All the shitcoiners I’ve ever met have the same energy: twitchy, cracked-out, brain rotted from chasing the next “100x moonshot” some celebrity junkie shilled on Twitter at 3 a.m.

I knew one degenerate in particular — a literal crackhead — who would blow thousands on the dumbest, most obvious rug pulls in the memecoin sewer. Every time he’d get rugged (which was often — we’re talking triple digits here sometimesmore), he’d come crawling back with that smug “I know what I’m doing” face, as if repeating failure enough times somehow made him a market sage.

They’re addicted — not just to the drugs, but to the adrenaline of throwing money into a flaming dumpster labeled “Community-Driven Token” and pretending they’re early investors instead of walking liquidity for whales.

Here’s the truth: Shitcoins aren’t investments. They’re slot machines coded by scammers and promoted by clowns. Every rug is just a tax on stupidity. And the people still in that game after all the wreckage? They deserve the wreckage.

Fuck shitcoiners.

Bitcoin or nothing.