Fuzzy Northern unplugged his Fender Stratocaster as the crowd cheered for more. Fame had been kind to Fuzzy and he had grown to accept the fact that being a rock star meant people would always want an encore. He squirted his face with a nearby water bottle and raced backstage as sweat and water cascaded from his chin.

Skipping over cables, high-fiving roadies, he made it back to his dressing room and shut the door behind him. The applause swelled outside. The walls rattled and Fuzzy smiled. He figured he would give his fans another minute or two of longing before making his way back out to finish the show.

He also figured he was alone until he heard cackling laughter behind him. He turned to find the most bizarre groupie fantasy he could ever imagine: Smile n' Dial closed in.

"Who let you in here?" he said, wondering where his road manager might be. "I'll sign you both an autograph, and then you have to clear on out of here, okay?"

"We're fans," Smile said.

"We love you," Dial added.

"But our calls to your business manager have gone unanswered!" they said in unison.

Fuzzy sensed an endorsement deal in the works. His last pact, with Ben & Jerry's Homemade, for Fuzzy Peaches & Cream Sorbet, was a smash. He knew it wouldn't be long before Nike and Pepsi came calling.

"Okay, pitch me for sixty seconds, then I go back onstage," he said.

Smile moved closer, growing more hideous with every step.

"Galactic Harps <% if gsSubBrand = "aolsnapshot" then Response.Write("(NASDAQ: PLUK)") else Response.Write("(NASDAQ: PLUK)") end if %>," she said.

"Why haven't you bought it?" Dial added.

"It's all the rage and the shares are soaring," they said at the same time.

"Oh no," he said. "This is a stock market thing, right? Look, really, thanks, but my financial planner is the one you really need to speak to about this."

"Weakling," Smile said.

"Does he write your songs as well?" Dial taunted.

"Does he dress you before every show?" the twins mocked simultaneously.

Fuzzy looked down at his rhinestone-studded leather jacket and shook his head. He adjusted his guitar strap, grabbed the neck of his guitar, and began to head for the door.

"Whatsa matter? Six strings enough for you? Be a real man and play a harp," they said.

"I'm calling security," he said, turning the doorknob. "You two better be gone by the time I get back! Not only are harp players the rarest of session musicians but I have never even heard of Galactic."

Smile and Dial's faces grew red. How dare a market amateur belittle the company they were buying shares of, left and right, in hopes of pushing the stock higher with their B-grade hype? They began to sing the praises of Galactic Harp. . .

Galactic Harp, oh Harp Galactic
Color press kit, oh how fantastic
Nothing on the market, never made a buck
But the coolest slogan, "C'mon give a pluck!"

Fuzzy swung the door open, mesmerized by the chant of "Fuz-zy! Fuz-zy! Fuz-zy!" He turned back to face the scheming siblings, somehow unable to pull away. Was it too many nights on the road? Was it pity? Was it love?

"I'll tell you what," he told them. "I'm staying in the Jungle Room Suite at the Castaway. Let's meet up there after the show. We'll have room service bring up champagne and Mr. Bubble. We'll talk Galactic Harp and, who knows, maybe I'll buy a ton of the stock."

"Big mistake," Motley Fool said, storming into Fuzzy's room, carrying a shiny new bass guitar.

"Motley!" Smile gasped.

"Fool!" Dial followed.

"We were only having fun!"

"It's easy to play with someone else's money, you ghastly sisters of sleaze," Motley said. "Now dig into your own pockets and scare up some cab fare."

They raced out of the dressing room, scraping past Fuzzy on their way out.

"Tonight could have been wonderful," Fuzzy said, turning towards Motley. "Why did you send them away?"

"Fuzzy, angst makes for a poor buy-sell indicator. Be careful, because Galactic Harp:

1) Does not even have a product on the market

2) Has enough debt to sink a battleship

3) Is expecting to report losses for the next five years

4) All of the Above

And the answer is:

The answer is #1, since, as Smile n' Dial gracefully belted out in tone-deaf splendor, Galactic Harp had "nothing in the market." While the company may very well have borrowed a great deal of money, and may or may not ever turn a profit, these are assumptions which cannot be uncovered without more thorough research.

A stock tip may sound glorious at a cocktail party or in an internet chatroom, or in this case, backstage at a rock concert, but that is the beginning and not the end of the thought process. Galactic Harp, for all we know, may have hidden assets, such as financial stakes in more established musical instrument makers. Public schools may, likewise, declare harp playing a mandatory graduation requirement, and Galactic may prove able to win the bidding process. This is unlikely (the persistence of Smile n' Dial should have anyone blinking and thinking hard) but the key is that without independent research a stock tip is merely a stock stub. A waste is a terrible thing to mind but then ---

"Fuz-zy! Fuz-zy! Fuz-zy!"

Well, the concert goers are getting antsy, let's get back to Motley and Fuzzy backstage. . .

"So, what's with the bass, Motley?"

"Well, your bassist was feeling sick and asked if I could play the encore for him," Motley said, checking to see if his instrument was in tune.

"Do you even know how the song goes?"

"Sure do," he said. "It's E, A, B and then back to E. Aren't they all?"

"Dude, you've got it. Er... do you have to keep that jester hat on?"

"Fashion statement," Motley winked. "We rock stars have to set the trend."

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