On 18 March 2011, Fancamp trading in the OTC market in the USA was 3,080,000 shares at an average price of 52.57 cents (USA). That’s 1,619,156 USA dollars. In terms of the number of shares traded, today’s OTC trading in the USA, at 490,000 shares was the highest, by far, since then (more than three years ago).

Of course—because the price is so much lower now (besides the lower volume of trading)—today’s volume, strictly in terms of money hardly compares with that of 18 March 2011. Today’s $30,772 is only 1.9 percent of the $1,619,156 of three years ago.

However, it’s something. That 1.9 percent of the market of three years ago is huge compared to what the trading has been in most other recent days in the USA, namely zero dollars and zero percent (compared with 2011).

I’ve pointed out today’s OTC volume in the USA because it’s a three year high. To give a fair representation of the scale, in terms of money, I’ve pointed out how tiny the dollars are compared to what was going on three years ago. On the one hand, today’s volume set a three-year record. On the other hand, today’s money exchanging hands is pathetically low.

To me, there is no contradiction. To me, this simply reinforces my belief that today’s pitifully low numbers (even when the volume sets a three year high) can be best explained by the simple fact that we’re flying under-the-radar—so far as every investment institution of real consequence (and even so far as the vast majority of the left-over institutions of little consequence).

For the most part, they haven’t heard of us. If they have, they haven’t looked at or care about our filings out of laziness or unprofessionalism or because there is hardly any opportunity for them to make money (in the short term) because of our minuscule market capitalization.

However, we are moving up—gingerly—from the bottom to something just off the bottom. That’s something (or the beginning of something). The OTC market in the USA has now moved from being almost totally nonexistent (and invisible) to being just plain terrible. That’s progress. It appears that we’ve added to our ranks a very few select investors to whom we’re not out of radar range. Apparently, those rare top-quality new people have read some parts of the Fancamp (or Magpie) documentation.

As part of that, perhaps, some of their brain cells may have turned on and became stimulated and activated and became excited. Presumably, after considering the future consequences of what they had just finished reading—they acted in the one financially rational way open to them (naturally, only possible after making a fast trip to the neighborhood bottle-and-can redemption center and getting back all the five-cent deposits they had made). We have the good fortune, in upstate New York, to get six cents (instead of the five-cent face value) if you know where to go (“The Can Man”). If you’re even luckier, you’ll have saved a coupon good for six and a half cents (equal to seven cents Canadian, these days).

Presumably, those who hadn’t the foresight to save their bottles and cans pleaded with their friends and family for theirs. Either way, after some of the Fancamp resource metric tonnage numbers (or property holding interests) took hold on their mental consciousnesses, they were frantic to join up, even paying the scandalously high 30 percent differential between the Bid and Ask to trade (in the USA). It was (as they say), “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

In conclusion, I’ve gone to some (arguably, laughable) length to make my point. But I’m dead serious and my point is dead serious. Over the last few years, our circumstances have become reduced to the degree that $30,772 in one day’s trading in the USA is cause for celebration because of how much better that is to the zero dollar daily trading USA investors have become accustomed to the past three years. Does anyone on this Message Hub think the price of our shares today would be comparable to what “The Can Man” pays if management had recognized it had an imperative responsibility to do its best to support the price of our shares?

Respectable investment firms turn up their noises (rightly or wrongly) because management has allowed our market capitalization to plummet, making it impossible for us to raise money, in the capital markets, anywhere close to being commensurate to the underlying value being given in return. Aside from that, the numbers themselves are way too low. Say, we were to raise a million dollars (for shares on a good day) and say what we gave in return was fair (in reality, it would be nowhere close). What kind of commission would a high-profile respected investment firm earn on that kind of transaction? For that kind of business, do you think that investment firm’s executive staff would be working overtime everyday advancing our cause?

What are the chances that influential people in the investment community will pay the shareholder cause at Fancamp the slightest attention, when our own executive management doesn’t do it themselves? Compared to the work our management is not doing to raise our share price—compared to the conversations Fancamp fails to have (or even begins to have) with hundreds of investment firms—we would be better off with “The Can Man.” Even the financial bottom-line difference between paying five cents and six cents per can (or seven cents Canadian with a coupon) is well understood by “The Can Man.”

Compare that with how studiously we backup our own product, which has world-class value, and which as a matter of routine, trades for pennies instead of the dollars it’s worth. The owners of “The Can Man” would not consider—for one second—the logic behind our never-changing business plan. That is, be unapproachable and unaccountable. At all costs (to the shareholders), scrupulously avoid keeping tabs on what you’re doing to reach out and making reportable contact with investment professionals.

Over the course of twenty-five years, Dr. Smith built Fancamp from the ground up. What do the shareholders have for all his great deeds? He demeans and devalues his own very sizeable accomplishments (again, “world-class,” by any measure) by not fighting all-day-long to raise the share price, which has no business being anywhere near what it costs for one can of soda, emptied of its contents.