I'm out, fam. Done. Cooked. The trenches ain't fun no more, and I'm not boutta keep doing this crap. Spilling my soul to all you degens, jeets, shillers, bots, and whales 'cause I'm over it. Nobody believes in shit anymore. Everyone's just a jeet tryna flip a quick buck. "Bundle this, rugpull that, pump my presale and bounce." WTF happened to the vibes? The "to the moon" hype? Now it's just mass extraction. Frank Defag, Hayden Davis, Dave Portnoy, and all them scummy crooks eating our SOL while we hold bags at zero.
I used to ride or die for you, trenches. Was a normie back in the day. Had a trash gig at a vape shop slinging coils, driving a Civic that still banged, living in a dope apartment with a fat balcony. My wife cooked tacos that were straight gas—kept me grounded. But then I scrolled X, saw $FARTCOIN mooning 500%, and the FOMO slapped me silly. Was like, "Yo, this is the move. Trench life. Imma trade my way to a Tesla." Ditched my job on the spot, told my boss, "Catch me stacking bags, you 9-to-5 loser," and went full send. Drained my savings, sold my Switch on FB Marketplace, even hocked my wife’s damn ring for gas fees. "Babe, $UFD boutta 100x!" I screamed, pounding Celsius and glued to charts like a fiend.
For a sec, I was the trench GOAT. Portfolio hit 50k, spamming "WAGMI" on X, copped a "HODL" neon sign for my setup. My wife’s side-eyeing me, but I'm too busy riding pumps to care. Then you flipped on me, trenches. Some whale dumped $TRUMP, and the market turned into a massacre. Panic sold at a 90% L, chased $MELANIA and $MLG, but every coin was a rugpull waiting to clown me. Stack? Gone. My wife caught me mid-breakdown, crying into stale Wingstop, laptop all red, and she was out. "You a clown. I'm taking the Civic and the Instant Pot." My boss got a 401k and ain't glued to Discord. She dipped to my ex-boss, left me with a "Diamond Hands" mug and a margin call.
Now look at us, trenches. I'm down to my last 2 SOL, crashing at my mom's basement, trading $LIBRA on a busted phone. House? Foreclosed. Car? Repo’d. Tried paying the dude with $GREED, but nah, that ain't it. And you? You're trash now. Jeets everywhere shilling garbage like, "Bundle your bags for 10x!" Devs rugged before the chart even loads. Whales like Frank Defag, Hayden Davis, and Dave Portnoy winning yachts off our bags while we got crying Wojaks. Trenches ain't fun no more. It's a soul-sucking grind, a casino where the house wins and the slots are scuffed.
So here's my move, I ain't coming back 'til the trenches are fun again. 'Til we get real pumps, real hype, none of this jeet extraction BS. Sick of the "Bundle this, rug that" life. Sick of Frank Defag, Hayden Davis, and Dave Portnoy flexing on X. Sick of betting on a moon that ain't real. Fix yourselves, trenches. Or don't. IDGAF. I'm out.