemarie’s and Ilse’s names are not on it. They got to say hello again.

met gala is dead

asked chat for a printer rec and got hp 😑

imagine spending your life watching, waiting to see if people are speeding or rolling through stop signs

happy mmiwg2slgbtqia day

glad gruins cashed out

can lptrdr and other like accounts contra some other stonk please? really would like my $amzn position to perform this year

Michigan is the first D1 school ever to win multiple National Championships in Football (1948, 1997, 2023), Baseball (1953, 1962), and Men’s Basketball (1989, 2026).

IVE SEEN MY COLLEGE FOOTBALL AND BASKETBALL TEAM WIN A NATTY

The Kings of College Basketball 〽️

Who did this? 🤣