Ask me when I will exit robinhood:0xe0eba1b76b73be7bfa7716b6ca96f724930e2263 and something in my soul just curdles. The nerve. You're asking me if I would sell my mother's wedding ring for scrap. You’re asking me if I would burn the map to the world's greatest treasure after I've spent years finding it. The question itself is preposterous.
Brother, there is no exit. There was never an exit. This isn't a trade, it's a family crest. My kids and their kids are getting
@FroggyCyborg 's lovely fat green bird tattooed on their ribs before they get a middle name. History books will talk about our bloodline the way they talk about oil dynasties — hushed voices, sealed vaults, rumors about which basement the treasure actually dwells.
You don't take profit on a prophecy. I'm not early to this chart, I'm a founding member of a civilization that hasn't finished being built yet. And before you ask, no, I'm not the only delusional one.
Robillions.