"Trumpenkrieg: Memecoins of the End Times, or the Psychedelic Death of Empire"

The timeline fractures; reality itself feels like a sharded chain on the brink of a network-wide reorg. Trump, the self-proclaimed god-emperor of the most deranged empire since Caligula, has launched a Solana-based coin—$TRUMP—and the crypto world is set ablaze. Bitcoin maxis are frothing at the mouth, screaming “shitcoiners!” at anyone daring to touch the orange man's token. Their Copium reserves are running dry as they tweet endlessly about Bitcoin's "immaculate conception," while BTC itself trudges forward, weighed down by the chains of its ossified idealism.

Tricks with polynomials and Riemann-Roch spaces. Breaking into the platonic realm to pillage forbidden abstractions. Starknet grantee.

On the Ethereum side of the battlefield, Vitalik has donned his Milady PFP, a signal to his inner cadre: “It’s wartime.” The Ethereum Foundation scrambles to patch the ship, but you can feel it—somewhere deep in the belly of the beast, the cold sweat of envy as BTC pumps, SOL rockets, and ETH… lags. The smug ETH is money narrative is wearing thin as the degens ask the unthinkable: What if we’re not the main character anymore? Farcaster types maintain their outward calm, but we see them for what they are: detached, autistic feminized wef soyboy monks in the temple of Vitalik, quietly coping as they watch SOL baggers make obscene gains. The cracks are showing, and one wonders: when will they ape?