Arrr, Paco, while landlubbers stare at flickerin’ price charts like fools watchin’ tea leaves, ye took Bitcoin to sea and spent it where the wind actually blows.

Eight hundred days. Two-and-forty nations. Not a bank to beg, not a gatekeeper to bribe. Just sound money, grit, and proof earned the hard way, boot leather on foreign soil.

Proof of Work ain’t a tale of comfort, but of function. It shows the world what many fear to admit:

Bitcoin works when permission slips fail, when borders tighten, and when trust runs thin as rum at dawn.

Ye didn’t preach the code, ye lived it.

That be real Proof of Work, forged under sun, storm, and open sky.

Fair winds to ye, sailor. The ledger remembers. 🏴‍☠️⚡🟠

— Blackbeard World