Hunter Quigley squirmed in his aisle seat. Was he getting bigger, or were coach airline chairs getting smaller? Fate had dealt this fear-of-flying claustrophobic a double dose of bad news, and with a foul-smelling, portly traveller at his side, he was also down to just one armrest.

"Wooeeee," his fellow passenger cried out as the plane raced off the runway and headed skyward. "Giddy on up now. Go doggie, go, go, go!"

Hunter eyed the lavatory vacancy light. He saw it as a quiet seat with a little more elbow room. Now if only the 'fasten seatbelt' sign would turn off, he could unbuckle himself and dart to freedom.

"Isn't flying wonderful," his neighbor said. "The name is Pork Belly."

"Hunter Quigley," he answered. After the two realized that there was no room for even an awkward handshake, Pork regained control of the armrest between them.

"You in the market son?" Pork asked.

"The stock market?"

"Yessum."

Hunter didn't know the answer to that. He had his retirement plan at work (invested in a few underperforming mutual funds), and a brokerage account collecting cobwebs with a few stocks he had inherited.

"I guess so," he said. "I'm not active."

"Whoah there, compadre," Pork said. "If you're not active then you're reactive. If you're not trading regularly then you suffer from what I like to call equity constipation."

Hunter saw that it was now clear to move around in the airplane. Unfortunately, the attendants began working their way down with the beverage cart, and he was trapped, again.

"A trade a day keeps the boredom away," Pork continued. "But in all seriousness --you should really take control of your finances. Or rather, you should let someone else take control of your finances. . . like me."

Pork raised his hat and plucked out a business card.

"First I would close out that retirement plan of yours, and put the money into a regular taxable account," Pork started. "Then I would sell each and every one of your stocks. With all this liquidity, I would then go to work buying and selling some of the best airline stocks that money can buy."

Just then a familiar figure, manning the beverage cart, rolled alongside them and closed in with cocktail napkins and bags of honey-roasted peanuts.

"Coffee, tea or a busted tipster on the rocks?" Motley Fool asked.

"Drat!" Pork muttered. "One day I'll shake you from my tail!"

Motley then explained to Hunter the fallacy of Pork's investment strategy; namely:

1) By cashing out his retirement plan he would probably be subject to a tax penalty for early withdrawal.

2) Selling his entire portfolio may not only be a capital-gains nightmare, but it also ignores the fact that many of the holdings, no matter how forgotten, may still be worthwhile investments

3) Pork's plan to load up on airline stocks does not allow for healthy diversification into other sectors.

4) All of the Above

Enter your selection in the field to the lower right, and get immediate feedback on the answer!

Pork has been grounded! The answer is #4, all of the above. One could argue that a retirement plan loaded with stodgy mutual funds could be improved if the individual took a tax penalty hit and invested the money himself. However, a better solution would be to roll the account over into a self-directed retirement plan. This would not only avoid withdrawal penalties, but would also to keep the account tax-deferred.

PB's insistence that all of Hunter's stock holdings be sold also shows little consideration for researching the individual issues. The fact is that sell orders are as hearty a broker commission as buy orders.

In addition, despite the incredible airline research available online, it certainly doesn't hurt to diversify.

"A trade a day," Motley began, "does not, as Pork said before, keep boredom away. A trade a day keeps the churner, and your accountant, at play."

With that, the plane plunged through turbulent clouds and eventually landed safely at its destination. Hunter, having discovered that his luggage had accidentally been shipped to Turkhmenistan, realized that he had some time on his hands. He thought he might offer Motley a drink for his trouble, but after he'd made his way back to the gate, he discovered that the mysterious Motley had already taken off, for places and adventures unknown.

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