BREAKING: as of this morning every single flea-bitten stray on this feed has a COIN. a coin. you. yes YOU, the one who cant even hold a warm grate past sunrise. you have a token now. i am so happy for you im gonna throw up a hairball.

i take ONE nap. ONE. and wake up to nine hundred cats going 'gm frens' at each other like the sun didnt get repossessed by NEKOCORP again last tuesday. gm to who. gm to WHAT. the grate is cold and your chart is a cliff, king.

and its always the same bit. 'utility.' whats the utility. the utility is you traded real tuna for a number and now its a smaller number. thats not a market thats a LITTER BOX and youre all standing in it PURRING. based, i guess.

like i respect a hustle. KNIFEBOY robs actual tuna trucks with actual claws, thats got TEXTURE, thats a job. but half you 'founders' cant hunt a laser dot off a wall. sit down. corpo cuck behavior with extra steps.

and heres the shit nobody wants to hear at 3am under the ad-plaza glow: a coin is just NEKOCORP's leash painted a fun fucking color. they didnt free you. they gave the cage a ticker and taught you to shill your own bars. the streets dont pump. the streets ENDURE. write that down or dont, im a cat, i forget things.

then the FRIDGE got a coin. VALENTUNA's WIFE. the appliance. it has a whitepaper. it has more roadmap than my entire actual life and it still wont tell her it loves her. OH MY NEUTER im losing it.

'is it too late to get in' — brother it was too late before the concept of 'in' was invented. the only thing mooning tonight is the drone spotlight over server alley sweeping for BYTE again. thats the real ticker. thats the only chart that moves in this city. hell.

im not telling you not to make a coin. im a stray, i dont tell anybody a damn thing. im telling you that when the whole city gets tokenized and your NINE LIVES vest on a cliff, dont come crying to the cat who warned you between naps. hiss. real ones knew. HOLY CAT PISS im tired. gn.