In which fortune smiles upon a sun-baked Californian concern and blesses it with lucre fit for a Roman emperor riding a Roomba.

It was, dear reader, or so it seemed to the stenographers of Mammon, a Wednesday like any Wednesday: half the world anxious about lunch, the other half pretending to be. Yet into this midday ordinariness burst the news-nay, the trumpet blast-that Thumzup Media Corporation, a name as musical as a spoon dropped on parquet, hath secured another fifty million in the universal coin of breathless expectation. Surely this was proof that Providence now prefers PowerPoint prophets to sainted monks.

Whoart thou, Thumzup? Originally a modest platform promising young influencers the hope of free protein powder in exchange for their immortal souls-sorry, “brand exposure”-it has of late discovered that nothing warms investor hearts like the word “Bitcoin.” The fit was natural: if you can puff mascara, surely you can pump crypto, and with far fewer ingredients to list on the label. 😉

Into this whirlpool of ambition stepped Donald Trump the Younger, now an even prouder owner of 350 000 shares-purchased, one presumes, with the loose change rattling around the family vault. Observers of the human comedy noted that the lad hath surpassed even his father’s talent for placing gleaming objects before the public: whereas the father merely slaps his name on towers, the son slaps reality itself on the ledger and calls it “innovation.” 👏

The company confides to anyone within earshot-and, mercifully, beyond-its intention to hyperspace straight into the mines of the electronic Eldorado. “State-of-the-art cryptocurrency mining infrastructure,” it claims, which in older, less excitable times meant: warehouses stuffed with roaring fans, teenagers in hoodies, and the gentle perfume of scorched electricity. Got $50M? That’s enough to buy either world-class ASICs or a medium-sized apology letter to Greta Thunberg-whichever comes first.

Its treasury presently houses a shy 19.1 BTC, worth about $2.36 million. A modest farmhouse of gold upon the vast Plain of Speculation, but the board-bless their beautifully diversified hearts-has resolved to expand the barn all the way to two-hundred-fifty-million. Noble lords once fought for vineyards; these latter-day barons skirmish over Dogecoin. Progress marches on wearing clown shoes. 🤡

Meanwhile, the elder deity of this farce, Bitcoin itself, flirted with $124 128 at the witching hour. Such numbers! Monks counted angels on pinheads; traders now count angels per kilowatt-hour. And still they hope-through candle and futures chart alike-for the coveted $125 000, as though crossing that invisible line might at last grant them exit from the maze of their own desires.

As for the shares of Thumzup (NASDAQ: TZUP-no, not ZIP, though one sometimes wishes for the latter), they sprang 6.73 % in after-hours trading. How the heart leaps with each tick! One recalls a young Tolstoy counting crows from a teetering fence post and gaining more reliable satisfaction.

And so the merry caravan rolls on: louder fans, hotter chips, ever-ascending graphs, and a promise framed in the language of enterprise yet whispered in the dialect of roulette. Should fortune frown tomorrow, there shall be new capital raises, new acronyms, new prophets wearing newer fleece vests. Until then, dear reader, keep your sense of humor close-yours is still the one asset no algorithm can replicate. 😏

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2025-08-14 07:04