The Oracle Returns
For the past few weeks, financial media has been screaming about one particular investor. And no, I’m not talking about you, the proud weekend chart whisperer who thinks opening TradingView twice a day counts as market analysis. Relax. Nobody is writing think pieces about your portfolio yet. I’m talking about Michael Burry. The same Burry who predicted the 2007 housing collapse while Wall Street played subprime Jenga and called it innovation. He’s a neurologist by training, a market prophet by accident, and the most unwelcome party guest in modern finance. And of course, he’s back with a new prophecy. His crystal ball is once again blinking red: short the AI mania.
The Crowd Has Lost Its Mind
Meanwhile, roughly eighty percent of so called investors are buying tech stocks like they’ve discovered fire. Nvidia hits a fresh high and suddenly every Uber driver, cousin, and coworker is an AI expert who can’t even code a microwave timer. The crowd isn’t investing; they’re chasing a parade float because it sparkles. They don’t see valuation, they see confetti. They don’t see risk, they hear influencers screaming AI IS THE FUTURE! This isn’t strategy. This is a stampede in Patagonia fleece.
Burry the Contrarian: Leaving the Party Before It Burns Down
And while the herd sprints toward whatever stock CNBC drools over that morning, Burry calmly walks in the opposite direction. He’s the guy who leaves the house party ten minutes before the cops show up. He’s not always right, and his timing has sometimes aged like milk, but he understands bubbles with unnerving clarity. He didn’t call AI a bubble because prices went up, that’s Twitter level analysis. He called it because the underlying economics smell like reheated dot-com leftovers.
Why Burry Thinks AI Is a Bubble
According to him, companies are inflating profits by stretching depreciation schedules on AI hardware far beyond reality, pretending GPUs age like fine wine instead of like bananas in July. The chips become obsolete faster than investors can brag about owning them, yet tech firms still treat them as long term assets. Today’s earnings look fantastic only because the future write-downs haven’t hit yet.
Then there’s the fantasy of limitless demand. Markets are pricing these companies as if humanity will never stop buying compute, as if efficiency gains, competition, regulation, and disappointment simply don’t exist. Investors have turned AI into a deity, benevolent, eternal, infallible. It’s the same delusion we saw in the dot-com bubble, only with taller charts, louder hype, and significantly more GPUs.
And the ecosystem… oh, the ecosystem. AI companies buying hardware from other AI companies to build AI services that will impress other AI companies. It’s a circular money loop where everyone congratulates everyone else for imaginary progress, while nobody asks whether there’s a real customer outside the echo chamber. Even the whisper of vendor financed demand is enough to give seasoned investors Vietnam flashbacks.
Meanwhile, a handful of AI drunk giants now account for over a third of the S&P 500. If one of them sneezes, the whole market catches something terminal. This isn’t diversification, it’s systemic dependency dressed up as growth.
And Don’t Think I’m Better Than the Herd Either
And then there’s me, the self proclaimed genius who proudly refuses to touch tech stocks because they’re too expensive, as if that makes me spiritually superior. It doesn’t. It just makes me a different flavor of clown. I watch the charts floating upward like helium balloons at a kid’s party and pretend I feel nothing, while my heart rate spikes every time Nvidia prints another record. I sit on the platform like a bootleg Zen monk, insisting that discipline is a virtue when it’s really just my coping mechanism for not being on the damn train.
Sure, I stack dividends and ETFs like a responsible adult, but let’s not kid ourselves, I’m not immune to FOMO. I simply hide it behind smug commentary about valuations and pending corrections. Every time this AI rocket climbs, I glance up from my stable portfolio and feel that tiny sting, the same one you pretend not to feel.
Yet here I am, telling the world I don’t care, waving politely as the AI crowd sprints toward the moon with suitcases full of theoretical money. I’m on the peron like a Victorian widow sending her husband to war, whispering a dramatic goodbye while secretly hoping the entire expedition blows up so I feel vindicated. Maybe I’m right. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just stubborn. But I stay seated, watching everyone else fly straight into the sun.
The Bloody Moral, As Always
The moral is painfully simple: do whatever you genuinely believe in, because the market will punish you regardless. Maybe Burry is right. Maybe he’s early. Maybe the tech bros get richer while I sit on the sidelines with my dusty ETFs. None of it matters. The market doesn’t care about your conviction, your fear, or your genius. It only cares about who survives long enough to pretend they had a plan.
And if that means sitting on the platform whispering “I don’t fucking care,” then fine. At least when the train derails and history strongly suggests it will. I’ll still be standing.
Keep reading, keep growing. BloodyFinance.
