Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘finances’

How To Improve Your Credit Score!

“Read the Chet and Bernie books and do what Bernie does,” says Admin.

“Uh,” Spence says, “you didn’t get enough sleep?”

“Huh?”

“Not all ideas are good ideas.”

“Your point?”

Welcome Essie.

Chetspeak Sunday

We blasted out of bayou country, Bernie behind the wheel, me in the shotgun seat. Our ride’s a real old Porsche, the oldest we’ve ever had. The one from before got blown up; the one before that went off a cliff. And who can remember the one before that? Not me, amigo, except for how loud train whistles turn out to be when they’re real up close. The point is old Porsches are how we roll at the Little Detective Agency, just one of the things that makes us so successful, leaving out the finances part, where we’ve run into some hiccups I won’t go into now. And don’t get me started on hiccups, which is the annoying thing about them, namely that you can’t stop. What else do you need to know? Bernie’s last name is Little, which is how come we’re the Little Detective Agency. I’m Chet, pure and simple.

– from ????

Welcome Dolly from Az, Ruby, Bailey.

Foolproof Financial Advice In These Trying Times (From Thereby Hangs A Tail)

Lieutenant Stine went away. I polished off my steak tips, stretched out on those cool tiles, chilled out. What a life! The final chase through the warehouse ran pleasantly through my mind. And then again. After a while, I grew aware that the Hawaiian shirt guy had moved next to Bernie and struck up a conversation, at first about Hawaiian shirts, then about something else.

“What I run,” he was saying, “is what you might call a hedge fund for the little guy.”

“Little guy?” said Bernie.

“Not little in terms of intelligence or ability,” the Hawaiian shirt man added quickly. “But for one reason or another, men of distinction who don’t happen to be Wall Street insiders. I’ve had some nice play in commodities lately. You’re familiar with the basics of tin futures?”

Bernie motioned for another drink, overturning the salt and pepper. “Can’t be that complicated,” he said.

“Exactly,” replied the Hawaiian shirt man. And to the bartender when Bernie’s drink came: “I’ll get that.” Then came a lot of back and forth about tin, puts, calls, Bolivia and other mysteries. My eyelids got heavy, way too heavy to keep open. I let them close, drifted off. Harmless talk was all it was. As long as the check book didn’t come out of Bernie’s pocket we were in good shape.

Sometime later I awoke, feeling tip-top. I got up, gave myself a good shake, looked around. The bar was empty except for me, the bartender, the man in the Hawaiian shirt, and Bernie. The only completely sober one was me. Then came the bartender, the man in the Hawaiian shirt, and Bernie, dead last. Also, the check book was coming out.

Welcome Murphy, Missy.

Financial Advice

Bernie’s up early, sipping coffee, tapping away at the computer. “Economy’s in trouble, big guy. But here’s what to remember – you can play it either way. That’s the beauty of capitalism.”

Oh, no.

“For example, looks like Italy’s going down the tubes. Too bad – I always wanted to go there. But you can’t get emotional about this.” He picks up the phone. “Waldo?” he says.

Waldo – our new financial adviser. Bernie says that story about him in the paper made something or other look worse than it was.

“Waldo? Got a question for you. Is there a futures market in pasta? If so, I want to short pasta. Big time, Waldo. Everything we’ve got.”

I look around for something to gnaw on.