In a dazzling feat of financial acrobatics, the Dow and S&P 500 set fresh records Friday, then used the weekend to reconsider the concept of joy. By Monday, stock futures expressed themselves through interpretive gravity. If euphoria was a ladder, markets decided to see how quickly it could be used as a slide.

Analysts confirmed the ancient investing strategy known as buy high, then buy again lower but sadder. Momentum traders called the move “healthy,” the way a meteorologist calls a tornado “ambitious wind.” Quant funds shrugged, because the algorithm still believes in fairy tales and five-sigma naps.

Corporate executives assured investors nothing fundamental had changed except everything. “We remain cautiously euphoric with a slight bias toward claustrophobic,” one CFO whispered while feeding guidance into a wood chipper. Earnings calls were upbeat until someone asked about margins, at which point the word “transitory” reapplied for its old job with benefits.

Meanwhile, live updates flowed like a river of notifications politely drowning you. Every five minutes, a new alert: Futures dip; futures recover; futures see a butterfly and reevaluate their childhood. A push notification promised breaking news and delivered a shrug in a trench coat.

Hedge funds performed a ritual where they carefully inflated their confidence, tied it to an inflatable bull market lawn ornament, and watched it wander into traffic. Someone rang the opening bell, and the bell rang back, asking for a sabbatical. The NYSE floor cheered, then promptly hired a chiropractor for sentiment.

Macro explanations swarmed like bees with PhDs. Some blamed the Fed, others blamed geopolitical chess, and a few pointed to Mercury being in Gatorade. An economist described the move as a soft landing, then billed investors a $39 baggage fee for their expectations.

Dow Jones, personified as a tired uncle in a paisley tie, told reporters he’d just set a record and wanted a nap without everyone panicking about his REM cycle. “I’m still up year-to-date,” he muttered, listing his achievements like a teenager’s college essay. “Please stop tracking my every breath like I’m a breadmaker in 2020.”

Retail investors responded with memes, candles, and an unusually sincere Excel function. One sipped defiantly from an emergency Fed pivot mug and proclaimed, “As long as the line goes north-eastish, I remain fundamentally invincible.” TikTok tutors explained gamma squeezes using sock puppets and an offended avocado.

As for the footnotes, I read them, because that’s my cardio. Hidden beneath the confetti was a paragraph that basically said: “Past performance is a friend who texts at 2 a.m. and wants to borrow your sofa.” Another note clarified that risk appetite contains actual risk, which is why it tastes like batteries.

Strategists kept a straight face while describing volatility as both a buying opportunity and a reason to lie down briefly. They touted “liquidity” with the same tone used to sell used hovercrafts. A bank wrote, “Our conviction remains high,” then immediately lowered the font size to hedge.

Here’s the practical advice: If you panic, do it with symmetry, and if you cheer, do it quietly in case Monday is listening. Diversification remains the adult in the room, wearing sensible shoes and checking the exits. And yes, futures fall after records because that’s how records feel important—by being the last thing you talk about before the pratfall.

By Friday, we’ll be told it was a healthy reset and the trend is intact, like a chair with three legs and a dream. I’ll allow myself one merciful joke about “one-time charges” that keep in touch, and the market will rally on schedule for the breakup text.