In 2013 a bunch of dweebs met the first real bull market. He fucked their brains out and made them filthy rich. He also seemed smart!  But bull markets are more like Ted Bundy than Plato or Packy McCormick. Charming, brilliant, extremely dangerous, and looking for a good time more than anything else. So when things started to crash, the bull market just laughed his ass off, headed for Japan and laughed his ass off even more as Mt. Gox sent thousands of dweebs back to work on their LinkedIn profiles. Over their hangovers, a few survivors tried to make sense of the orgy.

In 2017, the bull market climbed back up through the earth, emerging dirty as fuck and handsome as hell. Through the gravel and the rocks he pulled other disciples out of the earth. They smelled of sulfur, Wall Street and shitty white papers. Together, everyone got fabulously rich. Some of the original dweebs joined the party, but said goodbye before last call. Their experience told them this could end badly. But they got turned on by some of his ideas. Long after he was gone, in the privacy of their own homes, they dreamt of the things he said.

The ideas are always the means to an end for the bull market. And while bad ideas drew a crowd, good ideas filled arenas. The bull market wanted to party with the greatest number of souls, so he spun up a lot of good ideas for impure reasons. The bull market understood humans like a shepherd understands sheep. But he’s a short term thinker. He didn’t realize the good ideas could live beyond him.

And then in January 2018, because he’s a sociopath, the bull market assembled his flock, and led them into the desert. When they collapsed from exhaustion, he ate their flesh and drank their blood. Then he slithered away with a full stomach and a sore dick.  It had been one hell of a party, and the bull market needed to take a long sleep.

This time, because the carnage was greater, there were also more survivors, mostly those lucky enough to have left the party early. They were happy to have been saved. Despite knowing what an evil sociopath the bull market was, they had been spellbound by his talk and his ideas. This time there were enough survivors to form a community. They drank bread and water, because they were broke. The only thing left behind, other than a table full of empty beer cans, and a few coke-dusted hundred dollar bills, were leftover ideas. They burned the white papers to keep warm.  And they stayed warm with their own writing, burning them for heat before starting again, improving their own ideas. Surviving.

Then in 2021 the bull market slid down a great oak tree and jumped into crypto Twitter.  Soon he had a following. He preached mostly good ideas this time, since his prey were more sophisticated and he wanted to attract the most victims. But before too long he preached any crazy idea that came into his head. He formed a big following from all over the world, mostly people who had never known him before. They fell deeply in love with his good looks, promises and charisma. In January 2022 he got bored and hacked them all to bits with liquidations and panic selling.

But this time, as he walked towards his spider-hole satisfied, weary and spent, the bull market noticed that whole cities stood, lights blazing. He was shocked. This should all be fire and destruction, he thought. Shit, he realized he’d offered too many good ideas. There were too many people following those ideas who’d never really been into him. They’d heard he was fun, but they never fell in love with him like the newbs of the past. They had other lovers, they had other dreams and they had a shitload of good ideas, compliments of him.

“Wait one fucking, second!” the bull market yelled in their direction.

“This is about me! Do you hear me? I want you to bleed so I can sleep for a few years, and then come back and fuck you all over again!”

No one seemed to notice him. Then a man on a horse appeared in the distance. He drew closer. He was carrying a torch and dressed in silk robes. The bull market was shocked at the man’s elegance and ease as he approached. Everyone was supposed to be busted out, panicked, hating themselves and each other. This was supposed to be another satisfying massacre.

The man on the horse pulled up and said “You’ve done your job. People far and wide know about your ideas. You can come and go as you like now. We just ask that you stay out of our way. ”

This is hilarious, the bull market thought. Who does this guy think he is? No one talks to a bull market like this.

“Is that right? Well who the FUCK are you?”

The man smiled.

“My name’s Satoshi. I’m the one who made you. You’ve done your job. Now get the fuck out of here. Or stay if you like. I don’t really care.”

And then he turned his horse around and headed back towards the lights and the people and the future.

**