Tom’s parents were toxic, like, Chernobyl-level toxic. They rode him harder than a rented mule, constantly chipping away at his self-esteem. “You’re a useless piece of crap,” they’d say—their words were his personal brainworms, stuck on repeat. They’d definitely left a mark. A big, ugly one.
School? Ha! That was a laugh riot. He sucked at everything—grades, sports, even dodgeball. The bullies treated him like their own personal punching bag. Taunts, shoves, the whole shebang. After high school, college was about as likely as him winning the lottery. Same went for getting a job. He basically became a professional hermit. Going outside? Yeah, right. Like that was gonna happen.
He’d turned into a grade-A mess. Looking in the mirror was like staring into the abyss. The gut from all the pizza rolls, the greasy hair that could rival an oil slick, the dead look in his eyes…yikes. He pictured his old classmates, probably off being CEOs and Instagram influencers, living the dream. The thought made him want to crawl into a hole and die.
Video games and junk food—his diet consisted of more pixels and preservatives than actual nutrients. At least online he could pretend to be someone cool, a hero, a legend. But then he’d log off, and wham, back to reality, population: him and his existential dread. The loneliness was a real kick in the teeth.
Then one day, he stumbled across this thing called “memecoins.” He figured, why not? At this point, he was grasping at straws thinner than angel hair pasta. Maybe, just maybe, this was his golden ticket. A tiny spark of hope—like a flickering lighter in a hurricane—ignited. He actually managed to peel his butt off the couch. A miracle.