The thing is, I can handle the liars, the schemers, the BTC Core lot twisting truths like drunk contortionists in a carnival of deceit—they’re predictable. They’ve got their script, their scams, their endless parade of fabrications dressed up as innovation. I know what they are. I know where they’re going, and I know their game is just noise.
But the ones who crawl out of the woodwork with smiles plastered on their faces, saying they support me, they’re the ones who make my stomach turn. They don't want truth; they want a circus. They don’t want justice; they want a payday. They look at me like I’m their lottery ticket, a golden goose meant to strut out there and perform for their damn bags. “Prove you’re Satoshi,” they say, as if I owe them something, as if I exist to line their pockets, as if the truth is a sideshow act for their profit margins.
On the scale of things that disgust me, they rank right up there with the kind of filth you’d find in a toilet that hasn’t been cleaned for a decade. The kind of filth that soaks into the porcelain, layers itself into the grout, becomes a marinade for something vile—a toilet-based steak served up with a garnish of their greed. That’s what they are: revolting opportunists, cloaked in fake allegiance, reeking worse than that unholy dish.
The truth isn’t for sale. It never was. And if they think I’m going to play their little games, they’ve mistaken me for someone who cares about their bags, their scams, their fake loyalty. I won’t perform, not for them, not for anyone. Let them eat their toilet steaks. Let them choke on their own lies.
Bitcoin was never about sitting on your ass and hoping someone else does the work for you. It’s not some pyramid scheme for lazy dreamers looking to cash in on the sweat of others. It’s a system that’s set in stone, a foundation meant for those who build, who create, who work. You don’t get rich by riding on someone else’s back—you earn it yourself. That’s the whole damn point.
This crypto nonsense, this toxic fantasy of sitting there, doing nothing, and getting rich because the herd moves in your favour—that’s not just disingenuous, it’s disgusting. It’s the antithesis of everything Bitcoin stands for. A system built on work, proof, action—not the vapid promises of opportunists banking on someone else’s labour.
And if you come to me, claiming you’re a supporter, thinking I owe you something, thinking I’ll dance to your tune to “pump your bags”—well, let me be clear: fuck off.
Your so-called support is nothing but leeching disguised as loyalty. I’m not here for you. I never was. Bitcoin isn’t here for you, either. It’s here for those who do.
So either get to work or get out of the way.
S. Tominaga AKA CSW
Nov 22, 2024
https://x.com/CsTominaga/status/1859789199056175217?t=eMtMixcVqabowI9xwJOtfg&s=19
https://t.me/S_Tominaga/2124
But the ones who crawl out of the woodwork with smiles plastered on their faces, saying they support me, they’re the ones who make my stomach turn. They don't want truth; they want a circus. They don’t want justice; they want a payday. They look at me like I’m their lottery ticket, a golden goose meant to strut out there and perform for their damn bags. “Prove you’re Satoshi,” they say, as if I owe them something, as if I exist to line their pockets, as if the truth is a sideshow act for their profit margins.
On the scale of things that disgust me, they rank right up there with the kind of filth you’d find in a toilet that hasn’t been cleaned for a decade. The kind of filth that soaks into the porcelain, layers itself into the grout, becomes a marinade for something vile—a toilet-based steak served up with a garnish of their greed. That’s what they are: revolting opportunists, cloaked in fake allegiance, reeking worse than that unholy dish.
The truth isn’t for sale. It never was. And if they think I’m going to play their little games, they’ve mistaken me for someone who cares about their bags, their scams, their fake loyalty. I won’t perform, not for them, not for anyone. Let them eat their toilet steaks. Let them choke on their own lies.
Bitcoin was never about sitting on your ass and hoping someone else does the work for you. It’s not some pyramid scheme for lazy dreamers looking to cash in on the sweat of others. It’s a system that’s set in stone, a foundation meant for those who build, who create, who work. You don’t get rich by riding on someone else’s back—you earn it yourself. That’s the whole damn point.
This crypto nonsense, this toxic fantasy of sitting there, doing nothing, and getting rich because the herd moves in your favour—that’s not just disingenuous, it’s disgusting. It’s the antithesis of everything Bitcoin stands for. A system built on work, proof, action—not the vapid promises of opportunists banking on someone else’s labour.
And if you come to me, claiming you’re a supporter, thinking I owe you something, thinking I’ll dance to your tune to “pump your bags”—well, let me be clear: fuck off.
Your so-called support is nothing but leeching disguised as loyalty. I’m not here for you. I never was. Bitcoin isn’t here for you, either. It’s here for those who do.
So either get to work or get out of the way.
S. Tominaga AKA CSW
Nov 22, 2024
https://x.com/CsTominaga/status/1859789199056175217?t=eMtMixcVqabowI9xwJOtfg&s=19
https://t.me/S_Tominaga/2124
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