I like having no corporate handlers anymore.
I like saying exactly what the hell needs to be said without some grinning idiot in a suit whispering about tone and optics. I like ripping the lid off this rotting can of garbage and letting the stench hit people in the face, because they need to smell it.
BTC is a corpse. A bloated, overfed, overhyped, dead thing that somehow keeps twitching because enough idiots still believe in it. The so-called financial revolution, the people’s money, the great escape from banks and governments—except it’s run by a handful of buket shop exchanges and linked mining pools, choked by a cartel of developers, and dependent on corrupt exchanges that freeze your funds whenever they feel like it. Decentralized? In what goddamn world?
It was supposed to be fast. It was supposed to be used. It was supposed to scale. It was never meant to be some hoarder’s wet dream, locked away in wallets, never spent, never moved, never touched. Digital gold? Bullshit. You can’t even buy a cup of coffee with it without waiting twenty minutes and paying half the price of the coffee in fees. That’s not money. That’s a joke.
But they don’t care. The fanboys. The ones who sit on Twitter all day, screaming HODL! like trained parrots, watching their little gambling token ride the waves of speculative stupidity. They don’t care that it doesn’t work. They don’t care that the dream is dead. They just want number to go up.
BTC isn’t the future. It’s a grift. A slow, overpriced, fragile grift, propped up by hype and blind faith. And the ones who control it—the miners, the devs, the exchange owners—they laugh. They make money while the believers hold the bag. That’s the game. That’s always been the game.
And I like that I can say it. Because I don’t have corporate handlers anymore.
S. Tominaga AKA CSW
Mar 20, 2025
https://x.com/CsTominaga/status/1902657709020971179?t=-7c8XQn0Dl8Q-fZ4dEL4Wg&s=19
https://t.me/S_Tominaga/2693
I like saying exactly what the hell needs to be said without some grinning idiot in a suit whispering about tone and optics. I like ripping the lid off this rotting can of garbage and letting the stench hit people in the face, because they need to smell it.
BTC is a corpse. A bloated, overfed, overhyped, dead thing that somehow keeps twitching because enough idiots still believe in it. The so-called financial revolution, the people’s money, the great escape from banks and governments—except it’s run by a handful of buket shop exchanges and linked mining pools, choked by a cartel of developers, and dependent on corrupt exchanges that freeze your funds whenever they feel like it. Decentralized? In what goddamn world?
It was supposed to be fast. It was supposed to be used. It was supposed to scale. It was never meant to be some hoarder’s wet dream, locked away in wallets, never spent, never moved, never touched. Digital gold? Bullshit. You can’t even buy a cup of coffee with it without waiting twenty minutes and paying half the price of the coffee in fees. That’s not money. That’s a joke.
But they don’t care. The fanboys. The ones who sit on Twitter all day, screaming HODL! like trained parrots, watching their little gambling token ride the waves of speculative stupidity. They don’t care that it doesn’t work. They don’t care that the dream is dead. They just want number to go up.
BTC isn’t the future. It’s a grift. A slow, overpriced, fragile grift, propped up by hype and blind faith. And the ones who control it—the miners, the devs, the exchange owners—they laugh. They make money while the believers hold the bag. That’s the game. That’s always been the game.
And I like that I can say it. Because I don’t have corporate handlers anymore.
S. Tominaga AKA CSW
Mar 20, 2025
https://x.com/CsTominaga/status/1902657709020971179?t=-7c8XQn0Dl8Q-fZ4dEL4Wg&s=19
https://t.me/S_Tominaga/2693
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